Page 34 of Tower of Temptations

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured.

"Just..." I traced my fingers along his chest, gathering courage. "I used to wonder why you hated me so much at first."

The way his body tensed made me wish I could take the words back. Behind me, Angelo went still.

"Hate's a strong word," Rocco said finally.

"But not wrong." Angelo's voice was quiet. "At least in the beginning."

I felt Rocco's sigh against my skin. "It wasn't personal."

The brothers shared one of their silent looks over my shoulder; the kind that spoke of years of shared pain.

"Our father was a good man," Rocco said, his fingers finding mine. "Too good, probably. He discovered Vittorio was running drugs through his youth centers. Using kids as runners. When he threatened to expose it..."

"I was working across town that night," Angelo breathed against my skin. "By the time I heard what was happening..."

"There's nothing you could have done," Rocco's voice was soft but firm. "We all knew how Vittorio dealt with threats to his reputation. Dad included."

My mind reeled. Vittorio had always painted himself as Providence's savior, talking endlessly about his charitable work with troubled youth. I remembered the ribbon-cutting ceremonies, the newspaper photos, his practiced speeches about giving kids a second chance. All while he was using them. Destroying them. Just like he destroyed anyone who got in his way. As he'd tried to destroy me? Not physically, perhaps, but in my mind, my soul, my freedom.

"He told everyone it was a gang hit," I whispered. "Said it proved why his youth programs were so necessary."

Rocco's laugh was bitter. "Of course he did."

"We're going to take him down," Angelo said quietly. Not a question or a request. Just a fact, as steady and certain as his heartbeat against my back.

"We should move," Rocco murmured after a while, though he made no effort to let go.

"Not yet," I whispered, pulling them both closer.

My world had shifted, truths I'd built my life around crumbling like sand. But here, between them, I could let myself fall apart just a little.

17

ENZO

The first time I really saw Pearl Salvatore, she was tied to a chair in our interrogation room, scared but defiant.

Most women would've been crying, begging for mercy. Not her. Even with her wrists bound and surrounded by seven dangerous men, she held herself like a queen. The security lights caught on that waterfall of blonde hair Vittorio was so obsessed with, but it was the fire in her eyes that had me mesmerized.

Running Sotto Voce usually kept me away from the compound, thank fuck. Because three weeks of watching her during strategy meetings was already messing with my head. I had a routine that worked—charm the socialites, seduce the bored wives who slipped their rings off at my bar, never get attached. But Pearl? She had me breaking all my rules just thinking about her.

I'd built my empire on reading people's secrets in their choice of poison. Started as a kid behind my father's bar, watching how power and desperation looked different on everyone.

These days, my club was where Providence's elite came to forget their wedding rings and their morals. The mayor himself shook my hand in public, passed envelopes under my table in private, and Giuliano's backing made sure nobody asked where the real money came from.

But none of that prepared me for how Pearl's voice hadn't trembled that first night, even with Giuliano playing bad cop with his cigarettes and intimidation routine. The way she'd calmly assessed each of us in turn, those clever eyes missing nothing.

While the others saw a pretty hostage, I saw something else: a mind as sharp as any blade and just as deadly. The kind of woman who could destroy an empire with a whispered secret, and I'd be damned if that didn't make me want her even more.

Tonight had me stuck at the compound instead of my usual spot behind Sotto Voce's bar. The basement flooding was going to take at least three days to fix, some bullshit about structural damage that had my insurance adjusters sweating. Better to handle it from here than watch contractors tear up my dance floor.

But these security rounds were their own kind of torture. No matter which route I took, I kept finding myself drawn to the security feed from her room. She was there again, like every night— one hand against the glass, eyes fixed on a sky she couldn't see through our flood lights. Her sweater had slipped off her shoulder, hair falling in waves instead of that perfect mask she usually wore like armor.

I should've walked away. Should've gotten my ass back to my office, buried myself in the headache of profit margins and contractor bullshit. Pretty girls with dangerous minds weren'tmy game—I dealt in simple pleasures at my club, the kind that ended when the sun came up and everyone went home happy.

But I caught myself watching how her fingers moved across the damn glass, tracing patterns in a sky too bright with security lights to show any stars. Hell, it dug up memories I usually kept buried: those nights spent on my father's bar roof, mapping constellations and swearing I'd make something of myself. At least back then, I could actually see the stars.

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