Chapter 4 : The Taste of Danger

MARCO POV

The fire in my study crackled quietly, the only sound in the vast, darkened room. I sat behind the heavy oak desk, papers and photographs spread before me, but I couldn’t focus.

Her.

Sofia Grace Wilson.

The taste and touch of her skin still lingered on my senses — the glide of her hand against mine, the way her body had fit so perfectly into my arms as we danced.

Her smile, sharp and sweet.

Her scent, haunting — rain and blood roses.

It shouldn’t have unsettled me like this.

It shouldn’t have set my blood alight like this.

I leaned back in the leather chair, my fingers drumming idly on the armrest, my eyes half-lidded, lost in the memory of her.

Familiar.

Dangerously familiar.

As if I had touched her once before — not like tonight, but somewhere darker. Somewhere wilder.

I clenched my jaw.

Who are you, Sofia Wilson?

Another spoiled noble's daughter playing at politics? No. There was something beneath her surface — something that called to the darkest part of me.

Possession stirred low in my gut. The kind of hunger that wasn’t satisfied with just a dance or a polite conversation.

I wanted more. I needed more.

I wanted to strip away the mask she wore — see what lay beneath that perfect smile.

A soft knock at the door broke my thoughts. One of my trusted men entered, dropping a thick file onto my desk without a word.

The raid.

The night everything had shifted. I opened the file, the air sharpening with cold purpose.

The little thief who had broken into her private wing — silent, precise, ruthless — had stolen something important.

A file encrypted with codes only a handful of people even knew existed. It wasn’t just a theft. It was a declaration of war.

"Sir, with the information we gathered, the thief uniform have nobility sign..", my assistant added.

I gathered some information about the theft. That little theft who's so sneakily enter my room. She must have been a fool for stealing that custom made gun which triggers the security alarm.

"Stop the investigation", I said.

"But, Sir-", I silenced him sharply and he obey.

My team had never found anything useful. I'm the one who've seen her that night. I remember everything.

Her scent. Her outfit. Her dagger. Her height. Her weight. The shape of her covered under those tight gloves.

Now I just need to get that little thief.

I scanned the black-and-white images: shadows darting across security footage, fragments of a face too well-hidden, movements too fast to catch clearly.

A ghost.

A phantom.

The little thief who stole it either an enemy or an alliance. Frustration simmered in my veins. The code was complicated — layered like a spider’s web — and time was running short.

But even as I worked, my mind wandered back to the woman in red.

Sofia.

I imagined her standing at the window of her estate, the firelight kissing her skin, her silky yet wavy brunette hair slipping from its jeweled pins.

I wondered how she would look if she let herself unravel.

Wild. Breathless. Mine.

I shook my head sharply, cursing under my breath. The thought of her turning me on like wildfire that I never understand.

Obsession was a dangerous thing. Especially when it blurred the lines between business and something far more primal.

Still...

I allowed myself one last thought before forcing my attention back to the codes.

...

SOFIA POV

After the royal banquet, I returned to the estate. The security had been tightened — guards at every corner, sharper eyes in the shadows — but it didn’t matter. Danger was something I always expected. I lived ready for it.

I stepped under the hot spray of the shower, letting the water pound against my skin, washing away the lingering perfume of silk and lies.

Amore.

I frowned, the word echoing in my mind, low and rough like a dangerous caress.

Marco Ruggiero’s voice haunted me — that moment when we danced, when his gloved hand touched mine. Even through the thin barrier of cloth, I had felt it.

The heat.

The spark.

I would never call it attraction. No, it was something far worse.

Curiosity.

And as they say, curiosity kills the cat. I hated how curious I had become about him. How invested.

After drying off, I slipped into a loose nightgown, letting my wavy hair fall freely down my back. No more tight pins digging into my scalp, no more delicate glamour. This was me — stripped back, unready, and far more satisfied.

Ding!

A message popped up on my phone. I glanced at the screen.

News articles flashed everywhere: Photos of Marco and me dancing, headlines pairing us together like some perfect, deadly match.

Perfect? No — it was a fatal dance, a dangerous pull. I had intended to scratch him with my hidden claws. Instead, I had let myself be hypnotized by him. It irritated me more than I could admit.

Caroline's message appeared:

> babe?! you and that italian guy?! what happened??

I tapped a quick reply:

> he asked for a dance so I accepted.

Short. Solid. Enough to shut down any questions I didn’t want to answer. I tossed the phone aside and headed into my study room.

Booting up my laptop, I pulled up the classified file I had been investigating — the secret weaponry project.

My stomach twisted at the sight of it.

This file wasn’t just dangerous. It was catastrophic. If leaked, it could change the world in ways I refused to imagine.

According to the anonymous intel we received, two highly influential noble families were working on a hidden project — a weapon of absolute power.

Small. Discreet. Lethal.

A single command. A single name. And someone would die — instantly, anywhere, without a trace.

And now, someone else knew about it. Someone had stolen the core research. Marco Ruggiero. The name formed like venom on my tongue.

My suspicion pointed to him — a man who played in shadows, whose influence stretched farther than the public could ever know.

If he held this weapon, there would be no stopping him. No way to protect the innocent. No way to protect myself... or Owen.

I leaned back in my chair, shutting my eyes for a moment. I couldn’t afford to let Marco’s charm — his wicked smile, his devastating touch — make me forget what he was.

A monster.

A beautiful, lethal monster.

I had to remember why I was doing all this in the first place.

Owen.

Whenever exhaustion weighed down my body and mind, the thought of my younger brother gave me strength.

I used to resent the idea of family — of siblings. But seeing Owen, dragged into this cruel world of expectation and pressure, reminded me too much of myself.

Parents who demanded perfection.

Punishments for the smallest flaws.

I had survived it.

I wouldn't let Owen suffer alone.

The first time I held his tiny hand, something inside me shifted. A quiet promise. Even if I hated everything about this life, I would fight for him.

Always.

...

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