I heard the door creak open and for a moment, my breath went still. He's here. Bruno.
I didn't have to look up to feel his presence. His commanding energy filled the room, making the space seem smaller, more suffocating.
I stood up from the bed, trying to steady the trembling in my hands. I can't let him see it. I can't let him know just how terrified I am, not of him exactly, but of what I have to do. I have no choice. Mrs. Alfonzo's words were ringing in my head like a haunting echo.
"Do it, or she will make sure you regret the day you set foot in this house" I told myself.
I have to distract him. Keep him from asking too many questions. But how?
His eyes, those dark, penetrating eyes, fixed on me. I could feel the weight of his stare as it traveled across my face, searching for something, maybe a crack in my mask.
"Why was my mother in your room?" Bruno's voice was as cold as ever, but there was an underlying suspicion in his tone that made me want to recoil.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening.
"She was... She came to talk about some arrangements for the week. Nothing important." The lie sliped out easily.
His expression didn't change, though I see his jaw tighten. He stepped closer, the leather of his shoes barely making a sound on the hardwood floor.
He's close now, too close. I could smell the faint trace of his cologne, the scent that always seems to linger even after he's left a room.
"She doesn't usually concern herself with trivial matters," he said slowly, as if testing me, daring me to contradict him.
I smiled, at least, I tried to. But my heart was pounding so loudly in my chest I'm afraid he can hear it. I glanced down for a second, trying to collect myself. Then, without thinking, I take a step forward, closing the distance between us.
My body brushed lightly against his, and for the briefest moment, I felt him tense. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I know one thing for sure—I have to keep him off balance. I needed to redirect his focus, make him forget the questions he's asking.
"I don't want to talk about your mother, Bruno," I whispered, letting my fingers trail lightly over his arm. "I'm tired of talking." I made sure voice is soft, seductive, though I couldn't fully disguise the nervous tremble beneath it.
His gaze narrows, confusion flickering in those dark eyes of his. He's trying to read me, figure out what I'm doing, and for a moment, I think I might've made a mistake. But then, something shifted in him. I saw it—the briefest flicker of uncertainty, of desire.
"Maria," he said, his voice rougher now, more hesitant. "What are you—"
I cut him off by placing a finger to his lips.
"Shh. Just… let me."
His lips were warm beneath my touch, and my pulse quickened. I could feel the heat radiating off his body as I pressed closer, my hand sliding up to his chest. His heart was beating as fast as mine, but he stayed still, watching me with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified me.
My fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, and I fumbled slightly, my hands shaking. He grabbed my wrist, and for a moment, I was afraid he's going to push me away. But instead, he just held me there, looking down at me with a mixture of confusion and something darker.
"What are you trying to do?" His voice was husky, but there's an edge of suspicion in it.
His grip tightened on my wrist, and I could feel the raw strength in his hand, reminding me of the power he holds over me.
I met his gaze, summoning all the courage I could muster.
"I want you, Bruno," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
It's a lie, but one I need him to believe. He has to believe it, or I'm done for.
His eyes searched mine, and I saw the battle raging inside him.
"I don't believe you," he said after a moment, though his voice sounded less certain than before.
I didn't answer. Instead, I let my actions speak.
I leaned up, pressing my lips to his, soft at first, tentative. He doesn't kiss me back, not right away. He's still tense, still trying to figure out what I'm playing at. But I don't give him time to think. I deepened the kiss, my hands sliding up to his neck, pulling him closer, pressing my body against his.
And then, he gave in. His hands moved to my waist, gripping me tightly as he kissed me back, the initial hesitation melting away.
His kiss is demanding, almost punishing, as if he's trying to take control of the situation, to regain the upper hand. But I won't let him. Not this time.
I pulled away just enough to speak, my lips brushing against his as I whispered,
"Let me, Bruno. Just this once."
He hesitates, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling beneath my hands. I could feel the conflict in him, the part of him that wants to pull away, to resist, and the part of him that's giving in to the desire that's been simmering between us.
"What are you hiding from me, Maria?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
His hands tightened on my waist, holding me in place, as if he's afraid I'll slip away before he gets the answers he wants.
But I can't answer him. I won't. Instead, I leaned in again, pressing another kiss to his lips, softer this time, more tender. It's a silent plea—a distraction. I needed him to stop asking questions. I needed him to lose himself in this, just for a little while.
And it worked. I felt the tension slowly drain from his body as he kissed me back, more urgently now. His hands moved up my back, pulling me closer, and I let myself melt into him, even as my mind raced with the weight of what I'm doing.
I couldn't think about Mrs. Alfonzo right now, or what she expected of me. I couldn't think about the fact that I'm betraying myself. All I could focus on was the way his lips felt against mine, the way his hands gripped me as if I'm the only thing grounding him.
For a moment, I let myself believe it's real. The way he touched me, the way he kissed me—like he needed me. Like I'm not just a pawn in this twisted game his family has dragged me into. But deep down, I know better. This is all a charade. A necessary deception.
His hand moved to my hair, tangling in the dark strands as he deepened the kiss, his control slipping further. And I let him. I let him think he's the one in control, even as I guide him, pulling him deeper into the web I've been forced to weave.
"Maria," he breathed against my lips, his voice thick with desire.
For a moment, I almost forgot why I'm doing this. For a moment, I almost want it to be real.
But it isn't.
It never will be.