CHAPTER 98: POISON OF HIS CHILDHOOD

Luca slammed the door shut with the back of his slipper, never breaking the steady, possessive hold he had on her waist.

Sara cupped his face, a desperate, anchoring gesture as she tried to pull back. "Luca, we have to be at work tomorrow," she murmured, her voice laced with a frantic, delightful disbelief.

"We’re taking a leave of absence," he countered. "And don’t you dare stop me now." His face sank into the warm, scented curve of her neck, planting a line of soft, searing kisses as he moved them swiftly and relentlessly toward the bed.

"Wait!" Sara pressed her palms flat against the hard muscle of his chest, a hesitant boundary. "I’ve never done anything like this before." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, a flicker of pure nerves crossing her eyes.

He didn’t pause his movement, simply smiled against her skin. "It’s alright. I’ll teach you. Even I’m charting new territory here. But tell me, you and—"

"No," Sara cut him off, a sharp shake of her head dismissing the past. "Don’t bring him up." Her cheeks flushed over her cheeks. "You were my first kiss. I was dating him, but he never... he never did anything. I mean, we didn’t go this far. God, I feel so angry all of a sudden," she confessed in a nervous, breathless rush.

Luca silenced her with a kiss that was both a demanding claim and a gentle reassurance. He captured her lips, eliciting a low, involuntary moan that vibrated deep in her throat. He teased the seam of her mouth with his tongue until she parted for him, her own tongue meeting his in a clumsy, eager thrust. The hand that had been resting on her thigh crept slowly, intentionally, beneath the hem of her skirt, and he felt her entire body shudder and melt beneath his touch.

Sara’s hands, shaking slightly, had just settled on the hem of his t-shirt. He moved then, surging forward onto his knees and peeling the shirt over his head in one pull. The next second, discarded fabric dropped to the floor.

The meager, amber light filtering from the lamp across the room was all the witness they had. It sculpted his physique in sharp relief, casting deep shadows over perfectly carved abs that were hard as steel, a taut, tanned chest, and shoulders that promised inescapable strength.

Her own hands flew up instinctively, pressing flat against the frantic rise and fall of her chest, a silent vow of resistance.

She had made a promise that no intimacy would pass between them. But the logic drained away, replaced by an undeniable desire. She didn’t question the reason; she only knew, with a sudden, desperate certainty, that she wanted him now. She wanted to feel the feverish warmth of his lips pressed against her skin.

"What are you thinking, Sara?" Luca asked as he leaned closer. "When you look at me with that gaze, it’s impossible to study anything but those eyes."

He didn’t wait for her to answer. He gently took one of her hands, drawing it toward his chest, and pressed his lips to the fragile pulse point on her wrist. The contact was electric, but brief.

"Just... admiring you," Sara whispered. Her breath hitched when his expressive eyes met hers. Then, his mouth moved, trailing a line of soft, deliberate kisses up the tender inside of her arm.

"This top," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin, "is definitely getting in the way."

Sara swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "Do I have to remove it?" The question came out as a desperate little gulp.

A faint, knowing smile played on the corner of his mouth. "Of course you do. What are you scared of, bella?" His gaze held hers. "It’s not like I haven’t seen you without a top before."

"Yeah," Sara whispered, the single word barely escaping her throat. Her gaze was fixed on him, and she instinctively worried her quivering bottom lip with her teeth as Luca gently shifted her, easing her up to a seated position.

He cupped her face between his palms, his eyes soft but intense. "We don’t have to do this tonight, Sara."

The sudden, unexpected reprieve made her heart stop. "Why?" she managed, the question laced with confusion.

"Because you’re not ready," Luca replied. He stroked his thumbs lightly over her cheeks. "And that is absolutely alright. I can wait. I respect the space you need." He leaned closer. "I want your first time with me to be blissful. A moment when you will give me everything, freely and with all your heart."

Then, lowering his hands to hers, he said, "Say that you love me and we may do it. Yeah, initially I was quite excited about everything. But after knowing that you don’t carry the same feelings as you did once, I felt I do have faults. I want to win you, Sara. I want you to love me once again."

~~~~~

Diego stood rigidly beside the gates of the Falcone Estate, his gaze fixed on the spot where he had first entered with his mother at the age of seven. Back then, he believed he had finally found a real family, a safe harbor away from his abusive biological father. The fear he initially felt approaching Adam, his stepfather, had eventually dissolved.

With time, he realized Adam was genuinely a warm, good man. Yet, a crucial difference remained: Adam loved his biological daughter, Sara, with an open, fierce devotion that was simply not extended to him and Frida. That unfair, constant comparison had been the poison of his childhood.

Holding the handle of his trolley bag so tightly his knuckles were white, he let out a low, bitter chuckle. "Sara, you always wanted me to leave this house," he muttered, the words barely audible. "It’s ironic that I’m actually leaving now, even when you’re no longer here either. Will you be happy seeing me out of this house, finally?"

His throat was parched with sudden, acute loneliness. Turning sharply, he strode toward the waiting taxi beneath the sprawling night sky. The driver efficiently loaded the trolley bag into the trunk, and Diego quickly settled into the backseat.

As the driver pulled away, Diego watched the endless passing trees of the Falcone Estate blur into a dark streak. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and opened Sara’s message inbox using a burner number. He composed a brief, heartfelt message, but paused. He simply deleted the text, cut the screen, and leaned his head back against the seat.

’Sara is also a victim of discrimination somewhere,’ he thought.

The taxi ride finally came to an end after an hour, depositing Diego at his new destination. He paid the fare and dragged the heavy trolley bag straight toward the apartment building he had bought on impulse months ago. Keying in the passcode, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Turning on the lights, he let the trolley bag drop near the couch, the only piece of furniture he had bothered to keep in the sparsely furnished space. He had never felt a need to decorate this apartment. Now, with his accounts frozen and his fortune gone, he didn’t know how he would gather all the necessary items, but he knew he had to start somewhere.

He collapsed onto the couch, unzipped the trolley bag, and pulled out the bottle of expensive scotch he’d packed alongside his clothes. He twisted the cap off and drank directly from the neck of the bottle.

The potent alcohol burned his throat, a sharp, necessary shock, but he didn’t stop until the bottle was nearly half-empty. He lowered the bottle, letting it clink heavily against the glass coffee table, and wiped his mouth roughly with the back of his palm. His exile had officially begun.

"Since Sara is the reason behind my downfall, she must pay me for all of this," Diego muttered, his voice thick with bitter resentment as the alcohol began to fuel his anger. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and then, with focused malice, recalled his stepsister’s was supposed to marry Mathias Picasso.

He grabbed his phone and searched for Mathias’s information.

A crucial detail immediately caught his attention. A dark, vicious smirk spread slowly across his lips. "I didn’t know Mathias and Luca are cousins! This is going to be fun." He slammed the bottle onto the table in a sudden burst of resolve. "Wait and watch," he vowed, his eyes glittering with cold revenge and hatred. "See how I destroy both of you, especially you, my dear stepsister."

With that, he opened Mathias contact and messaged him.

Tossing the phone to the couch, he lowered himself on it, staring blankly outside the floor-to-ceiling window visible from his side. "Since you never empathized with me, I will do the same, Sara. I will make sure you understand the pain of being left alone by everyone."