Page 21 of Tower of Temptations

"Naples," I said, my finger tracing the edge. "Remember that trip? You begged to come along after hearing about the coast..."

She smiled at the memory. "I didn't even know what a business trip was. Just heard him say 'boats' and I wouldn't shut up about it for days."

"And he gave in."

"And Dad kept pushing back meetings." She laughed softly. "Said his 'junior partner' needed to approve all the locations first."

"He used to talk about you constantly," I said quietly. "Every achievement, every milestone. His office was full of your photos." I watched her face soften at the memory. "Even during the most serious meetings, he'd find a way to slip in something about his brilliant daughter."

She smiled then, warm and genuine—the kind that made me forget every reason I shouldn't be here.

"All those lessons he got you," I said, remembering. "Music, dance..."

"I was terrible at piano," she said, laughing as she traced another photo.

"He didn't care. Said you could've been banging on pots and pans and he'd still be in the front row." I hesitated, then added, "He wanted more for you than this life. More than being caught between powerful men and their games."

Her fingers stilled on the photos. "Is that what you think this is? Just games?"

Before I could stop myself, I reached out to catch the tear on her cheek. She leaned into my touch slightly, and Christ, that tiny movement nearly broke me.

"I think," I said carefully, "that you deserve better than being anyone's pawn. Even Giuliano's."

She pulled back slightly, a flash of something defensive crossing her face. "You don't know everything about..."

"No," I cut in, softer now. "I don't. But I know men like us, Pearl. Men who take what they want and call it protection."

Reality crashed back like a bucket of ice water. Marco's face smiled up from the photos between us, reminding me of every line I shouldn't cross. I stood abruptly, needing distance.

"Keep them," I managed, already heading for the door. "They belong to you anyway."

Her quiet "thank you" followed me out, along with the memory of how perfectly she'd fit against me in that brief moment. I forced myself not to look back, knowing if I did, my carefully constructed walls would crumble completely.

Marco would have killed me for even thinking about her this way. But then again, Marco was dead. And his daughter... fuck, his sweet, untouched daughter was making me hard with thoughts that would damn me straight to hell.

Time to hit the gym. Maybe if I punched something hard enough, I could forget how she felt under my hands. Forget how much I wanted to find out what other sounds I could draw from those perfect lips.

God help us all.

12

VINCENZO

Midnight at the compound always made me reflective. Three years since Giuliano had found me, fresh out of Vittorio's organization, carrying enough dirt to bring down half the East Coast. Instead of turning me in, he'd offered a choice: help build something better, or disappear with enough money. Simple as that.

I'd chosen to stay. Now, pacing the quiet hallway outside Pearl's room, that choice felt more complicated. When Giuliano first outlined this plan, I'd argued against using her as leverage. I'd seen enough of Vittorio's world to know what his control did to people. But watching Pearl these past few days, I'd realized she wasn't just another victim. There was steel under that polished exterior, that's if you knew where to look.

The sound of running water from her bathroom made me lose my train of thought. The frosted glass door offered only a suggestion of movement—a shadow here, a silhouette there. I should step away, come back when she was finished. That would be the professional thing to do. But something kept me rooted in place, my usual self-control wavering.

My mind wandered to dangerous places: the way water would trace down her curves, how her golden hair would darken when wet, what sounds she might make if... Christ. I needed to get a grip. This wasn't like me, letting desire cloud my judgment.

I'd spent years perfecting the art of observation without reaction. It was part of what made me good at my job—the ability to notice everything while remaining detached. But watching that shadowy figure move behind the glass, I felt that detachment slipping.

When the water finally stopped, I straightened, trying to reclaim my professional demeanor. Instead, I found myself holding my breath as the door opened.

Pearl stepped out through curtains of steam, wrapped in a white towel. Her hair, free from its usual careful styling, fell in waves of deep gold past her shoulders. Without Vittorio's prescribed makeup and designer clothes, she looked startlingly real.

"Oh!" She clutched the towel tighter, a blush creeping up her neck. "I didn't..."

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