The tension in Calderone Tower had become a living thing — thick, suffocating, and ready to snap. Three days had passed since the Sicilian attack on the lower levels, and the building still bore the scars: boarded-up windows on the lower floors, extra guards at every entrance, and an undercurrent of vigilance that made every footstep echo like a warning.
Liora stood on the rooftop garden, the wind whipping her dark wavy hair around her face. The olive trees rustled softly, their leaves a small, fragile piece of peace in a world that had become nothing but war. Below, the city moved on as if nothing had happened, but she knew better. The Sicilians were regrouping. Luca was still locked in the basement. And Vittorio… Vittorio watched her every move with eyes that burned hotter than ever.
She hadn't slept properly since the night of the attack. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Luca's face behind the glass — disappointed, betrayed, bleeding. Every time Vittorio touched her, pleasure and guilt collided until she couldn't tell them apart.
Footsteps approached from behind. She didn't need to turn to know it was him.
Vittorio's arms slid around her waist, pulling her back against his solid chest. He was dressed in a black shirt and trousers, the top buttons undone to reveal the edge of his tattoos and the fresh bandage on his shoulder. His lips brushed the side of her neck, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
"You're thinking too loudly again," he murmured, voice low and rough. "Tell me what's in that beautiful head of yours."
Liora leaned into him despite the conflict raging inside her. His warmth was addictive, his scent a dangerous comfort. "I keep seeing Luca's face. He looked at me like I was already dead to him. Like I betrayed everything we were."
Vittorio's grip tightened possessively. "You didn't betray him. You saved him. If you hadn't told me about the shipment, he would have died in that cell when they tried to break him out. I would have had no reason to keep him alive."
He turned her in his arms, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his steel-gray eyes. "You chose correctly, Liora. You chose us. Stop punishing yourself for it."
"I'm not sure I chose anything," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "I feel like I'm disappearing. Like the person I used to be is fading away every time you touch me."
Vittorio's expression darkened with something raw and possessive. He backed her against the stone balustrade, his body caging hers. The city sprawled far below them, but all she could see was him.
"Then let me remind you who you are now," he said, voice dropping to that dangerous timbre that always made her knees weak. "You are Liora Calderone. My woman. My obsession. My queen in this empire of blood and fire."
He kissed her then — hard, deep, claiming. His hands roamed her body, sliding under the light dress she wore and cupping her breasts. Liora gasped into his mouth as his thumbs brushed her nipples, sending sparks straight to her core.
"Vittorio…" she moaned, even as her hands fisted in his shirt.
He lifted her onto the wide stone ledge, spreading her legs and stepping between them. The height made her dizzy — one wrong move and she would fall dozens of stories. But Vittorio's grip on her thighs was iron-tight, keeping her safe while he pushed her dress up to her waist.
"No panties," he growled in approval, fingers finding her already wet. "Good girl. You're learning what I like."
He stroked her slowly at first, then faster, circling her clit with his thumb while two fingers slid inside her. Liora's head fell back, a broken moan escaping her lips as pleasure built rapidly. The wind whipped around them, the city lights twinkling far below, and the danger of their position only made everything more intense.
"Come for me," he commanded, curling his fingers just right. "Right here, where the whole city can see who owns you."
Liora shattered with a cry, her body convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Vittorio didn't give her time to recover. He freed himself from his trousers and thrust into her in one smooth, deep stroke, filling her completely.
He fucked her against the balustrade with hard, possessive strokes, one hand gripping her hip and the other tangled in her hair. "Say it," he growled against her mouth. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," Liora gasped, legs tightening around his waist. "I belong to you, Vittorio."
"Louder."
"I belong to you!"
He rewarded her with deeper thrusts, his thumb returning to her clit until she came again, harder this time, sobbing his name into the wind. Vittorio followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside her as he held her tight against him.
For a long moment, they stayed locked together, breathing ragged, bodies trembling. Then he lifted her gently and carried her back inside to the bedroom, laying her on the black silk sheets.
He didn't stop there.
He took her again — slower this time, almost reverent — kissing every inch of her skin as if worshipping a goddess. When they finally collapsed together, spent and tangled, Vittorio held her close, his hand resting possessively on her stomach.
"You're not disappearing," he whispered against her hair. "You're becoming exactly who you were always meant to be. Mine."
Liora closed her eyes, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. She wanted to believe him. Part of her already did.
But deep down, a small, stubborn voice still whispered Luca's words:
Blood calls to blood.
Later that afternoon, while Vittorio was in a strategy meeting, Liora was allowed another visit to the observation room. This time, Luca looked even worse — his leg heavily bandaged, his face pale and drawn. When he saw her through the glass, his eyes filled with a mix of love and exhausted resignation.
"You're still here," he said hoarsely. "Still choosing him."
Liora pressed her palm to the glass. "I'm trying to keep you alive, Luca. That's all I want now. Please… stop fighting. Vittorio said he'll keep you safe if you accept this."
Luca laughed bitterly, leaning his forehead against the glass. "Safe? You call this safe? He's turned you into his whore, and you're thanking him for it."
The words stung like a slap. Liora flinched but didn't pull away. "Maybe I have changed. Maybe I'm tired of blood and death and fear. With him… I feel something real. Something strong."
Luca's eyes softened with sorrow. "Then I've already lost you. But I won't stop, Liora. The Sicilians are planning something bigger. They're calling in every favor. When they hit this tower again, it won't be a small team. It'll be war. And when that day comes, I hope you remember who your real family is."
Before Liora could reply, the guard signaled that time was up. As she was led away, Luca's final words followed her like a curse:
"Choose blood, sis. Before it's too late for both of us."
That night, Vittorio took her again in the big bed — slow, deep, and possessive. He whispered praises against her skin as he moved inside her, calling her his queen, his flame, his everything. Liora clung to him, letting the pleasure drown out the guilt and fear for a little while longer.
But as she lay in his arms afterward, listening to his steady breathing, one terrifying realization settled deep in her bones:
She was running out of time.
The Sicilians were coming.
Luca was waiting.
And soon, she would have to make a choice that would either save her brother…
…or destroy the man she was falling in love with.