Page 28 of His Ruthless Claim

Sophia's perfectly lined lips curl. "Shouldn't you be working, Rocco? I doubt my husband would appreciate knowing you're shopping during business hours."

"Just admiring the view." He props himself against my counter, loosening his tie. "How's business,bella?"

I arrange a display of Gucci scarves, keeping my movements deliberate. "Fashion Week is always good for sales."

He nods. "Looking busy, though. Maybe you need a little break? You should come by The Block tonight. I'll buy you a drink."

"Rocco." Sophia's voice carries the sharp edge of authority that comes from years of marriage to a capo. "You're supposed to be handling collections today."

He waves her off, still focused on me. "One drink. Promise I'll make it worth your while."

I've played this game before - maintaining the delicate balance between not offending made men while keeping clear boundaries. "Sweet offer, but I'm fully booked this week. The spring collection launch requires my complete attention."

"Come on, live a little." His fingers drum against the glass counter. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't work so hard."

The door opens again and the temperature seems to drop ten degrees. Mickey steps inside, his presence filling the space with unspoken threat. His eyes lock onto Rocco.

"The boss needs you. Now."

Rocco straightens, cockiness evaporating. Everyone knows 'the boss' means Luca these days. He adjusts his tie, trying to salvage his dignity. "Some other time then,bella."

I don't reply, just focus on perfectly arranging a silk scarf while Rocco lingers, his eyes still on me. Mickey takes a step closer, and I see the wives exchange meaningful glances. They've noticed - of course they have. In their world, nothing happens by accident.

The boutique's bell chimes again before Mickey can make a move. My breath catches as I look over to see Luca filling the doorway, his presence commanding attention without effort. His ice-blue eyes scan the space before landing on me with predatory focus. The wives fall silent, their earlier boldness evaporating.

He moves with lethal grace, his Italian suit fitting him like armor. No unnecessary movements, no wasted energy. Just pure, controlled power as he approaches where Rocco still lingers.

"I believe Mickey delivered a message." Luca's voice carries that distinctive emptiness - not angry, not threatening, just... void. It's more unnerving than shouting could ever be.

Rocco's swagger dissolves. "I was just leaving-"

"Were you?" Luca adjusts his silver Rolex with precise movements. "Because it looked like you were harassing Miss Calloway."

"No, I didn't mean-"

"Go to the construction site." Luca doesn't raise his voice, doesn't change his eerily calm expression. Yet Rocco pales. "Now."

I watch, fascinated, as Rocco practically trips over himself to leave. The wives make hasty excuses and follow suit, leaving me alone with Luca and the lingering scent of fear.

His gaze slides back to me, intense enough to burn. Most people would be terrified to be the sole focus of his attention. Instead, I feel a dangerous thrill.

"You didn't have to do that." I straighten a row of hangers, keeping my movements casual. "I can handle unwanted attention."

"I'm aware." His eyes track my movements. "But his disrespect reflects poorly on all of us."

"Is that the only reason?" I can't help pushing, trying to crack that perfect control. It's probably stupid - definitely dangerous - but something about him makes me want to see what's beneath that empty mask.

The corner of his mouth twitches - the barest hint of expression that vanishes so quickly I almost think I imagined it. "You ask dangerous questions, Miss Calloway."

"Someone has to." I meet his gaze directly. "Everyone else seems too scared to try."

He steps closer. "Maybe for good reason."

I flick my eyes up and down his body. And as usual, I'm too tempted to push him to hold back. "Well, you handled it. So, you can go now. I don't need you in here, interrupting my business whenever you want." I move behind the counter, needing the physical barrier between us. "I have legitimate customers to attend to."

He stalks closer, each step measured and purposeful. Most people would call his expression blank, but I've learned to read the micro-shifts - the slight tightening around his eyes, the barely-there tension in his jaw. He's amused. And something else.

"Oh, I can go?" His voice carries that signature emptiness, but there's a dark edge underneath that makes heat pool in my stomach. He places his hands on the glass counter, boxing me in without touching me. "You seem to be operating under a misconception, Miss Calloway."

---