__________________ BLOOM

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AQYILA ____________________

The moment we arrived, the salty Mediterranean breeze wrapped around me, warm and thick, carrying the scent of citrus and the sea. The Amalfi Coast was nothing short of breathtaking—pastel-colored buildings stacked against the cliffs, waves glittering under the afternoon sun, and narrow cobblestone streets weaving through the town like veins. It was the kind of place people put on postcards, but even those didn't do it justice.

Antonio's family had arranged for our arrival to be as smooth as possible. Cars were already waiting at the private airstrip, staff handling our luggage with the kind of efficiency that came with old money and even older power.

I stepped out of the sleek black car, slipping my sunglasses down as I took in the sprawling villa ahead of us. White stucco walls, terracotta rooftops, and balconies overflowing with flowers. It was massive, the kind of estate that had probably been in the family for generations.

Antonio's mother was already waiting at the entrance, looking effortlessly elegant in a linen dress, her dark hair pinned back in a way that only made her look more intimidating.

"Celine," she greeted, kissing both of my cheeks in true Italian fashion. "Welcome."

I smiled politely. "Thank you for having us."

Antonio's brothers were close behind, already pulling him into conversation, while the rest of his relatives filtered in, greeting us, asking about the flight, commenting on how it had been so long since Antonio had brought a woman on a trip.

I could tell he was already done with the attention, his grip on my waist tightening slightly as he steered us through the crowd.

Then, his mother clapped her hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, enough talk! You've all had your reunions. Let them settle in."

I exhaled, relieved, until she smiled sweetly. "Your villa is already prepared. It's a short drive away, separate from the main house. We thought you two would appreciate privacy."

I narrowed my eyes. Privacy.

Antonio's jaw twitched. "You're exiling us."

His mother gave him a knowing look. "I'm doing you a favor."

Antonio sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fine. Let's go."

A sleek black car pulled up again, and before I could argue, I was being ushered inside.

The villa was insane.

Perched right on the cliffs, it had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the sea, a private infinity pool, and a terrace with an outdoor dining area draped in fairy lights. The interior was modern but warm—neutral tones, plush furniture, and marble floors that felt cool beneath my bare feet as I walked inside.

I turned to Antonio, arms crossed. "So. They put us in timeout."

He scoffed, tossing his sunglasses onto a nearby table. "They put us in isolation."

I smirked, running my fingers along the sleek countertop in the open kitchen. "It's actually kind of romantic."

Antonio eyed me. "You would say that."

I walked over to him, looping my arms around his neck. "Papi, we have a villa with a private pool, a view straight out of a dream, and no one to bother us. Are you really complaining?"

His hands settled on my waist, fingers pressing into my skin. "You're enjoying this too much."

I grinned, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him slowly, dragging it out just to see him lose his patience.

I pulled away just enough to tease him, my lips barely brushing against his. Antonio's grip tightened at my waist, his patience running dangerously thin. I knew that look—the one where he was deciding between letting me go and pinning me against the nearest surface.

I smirked, running a finger down his chest. "Still think this is exile, Papi?"

His hands flexed before he exhaled sharply, releasing me with a shake of his head. "You're impossible."

I grinned, stepping back and taking in our surroundings again. The villa was quiet, secluded, and ours. The sea stretched endlessly beyond the terrace, the sun casting golden light over the water. Even with Antonio's family nearby, this place felt like a world of its own.

I kicked off my sandals, walking toward the glass doors that led to the private terrace. Pushing them open, I stepped outside, the warm Italian air wrapping around me. The pool shimmered under the sunlight, and beyond it, the coastline curved in breathtaking waves of cliffs and hidden beaches.

Antonio followed me out, standing at my side.

"They really don't want us near them," I mused, leaning against the railing.

His hand brushed against mine before he intertwined our fingers. "They just don't want to hear you screaming my name."

I gasped, shoving him playfully, but he only chuckled, his grip on my hand firm as he pulled me back into him. His lips brushed my temple, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The sound of the waves crashing below filled the silence.

Then, I sighed dramatically. "Well, if we're going to be stuck here, I need to unpack."

Antonio made a noise in the back of his throat—something between amusement and mild suffering.

I turned, walking back inside, already making a mental note of which outfits I wanted to wear first. But before I could even reach my suitcase, I felt Antonio's presence behind me. His hands slid to my hips, fingers skimming my bare skin where my top had lifted slightly.

I shivered.

"You can unpack later," he murmured, lips grazing my shoulder.

I turned my head slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet.

"You have something better in mind?"

His smirk was slow, lazy, dangerous.

And just like that, I forgot all about my suitcase.

I lay tangled in the sheets, my body still humming from the aftershocks of Antonio's touch. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across his tanned skin. His arm was draped over my waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my hip as he stared at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

I shifted, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him. "What are you thinking about?"

He glanced at me, a smirk playing at his lips. "How you're going to be the death of me."

I grinned. "And yet, you keep coming back for more."

His fingers trailed up my spine, making me shiver. "I'd rather die in your arms than anywhere else."

