Chapter 5 She Moaned The Wrong Name

LUCIANO'S POV

She looked like a child debating whether to steal a cookie, half-convinced she’d get away with it—and for some fucked-up reason, the sight of her made my cock twitch against my zipper.

Arina stood there, legs parted, skirt rucked up around her thighs, with her cheeks flushed with that pretty shade of shame I liked.

I’d already known the second she walked in on me, killing her husband, that keeping my promise was going to be impossible.

I’m sorry, old friend, I thought as I leaned closer to her ear, I’m going to do the one thing you begged me not to.

“One way to make the pain go away is through pleasure, Arina,” I whispered against the shell of her ear.

Who would have thought Alberto—of all people—would settle down? He’d always been the charmer, the one who could talk his way into bed. I was the shadow, the one who ended problems permanently.

Was she even worth all the trouble? He’d built a wall around this woman like she was sacred, never once letting her near us, his real family.

“I know you need it.” I whispered again.

She was still fighting, but her hips shifted just a fraction toward my hand. That tiny surrender was enough.

“Say the words, Arina,” I murmured, my thumb brushing the damp lace between her thighs.

“And I’ll give you pleasure beyond words.”

“Y… Yes,” she stammered.

That was all I needed.

I lifted her and carried her roughly towards the desk.

She yelped, a surprised sound that shot straight to my groin.

I swept everything aside in one brutal swipe and spread her out like an offering on my desk.

I tore her panties off with a single rip, the fabric giving way with a satisfying snap.

And fuck—lord have mercy—her pussy was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Pink, and swollen from wanting what she hated admitting.

No wonder Alberto had forgotten everything else. Forgotten me. Forgotten the family that raised us both.

I teased her entrance with my thumb, drawing slow circles, watching her suck in a breath that made her tits rise against her blouse.

Then I slid one finger inside, she was tight, hot and wet. She did the worst thing she had ever done since I took her, she moaned.

Not my name.

“Alberto… please…”

The sound hit me like a blade between the ribs. My blood turned cold.

“Go on,” she whimpered again, eyes squeezed shut, lost in whatever ghost she was chasing.

“Please, Alberto…”

“Fucking open your eyes,” I snarled, my voice harsher than I intended.

She snapped them open. Disappointment flickered across her face the second she focused on me—on the wrong man staring down at her.

She’d really been picturing him? While my finger was knuckle-deep inside her?

Something ugly twisted in my chest—ego, rage, a jealousy I had no right to feel.

I pulled my finger free, staring at her juices coating it, proof she’d been dripping for a dead man.

“Get the fuck out,” I said angrily.

She smiled sweetly, like she’d won something.

Has she gone mad?

“Oh, you really thought you could compare yourself to my late husband?” she asked, sliding off the desk with surprising grace. “Just know, since you decided to kill him, you monster, your life isn’t yours anymore.”

She snatched her ruined panties from the floor, dragged her skirt down, and shot me a look of pure hate before striding toward the door, swaying her hips like she was mocking me.

I wanted to pin her to the wall and roar that her husband was no saint. That he’d killed—husbands, fathers, sons—just like me. 

That the “good memory” she clung to was built on lies he’d fed her while I cleaned up his messes.

But I didn’t.

Because shattering her illusion of him would mean admitting I’d pulled the trigger on my own friend. 

And some twisted part of me wanted to protect what little she had left of him—even if it meant letting her hate me instead.

Fuck.

So that was the game she wanted to play.

Fine.

If Alberto’s last request was for me to protect her, then I would. But I’d do it my way. On my terms. 

The door to my office burst open.

I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Knocking,” I said coldly, “isn’t optional.”

Xavier strolled in any way, a grin already playing on his face. “You look tense, brother.”

I shot him a warning glare. “Get to the point.”

He leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking briefly to the desk, then back to me. Amusement sparked in them. “I heard Alberto’s wife has claws.”

I moved around the desk. “You’ve been listening to the wrong people.”

“Gia usually knows what she’s talking about.” His smile widened. “They say she’s not as fragile as she looks.”

I stopped walking.

“That’s none of your concern.”

Xavier’s gaze sharpened. “Everything that happens under our name is my concern.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Careful.”

He chuckled. “Relax. I’m just surprised. A woman tied to a mess is supposed to be dead.”

Silence stretched between us.

“You didn’t come here to speculate,” I said. “Why are you here?”

“You’ve been absent.” His tone shifted, casual but probing. “The company notices these things. People ask questions.”

I had completely forgot about my billion dollar company. 

“I don’t answer people.”

“No,” he agreed. “But appearances still matter.”

My jaw tightened.

Then he added, lightly, “So tell me—why do you want to marry her?”

I slammed my hand on the desk.

“Get out.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Easy brother. I’m leaving.”

He paused at the door. “By the way—Aria is back from Italy.”

I looked up. 

“She’s been asking about you.”

The door closed behind him.

I stood there, unmoving.

Aria.

Another complication. Another distraction. 

I exhaled slowly, forcing my control back into place.

One woman testing my restraint was already enough. I don't need another.