Obruche_Princess

The scent of vanilla and freshly baked bread curled through the morning air, soft and inviting—a stark contrast to the man standing outside the tiny pastry shop. Matteo De Luca didn’t belong in a place like this. Dressed in black, with a presence that swallowed the light around him, he was a jagged piece of the underworld pressed against the softness of something pure.

He hadn’t meant to stop. Hadn’t meant to be drawn in. But there he was, watching the man behind the counter—flour dusting his fingers, lips pursed in concentration as he decorated a delicate éclair. A man who had no idea that with one glance, he had become an obsession.

Luca should walk away. He should forget the warmth, the scent, the man who smelled like sugar and safety.

But he wouldn’t.

Because when a man like him wanted something, he took it.

And right now? He wanted him.


---

The forbidden lust

The ballroom glittered with wealth. Chandeliers dripped with light, silk and gold shimmered under soft music, and the scent of expensive perfume clung to the air.

Emilio had never felt more out of place.

His suit—handpicked by Matteo—was a trap in disguise.

Slim fit. Midnight black. Temptation stitched into every seam.

A hand pressed against his lower back, firm, possessive.

"Relax," he murmured against Emilio's ear, his breath warm, his tone amused. "You look good enough to eat."

Heat crawled up Emilio's neck. "I don't belong here."

Matteo smirked. "That's what makes it fun."

Before Emilio could snap back, Matteo pulled him forward—leading him through the crowd with silent authority.

And the moment they stepped into the room?

Men—powerful, hungry men—paused mid-conversation to glance his way.

Emilio felt the weight of their stares, assessing, interested.

"See, tesoro?" His fingers tightened against Emilio's back. "You're quite the distraction."

"And who, exactly, is this stunning creature?"

A man stepped forward—tall, elegant, dangerous in a different way than Matteo.

Sharp blue eyes swept over Emilio, lingering, invading.

Emilio barely had time to process before the stranger extended a hand.

"Leonardo Santoro," he introduced smoothly. "And you are?"

"Oh," he murmured, gaze flicking to Matteo with a knowing glint. "He hasn't told you to speak yet, has he?"

A beat of silence. Heavy. Charged.

Matteo pulled Emilio closer. Too close.

His voice? A whisper against his ear.

"Careful, tesoro," he murmured, low and dangerous. "Some men don't just look."

His fingers traced the small of Emilio's back.

Emilio wasn't sure if Matteo's warning was about Leonardo or himself.

Chapter 17: The Devil’s Playground