The Prototype

50. Shadows of May

MARCELLUS

The sunlight clawed its way through the thin slits in the Milan skyline, spilling sharp, unrelenting beams into the dark haven of the room. Slicing through the heavy curtains, the light stabbed at my closed eyelids, dragging me from the depths of sleep. Feeling like the universe itself was forcing me to wake.

Cracking my eyes open, I winced at the onslaught of light, feeling the rough pulse of a hangover blooming behind my temples. Forcing myself to look over at the nightstand where the clock glared at me in unforgiving red digits. One in the afternoon. I ran a hand over my face feeling the lingering signs of a migraine.

The weight beside me shifted, pulling my attention. I turned, my eyes falling on the Sicilian woman nestled in my sheets, her bronzed skin catching the light in soft hues, dark hair spilling like a river over my pillow. Her face relaxed, lashes casting shadows against her cheeks, her lips parted slightly as she slept. The thought of her name slipping my mind, yet, frankly, I don't care to remember. My eyes roamed around the room, taking in the evidence of last night's hedonism—discarded clothes scattered haphazardly. Relics of a night that felt like a fever dream.

Nino's twenty-fourth birthday—an excuse to tear through Milan's underbelly during its most enticing month, May, when the night promised decadence and chaos. Even now, the memory burned vivid and dark in my mind, a reel of smoke, spilled drinks, and the trail of bodies we left in our wake. We'd started where kings belong, in upscale bars, navigating Milan's elite as if we owned every breath of air they dared to inhale. But the night didn't end there. It spilled into the forbidden corners of the city, into the shadows where the lines blurred, and every boundary I'd ever drawn was meant to be crossed.

Bits of it flared in my mind like broken shards of glass—intense, fragmented, cutting deep. I could still feel the weight of the shot glasses in my hands, the fiery burn of liquor clawing its way down my throat, igniting something primal inside me. One drink after another, smoother and easier, until the edges of the world softened into an intoxicating haze. And then I'd seen her—a flicker of movement in the crowd, a shadow under the dim, flickering lights. Her eyes had locked on mine from across the room, dark and sharp, a silent challenge wrapped in something far more dangerous. A trap. A lure. I walked toward willingly, knowing full well what awaited me.

The memory hit in flashes: weaving through the press of bodies, the music pounding like a command, each beat driving me closer. My hands had found her waist, sliding over the curve of her hips as if they belonged there. Her laughter—low, rich, dripping with unspoken promises—had wrapped around me like dark silk, pulling me deeper. My fingers had traced the line of her spine, the heat of her skin searing through the thin barrier of fabric. She moved with precision, deliberate, every sway of her body calculated to ensnare. The rhythm pulled us closer until there was no space between us.

I could still smell the thick, heady perfume that clung to her, floral and dangerous, an invitation disguised as a warning. Her fingers grazed my collar, nails dragging lightly against my skin, sending a pulse of heat straight to my core. Her movements was deliberate, calculated, as if she knew the effect she had, as if she'd done it a hundred times and perfected each motion. Her eyes gleamed in the shadowed light, dark and feral, as if she already knew she owned the moment. Her lips brushed my jaw, a whisper of contact that left a trail of fire in its wake. Her voice, soft and sinfully sweet, cut through the pounding bass like a blade, every word a dare.

The scene rewound and replayed in my mind relentlessly. I remembered the taste of her skin when my lips found the hollow of her neck. Salt and warmth, intoxicating and primal. The quickening of her pulse beneath my mouth was like a drug, an addictive rhythm that fed the fire twisting inside me. Her breath had hitched, a sharp intake of air that betrayed the control she tried to hold. Her body softened against mine, her guard slipping moment by moment, surrendering to the sexual darkness of me.