Mel woke up the next morning in a bedroom that was strange to her .
A moment of confusion, but then memory flooded back.
...Flashback...
As she fell asleep in his embrace, Lucas walked upstairs, trying his best not to disturb her. Gently, as if she were fragile, he placed her on the bed. But instead of going away, he held her in his embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around her. This silence was peaceful, and Lucas found himself dozing off beside her
..Returning to the present..
Now awake, Mel reached out instinctively but found no one on the other side of the bed.
She frowned slightly before pushing herself up to go downstairs.
As she was descending, she heard voices.
The living room was where Lucas was now, holding a mug of coffee in his hand, his stance tense, his jaw locked. Across from him was Mr. Santos—the same man whose calls he had not taken the previous night. Evidently, rejection was not in Mr. Santos's vocabulary, as he chose to appear in person despite not being granted an audience the previous night.
It seemed, judging by the tension in the air, that Lucas was far from happy.
Mel quietly entered the room, taking it all in. Ignoring the other man's presence in the room, she walked over and sat down beside Lucas on the couch. She leaned forward and placed her hands around his.
His fingers instinctively tightened around hers.
"Alessandro," she said softly, her voice a little raspy from sleep, "I'm hungry… and my head still hurts."
The effect was instantaneous.
Lucas's shoulders eased only minutely, his anger dissipating as he turned his complete attention to her, as if he.
Mr. Santos, already angered with the presence of Mel and the interruption of the conversation between he and Lucas, suddenly lashed out.
"A woman should never be allowed to interrupt business," he said tartly. "Let alone a whore."
"Don't you think, Don Lucas?"
It felt like the world stood still for a heartbeat.
The guards standing around the living area looked at each other, their faces ranging from ones of utter surprise to ones of terror. Every single one of them knew what was waiting for the man who just so happened to cross the line that was not forgivable.
But Lucas's patience, so dearly earned and so long maintained.
He turned deliberately, his eyes coldly pinning Mr. Santos in a stare that seemed lethal. His voice, when he spoke, was calm—honestly terrifying.
"Leave," Lucas said calmly.
And await your punishment. In his voice, there was no anger. Only certainty.
And in this instant, Mr. Santos realized—far too late—that he had just condemned himself.
---
Mel moved instinctively closer to Lucas, her fingers clenching his hand as she attempted to reassure him. However, Mr. Santos, who was also being escorted out, had no intention of going quietly.
"Ha ha ha," he laughed—a short, arrogant laugh—and turned
"What kind of hold does this tart have on you," he sneered, "for you to lose it like that? She's just a plaything. Something to use…and discard."
He turned on his heel, smug and self-satisfied.
The sound that came was like a bolt of lightning in the room.
A gunshot.
Mr. Santos let out a shriek as he fell to the ground, holding his leg in pain. Chaos ensued momentarily. The guards reacted instinctively, dragging him away as his cries reverberated through the corridor.
Mel froze.
Slowly, she turned to Lucas, her eyes wide with shock—not fear of him, but fear for him.
"You didn't have to do that," she said, her voice trembling as she reached out to touch his arm. "You already told him to wait for his punishment. You should. you should work on controlling your temper, Lucas," she said.
There was no accusation in her voice. Only disappointment.
Then she backed away
Saying nothing more, she turned and headed out of the room, forgetting completely why she had come downstairs in the first place. The sound of her footsteps quickly receded as she went back upstairs, leaving nothing but silence behind-and a man who was suddenly feeling very much alone in his own home.
He stood there, indecisive.
She had been curled against him just moments before, warm and soft, clinging to him like a child seeking comfort. Now she was distant-hurt, angry, slipping through his fingers.
"Fuck," he muttered. "What am I going to do?
He yanked out his cell phone and dialed Jude without a second thought.
"Finish it," he said coldly. "Mr. Santos doesn't leave here alive."
The call ends.
Lucas ran a hand through his hair and went upstairs.
Mel lay in the tub, bathed in warm water, her eyes closed to block out what little light danced across the surface. She let the heat soothe the muscles of her body and felt the world was distant-quiet, faraway, safe.
Lucas pushed open the bedroom door, his pulse thrumming with regret and resolve, as he paced the room, thinking of how to say it just right—apologies wouldn't suffice; he had to prove to Mel that every single word of his apology was true. Gathering resolution, Lucas drew near the bathroom and creaked open.
Lucas stepped inside. And the space between with mist curling out as if offering a promise. "Fuck, don't fucking think about that right now—get in there for her apology," he told himself, turning the handle to enter.
The damp air enveloped him, filled with the smell of lavender soap and an earthier, more primal odor. Mel relaxed in the giant tub, water steaming gently around her, her arms crossed over her chest in a hasty attempt to cover herself. Bubbles clung to her skin, barely hiding the shape of her hips and the glow of her tattoo running along her side. Her eyes flashed to him, shocked with embarrassment as she splashed water to cover her breasts and the dark region between her legs. 'Lucas! What the hell? Get out!'
So, he clicked the door shut behind him with finality and closed the distance to the tub, dropping to his knees at the side of the tub.
They locked gazes. 'Amore, I'm sorry,' he spoke in a hoarse apology. 'I shouldn't have acted like I did in the other room. I apologize. I'll behave from now on. I promise.'
Mel's reserved features softened, and a glint of hope darted through her eyes. The tension in her shoulders abated, and she suddenly extended her arms, splashing through the water's surface tension to reach for him. She wrapped him tightly in a hug, her bare flesh meeting his clothed chest—water-slicked epidermis gliding over soaked fabric, her nipple tips flicking against his shirt. Then, for a fleeting moment, the fragile quality disappeared as they were enveloped in the warm glow of forgiveness. The moment his arms wrapped around her, she momentarily stopped as the truth struck her—she was naked.
Lucas's mouth seized hers in a hard kiss, all the unspoken hunger rushing forward. His lips roamed ravenously, opening hers wide to delve deeper, his tongue sliding in to mix with hers. The kiss intensified like thunder, with every shared breath becoming more passionate, his hands sliding down her slickskin to grasp her thighs underneath the water, his thumbs pressing into the tender flesh. The kiss left Mel dizzy, lust battling with embarrassment. She pushed back from Lucas, sucking in air, pushing his shoulders with both hands.
'Wait, Lucas, I can't. this is too much,' she stuttered, embarrassment muddling her words.
He did not back down. With a determined gleam in his gaze, he pulled off his shirt, his muscles flexing as he plunged into the tub, water spilling over the edge. The warmth seeped through his trunks in a heartbeat, but he did not relent, his hand cupping her face as the other covered her mouth to muffle her cries. "Let me make it right," he growled, his thumb following the line of her jaw.