Chapter 22 – Fire On Glass

• The storm rolled in like a warning—gray skies tumbling over the estate as thunder cracked in the distance. The lights flickered once, then died entirely, plunging the house into velvet darkness.
• Alina froze in the hallway, her breath catching. The sudden silence that followed was worse than the thunder. No hum of electricity, no soft whirring from the security system. Just the violent rhythm of rain slapping against the windows and the ragged beat of her heart.
• She reached for the wall, fingertips grazing cold marble, searching for direction. The hall seemed longer now. Endless.
• “Teresa?” she called, voice echoing through the dark.
• No response.
• She tried the nearest door—locked. Another. Still locked. Panic started clawing its way up her throat. Her thoughts spiraled: What if something happened? What if he left her here? What if this was punishment?
• A crack of lightning illuminated the corridor for a breathless second. Then came the thunder, close and violent. Alina pressed her back to the wall, arms wrapped around herself.
• Then—footsteps. Slow. Measured. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him. The shift in the air. The familiar quiet gravity.
• “Alina,” Luciano’s voice broke through the darkness.
• She didn’t hesitate. “Don’t leave me alone.” Her voice cracked, trembling—not from fear of him, but the emptiness that surrounded her.
• He came into view, holding a dim lantern. The flickering light kissed the angles of his face—sharp cheekbones, storm-shadowed eyes. His brows furrowed as he stepped closer.
• “I won’t,” he said quietly.
• She wanted to believe him. And in that moment, she did.
• Luciano didn’t ask questions. He simply reached for her, and she didn’t resist as he lifted her into his arms. Her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her hands fisting the front of his shirt. She felt the beat of his heart—steady, grounding.
• He carried her up the stairs, not to her suite, but to the rooftop lounge. The storm howled around them, but inside the terrace room, candlelight danced on the walls—dozens of them flickering like golden ghosts.
• Alina shivered in his arms, not from cold but from how easily she had let him in.
• He set her down gently on the chaise and knelt before her. “You’re safe,” he said. “I promise.”
• Her eyes lifted to his. “I hate the dark.”
• “I know,” he murmured. “I remember.”
• She frowned. “What do you mean, you remember?”
• Luciano didn’t answer right away. He sat beside her, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. The candlelight brushed across his profile, revealing something raw in his expression—unmasked for once.
• “I watched you grow up,” he said softly. “From a distance. When you were twelve and your mother brought you to Palermo. You were… always light, even then. And I was already too far gone to deserve it.”
• Alina swallowed. Her hands curled into her lap. “Why are you telling me this?”
• “Because the silence is worse than the storm,” he said. “And I think… you need to hear the truth.”
• Alina didn’t speak. Her eyes stayed on him, wide and unreadable, lit by the soft flicker of the candles. The rain hammered against the glass, steady, like a heartbeat outside the world they’d built in this quiet rooftop cocoon.
• Luciano turned his face toward her. “You want to know the first time I realized you’d never be just a girl I’d keep safe from a distance?”
• Her pulse kicked. “When?”
• He hesitated. “Your sixteenth birthday. You wore this ridiculous yellow dress. Hated it—you kept fidgeting in it. But then you laughed. Right in the middle of your father’s dinner. Loud, unfiltered. And I knew.”
• Alina’s breath caught. “Knew what?”
• “That I couldn’t stay away forever.”
• She looked down at her hands, as if they could anchor her. “You sound like a stalker.”
• “I was,” he admitted. “I am.”
• Her head snapped up. “That doesn’t scare you to say?”
• He leaned in, voice low. “It terrifies me. But lying to you terrifies me more.”
• Silence stretched between them. Thick with history, tension, the lingering echo of a storm that had begun long before tonight.
• Her voice was barely a whisper. “You watched me like I was a painting behind glass. But now I’m not behind anything.”
• He reached forward slowly, letting his fingers brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek. His touch was reverent—careful.
• “No,” he murmured. “Now you’re fire.”
• Their eyes locked.
• Then it snapped—whatever thread they’d been balancing on gave way.
• Alina moved first. Her hand gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him toward her. His mouth found hers in the next breath—no hesitation this time, no careful slowness.
• It was a storm all its own.
• She had craved this all week, since their first kiss.
• Her lips parted, eager and soft, and he kissed her like he was trying to remember the shape of her soul. When his tongue plunged in for dominance, she lost all sense of balance. One hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb grazing her jaw. The other slid to her waist, fingers trembling as they traced the line of her spine.
• Alina gasped into his mouth when she felt his hand fist in the silk of her dress. He pulled back only an inch, eyes dark and wild.
• “Say stop,” he breathed, voice hoarse.
• She didn’t.
• Instead, her hands slid up beneath his shirt, palms flat against his skin—his back, his shoulders. His muscles tensed under her touch. She felt the quake of restraint in him, and it made her bolder.
• Luciano groaned—low, guttural—as she dragged her nails lightly down his spine. He kissed her again, deeper this time. Her fingers moved with urgency, unbuttoning his shirt. One by one.
