Chapter 7

• Chapter 7: Persistent Little Vixen
• Luca has faced many challenges in his life—hardened men who have wanted him dead, cunning enemies who have plotted his downfall, precarious situations that have demanded ruthless precision and cold calculation. But this girl, this infuriating, sharp-tongued vixen with fire in her eyes, is proving to be a special kind of torment, one that crawls beneath his skin and settles there like an itch he cannot scratch.
• Standing before him in the center of his meticulously maintained apartment, her slender arms crossed defiantly across her chest, she glares up at him with the kind of brazen audacity that shouldn't belong to someone in her precarious position.
• She has no power here, no leverage, no allies. She should be terrified, compliant, and desperate to appease him. Instead, she shouts at him, her voice laced with a venomous blend of frustration and bravado that echoes off the minimalist walls.
• "I am not scared of you," she declares, her eyes blazing with conviction, chin tilted upward in defiance. "You think just because you're some big bad criminal with expensive suits and a fancy apartment, I should cower and beg? Well, I don't! I won't give you that satisfaction."
• Luca clenches his jaw so tightly he can feel the muscle twitch beneath his skin. His patience, never his strongest virtue, has become a fragile thread, and she is yanking on it with reckless abandon, seemingly blind to the consequences that could follow. It is both infuriating and—he has to admit to himself in the darkest corner of his mind—bizarrely fascinating. No one speaks to him like this. No one has dared in years, not since he climbed to his position of power, leaving a trail of broken men behind him.
• His fingers curl into tight fists at his sides, knuckles whitening with restrained force. "You don't even understand what you've gotten yourself into," he says through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper yet somehow filling the spacious room. "You should be scared—terrified, even—but you're too damn stubborn and reckless to realize it. This isn't a game you can win with sharp words and false bravado."
• She scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically, a gesture so casual and dismissive it makes his blood simmer. "And what exactly have I gotten myself into? You kidnapped me! Snatched me right off like some common thug." Her voice rises with each word, hands now gesticulating wildly. "My father will tear this city apart looking for me. He has connections, powerful ones, and when he finds out what you've done—"
• "Enough." His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a freshly honed blade. The single word reverberates with authority, with danger, with promise. "You need to control yourself. Stop acting like a naive little child who thinks daddy will solve all her problems. Your father can't help you here. No one can."
• The force of his outburst startles her, the sudden harshness causing her to take an involuntary step backward. For the first time since her arrival, real silence settles between them, thick and heavy with tension. Her eyes widen in shock as she stares at him, her lips parting slightly, the pink tip of her tongue darting out to moisten them nervously. She hadn't expected him to snap like that, hadn't anticipated the raw power simmering just beneath his controlled exterior.
• Luca exhales slowly, deliberately, reining himself in. He isn't one to lose control—control is currency in his world, and he hoards it jealously—but she has a way of worming under his skin, finding cracks in his armor he didn't know existed. He steps closer, his presence looming over her smaller frame, the expensive fabric of his suit rustling softly with each measured step. The subtle scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, more primal—envelopes her.
• "This isn't your father's luxurious mansion with its manicured gardens and obedient staff," he says, his voice lower now but no less dangerous, perhaps even more so for its quiet intensity. "You're in a place you shouldn't be, and you will from time to time be surrounded by people who don't answer the laws you're accustomed to. And if you don't start watching what you say, what you do..." he pauses, letting the implication hang in the air between them, "you might not like what happens next. I can be very creative when provoked."
• She swallows hard, the delicate column of her throat working visibly, her earlier bravado faltering just a fraction. A flicker of uncertainty crosses her features, momentarily dimming the defiance in her eyes. Good. She needs to understand the gravity of her situation, the precarious edge on which she balances.
• But then, just when he thinks she might finally settle down, accept her circumstances, she smirks. It's subtle at first, just a slight upward curl at the corner of her mouth, before blooming into something more deliberate, more challenging.
• "You know," she muses, tilting her head to one side, causing a cascade of silken hair to fall over one shoulder, "my dad is going to be looking for me. He won't stop, not for a single moment." Her voice adopts a thoughtful, almost conversational tone. "And when he finds out what happened, who took his only daughter... he'll come for you. With everything he has."
• Luca's jaw ticks, a small muscle jumping beneath the taut skin. Her words should have concerned him, should have triggered some sense of caution or calculation, but the way she says them—so casual, so teasing, as if they're discussing something as benign as the weather—only fuels his irritation. He brushes off the thought with practiced ease, years of handling threats far more immediate making her warnings seem inconsequential.
• "That's none of my concern," he says coolly, his gaze never leaving hers. "You brought this upon yourself with your meddling, your curiosity about things that don't concern you. And believe me," he leans closer, his breath ghosting over her cheek, "measures have been taken to ensure your father never figures it out. There are no traces leading to us, no breadcrumbs to follow. You've simply... vanished."
• For a brief moment, something flickers in her expression, a crack in her carefully constructed facade. A twinge of fear, perhaps? The dawning realization that she might actually be lost, hidden from the world she knows, from the father she clearly believes will be her salvation.
• But instead of shrinking back in terror, as any rational person might, she does something unexpected that sends a jolt of surprise through him. Her lips curl into a small, almost amused smile, as if she's privy to some private joke.
• "Well," she murmurs, taking a deliberate step closer to him, erasing the little distance he had maintained. "That's quite thorough of you. I'm almost impressed by your attention to detail."
• Luca stiffens as she approaches, his body instinctively tensing, muscles coiling like a predator unsure whether to attack or retreat. He watches her closely, dark eyes narrowing, uncertain of what game she's playing now, what angle she's working.
• She takes another step, confidently closing the space between them, until she is near enough that he can catch the faintest trace of her perfume—something soft and floral with an undercurrent of vanilla, something infuriatingly enticing that makes his nostrils flare against his will.
• "You have a nice apartment," she comments, her voice smooth, almost playful, a stark contrast to her earlier fury. Her fingers reach out, trailing lightly against the solid plane of his chest, following the line of his expensive tie. "Very... masculine. Very you."
• Luca's breath hitches, almost imperceptibly. His muscles tighten beneath her touch, a strange electricity crackling where her fingertips meet the fabric of his shirt. He isn't used to being caught off guard, to having his personal space invaded so boldly, but here she is—fearless, or perhaps foolish beyond measure, testing his patience in ways no one else would dare.
• Her eyes meet his, a glimmer of something unreadable in their depths—calculation? Desperation? Genuine interest? He cannot tell, and that uncertainty is maddening.
• "Since you're so determined to keep me here," she says, her voice dropping just a little, taking on a husky quality that sends an unwelcome heat through his veins, "maybe I should just... comply. Find ways to make my stay more... agreeable for both of us."
• The way she looks at him, the way her fingers linger against his chest—it sends an unfamiliar heat surging through him, a combination of suspicion and something darker, more primal, that he refuses to acknowledge.
• Luca clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms sharply enough to ground him in reality. This girl, with her bold words and bolder actions, is going to drive him mad. And the worst part? Some small, traitorous part of him might just enjoy the journey to insanity.