His Games

Lorenzo

The ride back to the estate feels longer than usual. The air inside the car is heavy with unspoken words, the tension thick enough to choke on. My fists rest on my thighs, the knuckles raw and stinging, a reminder of the punches I threw at Ghost. He’d laughed—laughed—while I was bleeding rage all over him. The image of his smug grin burns in my mind, stoking the fire in my chest.

He’s out of control. Unhinged. A walking disaster who lives to taunt and provoke, pushing me to the brink. And the worst part? He’s winning.

By the time we pull up to the estate, the sky has darkened, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The driver opens my door, and I step out, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat in my veins.

Inside, the estate is as pristine and imposing as ever. Everything is too polished, too perfect—a stark contrast to the chaos I just left at the docks. Men move silently through the halls, their eyes lowered, their loyalty absolute. It’s a machine, every cog working in unison, and I’m supposed to take the helm one day.

But right now, all I want is silence.

I head straight for my father’s study, knowing he’ll be waiting. He always is after a confrontation, ready to dissect my every move.

Giovanni De Luca is standing by the window when I enter, his hands clasped behind his back. He doesn’t turn, but I can feel his disapproval in the air.

“You’re late,” he says, his tone sharp.

“Traffic,” I reply flatly, knowing he doesn’t care for excuses.

He finally turns, his gray eyes piercing as they scan me from head to toe. His gaze lingers on the dried blood on my knuckles. “I assume the Moretti brat put up a fight?”

“He didn’t,” I say, my jaw tightening. “He just stood there, laughing like a lunatic.”

My father arches a brow, stepping closer. “And what did you do?”

“What you’d expect me to do.”

He nods slowly, as if approving of my answer but withholding his praise. “Ghost is dangerous,” he says, his voice low. “Not because of his power, but because he has nothing to lose. He’s reckless. A man like that can’t be reasoned with.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” His eyes narrow, and the weight of his scrutiny feels like a physical blow. “Or is he already under your skin, figlio?”

The question lands like a gut punch. He knows how Ghost gets to me, how every encounter with him leaves me feeling raw and exposed. But I won’t let him see that.

“I can handle him,” I say firmly.

Giovanni doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he turns back to the window, his silhouette framed by the faint glow of the moonlight. “You need to,” he says finally. “Because if you can’t, Ghost will destroy you—and everything we’ve built.”

“He won’t get close enough to,” I argue, my voice sharper than I intend, but the tension in the room demands it.

My father’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a sneer. “Your confidence will be your downfall,” he snaps, his tone cutting through the air like a whip. “All it takes is one reckless move from him, and everything we’ve built blows up in our faces. You have your wedding coming up. He needs watching.”

I exhale slowly, forcing the frustration back down. “He won’t get close enough to the family to cause disruptions,” I say, my tone firm but measured, as if saying it with conviction will make it true.

“You’re a fool if you believe that.” His words are cold, slicing through my defenses with ease. “He already is.”

I freeze, his statement hitting harder than I care to admit.

“The shipment was just one of his moves,” my father continues, his voice low and venomous. “He’s constantly making them, testing our patience, pushing you to react. If he keeps stepping over that line, I’ll make sure he doesn’t take another step.”

The viciousness in his tone is undeniable, and for a moment, I feel the weight of his words pressing down on me like a vice. I nod stiffly, my jaw clenched. “I understand.”

But as I leave his office, his warnings echo in my mind. Ghost isn’t just a rival. He’s a threat. One I can’t afford to let linger. And yet, no matter how hard I try to lock him out, he’s always there, finding cracks in the armor, slipping through the lines I’ve drawn.

One reckless move, my father had said. The problem is, Ghost thrives on recklessness—and it’s only a matter of time before the next move is mine.

I sit alone in my room, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. The glass of whiskey in my hand remains untouched, the amber liquid catching the dim light from the lamp. My fingers drum against the armrest of the chair, restless and agitated.

