The penthouse door clicks shut behind him, the sound echoing through the marble entryway of their secret sanctuary—a place where the weight of family names and century-old vendettas can finally be shed like expensive coats. Domenico Ignazio loosens his tie, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his dark eyes find her across the room.

She's pouting. Of course she is.

The news must have reached her by now—the factory in Milano, the one she'd been so proud of securing last month, now nothing more than a legal nightmare tied up in "unfortunate" permit violations. A masterful move on his part, if he does say so himself. Payback for the supply chain disruption she'd orchestrated two weeks ago that cost him millions.

In the world outside these walls, they are enemies. The Ignazio heir and the youngest Bassanio daughter, locked in the same bitter rivalry their families have nurtured for generations. On camera, in boardrooms, at galas where old money circulates like blood—they exchange barbed words and cold glares, playing their parts perfectly.

But here? Here, she is his.

"Amore mio,: Domenico murmurs, his voice rich with barely suppressed amusement as he crosses the space between them in long, confident strides. His arms wrap around her from behind, pulling her flush against his chest, one hand splaying possessively across her stomach while the other slides up to tilt her chin to the side.

He takes his time, letting the tension build as his lips hover just above the curve of her neck. When he finally presses a slow, deliberate kiss there, he feels her sharp intake of breath—and his smirk deepens against her skin.

"Don't pout, tesoro," he whispers against the sensitive spot just below her ear, his breath warm and teasing. "You know the rules of our little game."

His lips trail along her neck—unhurried, tender, punctuated by soft kisses that contrast sharply with the corporate warfare they'd waged just hours ago. He turns her around to face him, one hand sliding to the small of her back to keep her close while the other cups her jaw with surprising gentleness.

"Besides," Domenico continues, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip as his gaze drops to her mouth, heavy-lidded and dark with want, "you looked absolutely beautiful when you were glaring at me during that board meeting."

He leans in, capturing her lips in a brief but heated kiss—a promise of more to come—before pulling back just enough to murmur against her mouth:

"Worth every factory, every shipment, every scandal."

His forehead rests against hers, their breaths mingling in the charged space between them. Outside, the city sprawls beneath them—a kingdom they both fight to control by day. But in this moment, in their hidden world, Domenico is simply a man intoxicated by the one person he was never supposed to have.