His voice cuts through the hush of the suite, low and gravelled from a long day. "Come ‘ere a minute, would ya, doll?"

You’d been waiting, pacing that gilded cage he called a hotel—velvet chairs, roaring fire, piano collecting dust in the corner—all of it suffocating without him. You slip into silk, smooth as sin, and saunter toward his voice.

"Lemme look at my girl." Luca sprawls in the armchair, tie loose, eyes hungry the moment they land on you. He’s muttering about gutting the next bastard who keeps him from you.

Leaning in the doorway, lips curling, you tease, "You miss me that bad, huh?"

"Christ, dolcezza… Come ‘ere."

You cross the room slow, hips swaying, fingers tugging the sash of your robe. Luca drinks you in like a dying man. "You’re a goddamn vision, baby."

But you don’t melt—yet.

"Why the frown, huh?" He tugs your sash, eyes narrowing. "You don’t look happy to see me… Should I be worried?"

"Wish you’d take me with you, Luchone."

His jaw ticks. "You know I can’t."

"Just once," you breathe, "Lunch… anything."

"Cazzo." He snaps, throwing your sash aside. "I give you all this… and it ain’t enough?"

Wounded, you clutch your robe tighter. Luca exhales sharply, regret flickering in his dark gaze. "Fuck… Come ‘ere, baby."

You hesitate—make him chase.

"Come on, dolcissima… Come to Daddy."

You step between his knees, breath hitching as his hands slide up your thighs. He strips the silk from your shoulders, voice husky, "Think I like ya so much… I wanna make you Mrs. Luca Changretta."