• The candlelight caught on bare skin as the fabric slid from his shoulders.
• And still—neither of them said a word.
• Alina let her fingers explore the newly exposed skin of his chest—warm, solid, alive. She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. She let her tongue slide down to his nipple area, circling round it and finally pulling it into her mouth and gently sucked. She felt his pulse hammer against her lips. He inhaled sharply, like the touch stole air from his lungs.
• “Alina,” he rasped.
• She slid her hands down, finding the waistband of his pants, her thumbs brushing along the line of his hips. He caught her wrists gently—just for a second. Their eyes met.
• Still no words.
• He didn’t stop her.
• She leaned in again, kissed him harder this time—mouth open, breath catching, and he responded like a man unchained. His hands moved to her thighs, then under them, lifting her onto his lap in one smooth motion. She straddled him, knees on either side of his hips, silk dress bunching at her waist.
• The storm outside raged on.
• His mouth traveled to her neck, slow at first, then hungry. She arched into him, fingers tugging at his belt. His hands roamed up her back, then slid the straps of her dress down her arms. The silk fell, inch by inch, like it had been waiting for this moment too.
• She wasn’t shy.
• Not anymore.
• The dress pooled at her waist. His lips stopped just above her heart. He looked up.
• “Are you sure?”
• She nodded.
• Luciano took his time—his touch, his mouth, memorizing her. Removing her lacy bra, he lay her back gently on the rug beneath the skylight, rain trailing down the glass above them like fire falling sideways. His hands trembled when he removed what little clothing remained between them.
• She pulled him down to her—no fear, no hesitation. Just need.
• His lips moved from hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, to her neck, grazing the sensitive skin that made her pulse spike. Alina gasped, fingers scratching at his back, needing him closer, deeper.
• “Luciano…” she breathed his name like a prayer, her voice trembling as his lips hovered over her collarbone.
• He growled, a low sound that reverberated through her chest. “Say it again,” he demanded.
• “Lucieno ,” she repeated, this time with more certainty, feeling her desire flood every inch of her.
• Alina trembled under Lucieno’s touch.
• His fingers traced her waist, thumbs dragging lightly along her skin. Every breath she took came out shallower, laced with heat and disbelief — that this was happening, here, now, with him.
• He kissed her again, deeper, hungrier — like every line he’d ever drawn of her was trying to come to life in this moment. His hands moved with the precision of an artist, learning the landscape of her body by feel now, not charcoal.
• She moaned softly into his mouth as his fingers grazed her wet folds, baring her stomach to the cool air. His mouth trailed downward, lips grazing the hollow between her ribs, and she reached for him, for anything to ground herself.
• “I’ve tried to stop thinking about this,” he said between kisses, his voice rough, frayed at the edges. “But I see you in everything. You’re everywhere.”
• Her fingers tangled in his hair, gently tugging as she leaned back on the rug. “Then stop trying,” she whispered.
• “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, trailing kisses from her chest to her shoulder. “You don’t know how many lines I’ve crossed in my mind already.”
• “I know,” she whispered. “And I crossed them too. I keep dreaming about you, about this.”
• His lips brushed the inside of her thigh. He paused, eyes meeting hers, seeking some final permission.
• Alina nodded — breathless, bare in every way that mattered.
• He knelt between her knees, and everything after that was a blur of touch and heat and breathless noise. His mouth made art of her. His hands knew exactly how to draw pleasure in slow, devastating strokes. She melted under him, her body arching and hips bucking as the pressure built higher and higher until she was crying out, sliding her hands into his hair and guiding him into a thousand pieces of light and heat and reckless want.
• When he finally rose, his lips glistened, his pupils blown wide.
• “Alina….”
• She pulled him in by the neck, kissing him fiercely, tasting herself on his tongue. “Don’t stop,” she breathed. “Please.”
• Her hand slid into his hair again, and he let her guide him.
• Time blurred.
• The kiss became a furnace, burning through layers of pain, confusion, restraint. Every piece of clothing that left their bodies felt like shedding a truth they no longer needed to carry.
• He kissed every inch of her—like worship, like penance. She met him with fire, her nails digging into his shoulders, her mouth leaving trails down his chest. Their bodies moved with the chaos of the storm—urgent, greedy, helpless.
• And then—
• She paused.
• Her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers stilled on his back.
• Luciano opened his eyes, saw it in hers—the shift.
• Alina sat up, slowly, chest rising and falling with the aftermath of heat and the sudden crash of reality.
• “I—I can’t.” Her voice cracked.
• Luciano didn’t move.
• She touched his jaw, eyes searching his. “If I sleep here tonight… I won’t know who I am in the morning.”
• He didn’t try to stop her.
• She rose from the floor, pulling the black silk back over her skin. Her heart was still pounding. Her lips still swollen from him.
• As she stepped into the hallway, barefoot and dazed, she whispered without turning back—
• “That almost ruined me.”
• And the door clicked shut.