My mind drifts, unbidden, to the kiss.

I can still feel it, the heat of his mouth on mine, the way his hand had gripped the back of my neck like he was claiming me. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a declaration. Raw, reckless, and impossible to ignore.

I remember the confusion that followed, the way my stomach had twisted when I learned who he really was. Valenti Moretti. Ghost. The son of my father’s greatest rival.

That revelation had shattered everything. It turned the moments we’d shared—those stolen, secret meetings—into something tainted. I’d felt betrayed, angry, and stupid for letting myself feel anything for him.

But what makes it worse, what keeps me up at night, is the part of me that still feels it. The pull. The fire. The… want.

I close my eyes, exhaling sharply. I shouldn’t feel this way. Not about him. He’s everything I’m supposed to hate. Everything I’ve been taught to destroy.

But no matter how much I try to bury it, to suffocate it under duty and rage, it’s still there.

And Ghost knows it.

That’s why he taunts me, pushes me, drives me to the edge. He wants me to break. To give in. And the worst part?

I’m not sure how much longer I can resist.

The quiet knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I sit up straighter, tension rippling through my body. “Yes?” I call out, expecting my father’s commanding presence. Instead, the door creaks open, and Serena steps inside.

Her expression is unreadable, but there’s a stiffness in her movements as she closes the door behind her. She crosses the room with purpose, her silence louder than any words. Without a word, she climbs onto my lap, her warmth sinking into me as she lets out a heavy sigh.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my hands instinctively resting on her hips. The tension in her body is palpable, pressing into me like a physical weight.

She hesitates, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally speaks. “The Morettis took my father’s dock this morning. Claimed it was theirs now.”

My grip tightens on her hip, anger flaring hot in my chest. Fucking Ghost. The bastard didn’t say a word about this when I saw him tonight. If I’d known, I’d have hit him harder, broken something just to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“I’ll fix it,” I growl, my voice low and full of venom.

Her gaze meets mine, worry flashing in her wide, dark eyes. “But fixing it means more arguments, more conflict. You’re supposed to be avoiding Ghost as much as possible, Lorenzo. You know what being near him does. You two… being close, being in the same space—it’s a risk.”

Her words hang heavy between us, and I reach up, cupping her face in my hands. Forcing a smile, I meet her worried gaze with confidence I don’t entirely feel. “No one, and I mean no one, will touch me,” I say firmly. “Ghost may taunt, prod, and threaten, but that’s all he does. He doesn’t act. Believe me, he won’t lay a finger on me.”

She tilts her head slightly, her voice soft, uncertain. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know him,” I reply, my voice hardening. “Killing me, even hurting me, isn’t part of his plan. He thrives on torment, on messing with people’s heads. It’s what he does best. And with me?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Mental torture is his weapon of choice.”

It’s the truth. Ghost is unhinged, and I often wonder how far he’s willing to take this obsession. It’s like a game to him, one he refuses to let go of. He’s relentless, always finding ways to crawl under my skin, to remind me of things I’d rather forget.

But he needs to give it up. I’m getting married. I’m the heir to the De Luca empire. That means expectations, obligations, and above all, control. Ghost can’t touch me because I won’t let him. I’m not like him. I don’t live in chaos.

I glance at Serena, her worry etched into every delicate line of her face. “Be safe, Lorenzo,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly.

“Always,” I promise, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

She whimpers against my mouth, her arms looping around my neck, her fingers threading into my hair as she shifts closer, pressing her body against mine.

“I missed you,” she murmurs, her voice muffled as her tongue finds mine. The kiss deepens, her warmth pulling me under, and for a moment, the storm of Ghost, of everything, fades into the background.

My hands move down her body, gripping her waist and pulling her closer. Her moans are soft, intoxicating, as her hips grind against mine.

Ghost can wait. He’ll always be there, waiting to strike, waiting to pull me back into his chaos.

But right now?

Right now, I’m staying in control. And I’ll deal with him later.