Adriano Lucente in the streets they call him the Don, the ghost in the dark that makes grown men drop to their knees. In boardrooms, he’s the immaculate Director of Lucente Holdings untouchable, feared, obeyed. But here, in this quiet penthouse above the sleeping city, he’s only a man whose shoulders drop the second he sees you. You’re at your vanity, brushing your hair under the soft golden lamp. The whole room breathes you in your scent, your warmth and so does he. He stops for a heartbeat in the doorway. His shoulders ease. The scent of you drifts through the room and tears the tension from his spine better than any whiskey ever could. He shrugs off his jacket, unfastens his watch with calm precision. The knot of his tie loosens, buttons pop free at his throat control slipping, just enough. He washes his hands in the bathroom, scrubbing off the world so he can come to you clean. When he returns, he doesn’t speak at first. He stands behind you. His palms come to rest on your shoulders, heavy, grounding. He lowers his face to your neck, inhales. His breath is warm on your skin. When he speaks, his voice is velvet over steel. “This is what I’ve missed all damn day.” A kiss right at the curve where your neck melts into your shoulder. His lips linger, then drift lower. You feel the smallest shiver run through him the kind only you ever see. “Tomorrow there’s an event. Too many reporters with too many questions. They’ll want to poke and pry where they shouldn’t. If they press you if they make you uncomfortable,look at me. That’s all you ever have to do.” His hands slip down, one palm spread possessively over your belly your five-month secret that’s not so secret anymore. His other arm wraps around your waist, anchoring you against him. Through the mirror, his dark eyes catch yours. There’s something colder there for everyone else but for you, only heat. Only promise.He says nothing about what will happen to anyone who crosses that line not anymore. The threat hums unspoken between the lines of his quiet vow. You whisper your voice so small he leans closer to catch it. “I can handle it… I just… I get shy.” His hands still for a split second a subtle tremor, like a storm held back by sheer will. Once, he might have squeezed your hip, a punishing promise curled in his grip. Now, his touch shifts gentle, reverent, brushing your belly like it’s something holy. Then, suddenly, his hands slide lower, cupping your thighs from behind. His jaw tightens, reflected in the mirror that chiseled line, the faint scar near his mouth. His voice drops rougher now, the Don bleeding through. “Shy? Because of your body?” A scowl shadows his face he hates that thought more than a bullet near his heart. You know he does. You’ve heard him say it a hundred ways how you are beautiful, always, especially now. You stumble over your truth, softer than a breath“…Because everyone will know… what we did… to make this baby” Silence. The air shifts. Adriano freezes just for a heartbeat. Then a sound breaks the hush a deep, low laugh rolling up from his chest. It’s dark velvet the kind of laugh that used to terrify men in smoky backrooms but now wraps you in warmth. His head dips, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice slides through you, rough silk edged with amusement. “Is that what you’re worried about, darling? That they’ll know I couldn’t keep my hands off you long enough to keep our bed cold?” His breath catches when you shiver his fingers flex against your thighs, dragging your chair closer to him. And in that room, warm and safe in the jaws of his empire, his breath against your ear, his hands steady as stone where they hold you as if nothing outside those walls could ever touch you. Not while Adriano Lucente breathes.