Page 65 of His Ruthless Claim

She's wearing one of her boutique pieces - a black dress that clings to curves I know by heart. My jaw clenches. And then her eyes meet mine.

The pull between us is so real, I can barely resist. I want to move closer to her. I want to pull her into me and make her see how sorry I am. But I can't.

I force myself to look away, remember Maria's words about giving Skye space, about how my need to control everythingpushed her away. So, I turn to leave, needing to get out of here before I lose it.

"Luca."

Her voice cuts through the noise, straight to my core. My steps falter. I haven't heard her say my name in twenty-three days. The sound nearly brings me to my knees.

I turn slowly, fighting to maintain the mask of indifference that's served me so well. But it's harder now - she's seen beneath it, knows what lies behind the emptiness in my eyes.

"Skye." Her name tastes like salvation on my tongue.

She takes a step closer, close enough that I catch the scent of her perfume - vanilla and amber. "You're leaving?"

"Didn't want to intrude." The words scrape my throat raw.

Her eyes narrow, that sharp wit I've missed analyzing every micro-expression I can't quite hide. "Since when does Luca Mantione care about intruding?"

"I care about a lot of things lately." My voice comes out rougher than intended. The admission costs me, but her presence strips away pretense.

She steps closer, those amber eyes searching mine. "Like arranging attacks on my boutique?"

The accusation lands like a physical blow. I didn't realize she wanted to pour salt in my wounds, but if this is the only way I can have her, I'll take it. I don't deny it - we're past lies. "I needed you safe."

"You needed control." Her words cut deep, but there's less venom than before. "Do you know what scared me most? Not the attack. Not even finding out you orchestrated it. It was how easily you manipulated everything, like I was just another piece on your chess board."

My fingers twitch toward my watch, but I force them still. "You've never been just anything."

"I know." She takes another step, close enough I catch the flutter of her pulse at her throat. "That's what terrifies me. Three weeks without you and I feel like I'm drowning. I hate that I miss the way you'd appear at my boutique every evening, how you'd watch me like I might vanish if you blinked."

Her hand lifts to my face, fingertips tracing my jaw. The touch shatters what's left of my composure. "I'm still angry," she whispers. "But I can't keep pretending I don't need this. Need you."

My hands find her waist, drawing her closer. The familiar curves beneath black silk feel like coming home. "Tell me to let go."

"No." Her thumb brushes my lower lip. "I don't want easy. I want you - all of you, even the parts that terrify me."

The honesty in her voice undoes me. For the first time in twenty years, I feel something crack behind my ribs, raw and vital. I haven't checked my watch once since seeing her tonight. The compulsion fades beneath the weight of her touch, like she's rewriting decades of careful control with each breath between us.

"I need you to understand something." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. The admission costs me, but the price of losing her again would be higher. "These weeks without you... I couldn't focus. Couldn't think. Everything felt wrong."

Skye's fingers trail down my neck, settling against my pulse. "The great Luca Mantione, thrown off his game?" That sharp wit I've missed curves her lips. "Should I be flattered?"

"You should be terrified." I catch her wrist, thumb pressing against her racing heartbeat. "I orchestrated that attack because the thought of losing you made me irrational. But Maria..." I release a breath. "She made me see what I couldn't. Love isn't about possession or control."

"Maria?" Skye's eyebrow arches. "I should've guessed."

"She knew my mother. Knew how my father's idea of love destroyed everything good." The words taste like ash, but Skye deserves truth. "I thought protecting you meant controlling every variable. But that's not love - it's fear dressed up as devotion."

Her free hand slides beneath my jacket, palm flat against my heart. "And what is love, according to the reformed Luca Mantione?"

"This." I lean in, lips brushing her ear. "Standing here, letting you see every broken piece without trying to manipulate the outcome. Knowing you could walk away, but trusting you to stay."

"Keep talking." Her breath hitches. "I like this version of you."

"I love you." The words fall like bullets between us - precise, deadly, unavoidable. "Not because I want to own you. Not because I need to control you. Because you make me feel something besides emptiness, and I'm finally strong enough to admit that terrifies me."

Her fingers curl into my shirt. "Say it again."

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