Page 12 of Tower of Temptations

Because I knew—deep in my bones, I knew—this had Giuliano Barbieri's stink all over it. That arrogant pup, always trying to prove himself worthy of his father's name. Well, he was about to learn what happened when you crossed Vittorio Salvatore.

I checked my reflection one final time, straightening my tie with mechanical precision. Perfect control, perfect appearance. The mask firmly back in place.

"Time to remind everyone why they fear me," I murmured to my reflection, watching my lips curl into a smile that never reached my eyes.

As I strode through the mansion's marble halls, my men parted like waves before me. They could sense the storm coming, the violence barely contained beneath my polished exterior. Good. Fear was a valuable tool, one I'd wielded expertly since taking control of the family.

Pearl would be found. The Barbieri boy would suffer. And everyone would be reminded why crossing Vittorio Salvatore was a death sentence.

After all, I hadn't built this empire by showing mercy.

8

PEARL

Sunlight streamed through the gauzy curtains of my room at Giuliano's compound, painting everything in soft yellow hues. My fingers traced the spine of the leather journal he'd left behind after our encounter by the window.

The memory of how close he'd stood, how his eyes had darkened when I challenged him, made heat pool in my belly. But I couldn't afford to be distracted by dangerous attractions—not when I was finally starting to see clearly.

For the first time in years, I felt something awakening inside me. Yesterday, when Angelo had awkwardly asked what clothes I'd prefer, I'd surprised myself by admitting I'd always wanted to dress like Rory from Gilmore Girls—in comfortable sweaters and well-worn jeans, looking so effortlessly free. Now, wearing exactly that, I felt more like myself than I had in years.

A knock interrupted my thoughts. "Breakfast," Angelo called, followed by the electronic lock's click that reminded me exactly where I was—and why.

He entered first, carrying a tray that showcased his muscled forearms, while Rocco followed with shopping bags. The deep, earthy scent of freshly ground beans filled the room. I thought of Vittorio's big 'on the whole, proper Italians only drink espresso' thing. I pushed away the memory of his voice: "You think you're so untouchable. But you'll see. Everyone bends, Pearl. It's just a matter of time."

"Here. Hope you like pancakes," Angelo said, setting down the tray. "Wasn't sure what you usually eat."

"Well, Vittorio thinks ladies should stick to green juice and sugar-free yogurt," I said, drawn to the smell of actual food.

"That's not breakfast, that's torture." Rocco dropped the bags, pushing his long blond hair back. That's when I noticed the scar near his temple—definitely not from falling.

"How'd you get that?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"Training accident." His hand went to it automatically, something flickering in his green eyes. "Angelo here got a lucky shot in."

"Lucky?" Angelo's quiet voice held a hint of amusement. "You telegraphed that punch from a mile away."

"I was seventeen," Rocco protested, but there was something fond in his exasperation. "And you cheated."

"You can't cheat at sparring," Angelo said, arranging things on my desk. Then to me: "Our father trained us since we were kids. Said a man should know how to protect what matters."

The casual mention of their father made something shift in the air. Rocco's jaw tightened while Angelo's eyes went distant. I watched pain flash across their faces before they masked it.

"Got you some other things," Rocco continued gruffly, gesturing to the bags. "You know, girl stuff." He looked at the bags like they might jump up and bite him any second.

I peeked inside, touched to find everything I'd talked about yesterday—specific shampoo brands, hair ties, even the face cream I'd described in passing. The thoughtfulness made me smile.

The door clicked open again without warning. Giuliano stood in the threshold, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—me still in my sleep clothes, the twins hovering close, breakfast laid out like some casual morning gathering. Something dark flickered across his face.

"Don't let me interrupt," he said, voice carrying an edge that made both twins straighten imperceptibly.

"We were just leaving," Angelo said quickly, already moving toward the door. Rocco followed, but not before I caught the knowing look he shot his brother.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft click of the door. Giuliano didn't move from the threshold, but his presence seemed to fill the entire space. I fought the urge to fidget under his sharp gaze.

"Settling in, I see," he finally said, eyes falling on the journal he'd given me. Something in his voice made me wonder if he'd watched me writing in it late last night.

"The books help." I gestured to the growing collection on my nightstand, trying to ignore how my skin tingled under his stare. "Though I have questions about this place."

---