Isabella pov - Boston, Midnight | Her Penthouse Office
The office smelled like danger and espresso - bitter, sharp, and alive. The glass walls framed the Boston skyline, a cruel reminder that no matter how far she ran, memory moved faster.
Her fingers grazed over the rim of the whiskey glass, cold, full. Her other hand rested on the oak desk, clenched. Unread documents. Maps. Blood-stained reports.
But her mind?
Italy.
That night.
Her breath hitched before she could stop it. The image of him - Matthew Sinclair - flickered behind her eyes like sin itself.
She was supposed to seduce him.
Drug him.
Kill him.
That was the mission.
What happened instead?
His fingers on her throat.
Her back arched into silk sheets.
A voice - deep, British-Italian mix - commanding, dirty, mine.
It wasn't supposed to feel like surrender.
It wasn't supposed to haunt her.
But it did. Every. Fucking. Night.
She shifted in her chair, legs crossing tight. Control. She needed to control this. But the ache in her chest - and lower - reminded her: he touched her soul before she could aim a gun to his head.
And she didn't pull the trigger.
She bit her lip. That damned Armani suit. That scar down his jaw. The way he made her beg - and didn't even touch her.
"Fuck," she muttered, gripping her thigh under the table.
---
Matthew pov - Italy, 6 AM | His Villa Office
The espresso was untouched.
Matthew leaned back in the leather chair, head tilted, fingers resting against his lips.
The room was dark. Curtains drawn.
But in his mind - moonlight poured in.
Italy.
Her perfume.
Those eyes.
That laugh. Cold. Calculated. Addictive.
He wasn't supposed to want her.
He was supposed to expose her.
A threat. A ghost. A Ferrari-Hughes.
But the moment he pressed her against the villa wall, lips dragging down her throat - all he saw was himself. Reflected in her darkness.
She didn't beg. She dared.
And he loved it.
He remembered the way she whispered his name - once, like it burned. Her nails clawed his back, her body open but her heart locked. A fortress.
But for a few hours, he was inside. All of her.
And now?
He wanted her again.
---
Both - Same Thought
> "One night. One taste. And I'm still fucking ruined."
---
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MAFIA QUEEN
Short StoryAfter the 3 sentries she is born, the only girl in the family. But they are not the ordinary people they are famous Italian Mafia. THE FERRARI FAMILY But they lost her because of the work they are in and because of their reputation. ************...
