Page 9 of Tower of Temptations

"Like what?"

"Like how nothing was ever just black and white with him. Vittorio... he always says everything is for my own good. The security details, the restricted phone access, that tower he keeps me in." She gestured vaguely. "He says it's all to keep me safe,and maybe part of me wants to believe that. He's been the only father I've known for so long..." She trailed off, running a finger along the rim of her glass. "But sometimes I wonder if he's really protecting me, or just keeping me under his control."

"No," I agreed softly. "Guess it's not that simple."

"I should probably be more upset about all this," she said softly, more to herself than to me. "Being locked up here. Everything that's happened." She took a slow sip of her drink, those blue eyes finding mine again. "But it feels... different somehow. Like maybe I needed to see things from another angle, even if I didn't choose this one."

"Different how?" I shouldn't have asked. Shouldn't have cared about the way she was looking at me, like she was trying to figure something out.

She just shook her head, that ghost of a smile returning.

"You wouldn't happen to know any good pizza places that deliver out here, would you?" She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking almost sheepish.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I like eating healthy and everything, but... sometimes I just really miss pizza, you know?" She shrugged. "My dad used to take me to this little place near the park on Sundays. Just the two of us, splitting a pepperoni pizza."

Something flickered across her face—a mix of memory and loss. "Now Vittorio's always so intense about this diet stuff—like my whole life needs to revolve around staying in shape."

I couldn't help but grin. "As a matter of fact, I do. Pepperoni?"

"Please." She stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "And Nico? Thanks."

"For what? The pizza hasn't even gotten here yet."

"For not treating me like I'm going to fall apart. Or try to run. Or whatever it is you guys were expecting. For... telling me the truth, even if I'm not sure I want to hear it."

I pulled out my phone, trying not to watch the way she'd relaxed into the mattress. "What makes you think we were expecting anything?"

"Everyone always does." Her voice was soft but clear. "It's kind of nice to just... be."

She rolled to face the wall, but not before I caught that hint of a smile again. I watched her for a moment longer than necessary, trying to ignore the way her touch still burned on my skin. I was too old, too jaded, and too deep in this life for those kinds of thoughts.

But as I heard her soft sigh, I wondered if maybe some things were worth the risk after all.

6

GIULIANO

The box of books shifted in my passenger seat as I guided the Lincoln through the compound gates. What had started as a simple power play—keeping our captive docile with entertainment—had twisted into something far more dangerous.

I found myself picking titles I thought she'd genuinely enjoy—Atwood'sAlias Grace, Austen'sPersuasion, and Tartt'sThe Secret History—imagining her face lighting up as she discovered each one. Fuck, I was getting soft.

"Get it together, Barbieri," I muttered, gripping the steering wheel. My phone buzzed on the seat beside me, a text from my father:Status update needed. Don't disappoint me.

Two simple lines that made my jaw clench. Even now, with everything going according to plan, he couldn't resist the subtle dig. The implied threat of failure hung heavy in those last few words.

I typed back quickly:All proceeding as planned. Girl is cooperative. Will have leverage on Salvatore within 48 hours.

The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally:See that you do.

I tossed the phone onto the seat, good mood evaporating. No matter how much I proved myself, it was never enough for him. Always that constant reminder that my choices weren't truly my own—they were his. My life had always been a series of obligations to the family. And now, that girl upstairs was just another piece in his grand design.

But she was proving to be a more complicated piece than expected. The security feeds still played in my mind—three days of watching her through cameras, and my men were already falling under her spell. Fucking idiots.

Angelo, lingering during his checks, watching her with those puppy dog eyes. Nico bringing her extra food, sharing stories about her father like some nostalgic old woman. Even Rocco seemed affected, softening his usual edge whenever she was around. A crew of trained killers reduced to lovesick teenagers by a pair of blue eyes and a sad smile.

But I couldn't blame them entirely. Not when I'd caught myself studying those same feeds longer than necessary, watching her pace her suite with a restless energy that made my blood heat. The way she'd press against the window at sunset, all golden hair and curves that made my mouth go dry. How she'd curl up with the few books we'd allowed her, those long legs tucked beneath her as she read. I found myself mesmerized by every little movement—the slight parting of her lips, the way she'd absently run her fingers along her collarbone, how her dress would ride up her thighs when she shifted positions.

Fuck, I'd caught myself rewinding the feeds more than once, watching her stretch after waking, her body arching in ways thathaunted my dreams. The sway of her hips when she walked, like she knew exactly what she was doing to every man who watched her. Even the simple act of her brushing her hair became a kind of torture—all that golden silk flowing through her fingers, making me imagine how it would feel wrapped around my own hand.

---