My heart stuttered at the way he said it—casual, like it was simply the truth.

I let my fingers brush over his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos. "You're not dying anytime soon, Antonio."

His gaze softened, something unspoken passing between us before he leaned in, brushing his lips against my forehead.

I closed my eyes, sinking into the quiet moment. It was rare for us to just be like this—no distractions, no responsibilities, no outside world pulling us apart. Just the sound of our breathing, the warmth of our skin pressed together, the unspoken promise lingering between us.

Then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

We both froze.

A familiar voice rang from the other side of the door. "Antonio, tesoro, apri la porta."

Antonio groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Of course."

I bit back a laugh, burying my face in his shoulder. "Your mom has amazing timing."

Another knock, sharper this time. "I know you're in there."

Antonio exhaled heavily, his fingers running through his hair before he sat up. "She's not going to leave."

I stretched, reaching for the robe on the floor and slipping it over my shoulders. "Better you answer before she breaks the door down."

He shot me a flat look but got out of bed, grabbing his sweatpants and pulling them on before heading for the door.

As he opened it, his mother swept past him like a storm, taking one glance at the unmade bed, my flushed skin, and Antonio's shirtless state before sighing dramatically.

"Dio mio. You two are like animals."

Antonio shut the door behind her. "What do you want, Mamma?"

She crossed her arms. "We're having dinner as a family tonight. No excuses." Her gaze flicked to me, and she smiled knowingly. "Celine, cara, I expect you to be there as well. No distracting my son."

I held back a laugh, nodding. "Of course, Mamma."

Antonio groaned. "We'll be there."

His mother patted his cheek before turning back toward the door. "Good. And maybe air out this room, sì?"

With that, she left, leaving Antonio standing there, exasperated.

I fell back into the pillows, laughing. "You heard the woman. Family dinner."

Antonio muttered a curse under his breath before climbing back into bed, pulling me against him with a sigh. "I should've never agreed to this trip."

I smirked, kissing his jaw. "Too late now, Papi."

I stretched against Antonio's warmth for a few more seconds before sighing and pulling away. As much as I wanted to stay tangled up in him, I knew his mother wasn't going to let us hide in here forever.

Sliding out of bed, I wrapped a sheet around myself and padded over to the massive closet that had already been stocked with my things—courtesy of CRO4L, who had insisted on helping me pack.

The second I stepped inside, Antonio let out a low groan from the bed.

"Cazzo, Celine. What the hell is this?"

I glanced back at him over my shoulder, smirking as his gaze swept over the mess. Clothes were draped over every available surface, shoes scattered across the floor, makeup bags half-open with products spilling onto the vanity. A few dresses were still hanging where I'd left them, but most of my outfits were in complete disarray.

"It's organized," I said defensively.

Antonio sat up, rubbing a hand down his face like he was questioning all his life choices. "This looks like a damn crime scene."

I rolled my eyes. "It's organized in my own way."

He scoffed, swinging his legs over the bed and standing up. "There is no 'way' to this. This is chaos."

I waved him off, stepping over a pair of strappy heels as I searched for an outfit. "You just don't understand my system."

"What system?" he deadpanned, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

I shot him a look. "The one in my head."

He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering something about 'marrying a hurricane,' but I ignored him, focused on finding something to wear.

"Just get dressed before my mother storms in here herself," he finally sighed.

I smirked. "Wouldn't want to scar her, huh?"

He gave me a flat look. "Celine."

Laughing, I grabbed a silk dress and started changing, still stepping over the mess like it was second nature. Antonio, however, just stood there, looking personally offended by the disaster zone I'd created.

By the time I finished getting ready—without Antonio's help, because if I let him, we wouldn't have made it out of the villa—we stepped out into the warm Amalfi evening. The scent of saltwater and citrus clung to the air, mixing with the distant hum of music drifting from the terrace where dinner was set up.

Antonio's hand rested low on my back as we approached, his touch possessive but casual, like a silent reminder that I was his, no matter how many watchful eyes were on us.

The long table was already filled with his family. His mother sat at the head, regal as ever, while Alessandro lounged with a drink in hand, half paying attention to whatever story one of their uncles was telling. The spread before them was a feast—fresh seafood, handmade pasta, antipasti plates loaded with olives, cheeses, and cured meats. A massive platter of grilled branzino sat at the center, glistening under the soft glow of candlelight.

I barely had time to take it all in before Antonio's mother lifted her gaze and smiled, though something about it felt too pleased.

"There you are," she said smoothly. "We were starting to think you two got lost."

Alessandro snorted. "Lost? More like occupied."

Antonio shot him a look before pulling out a chair for me. "We're here now. That's what matters."

I slid into my seat, ignoring the amused glances being exchanged around the table. The second Antonio sat beside me, a waiter appeared, pouring us each a glass of wine before setting down a plate of burrata drizzled in olive oil.

Antonio's mother took a delicate sip of her drink before eyeing me with that same sharp gaze. "Celine, cara, how are you enjoying the trip so far?"

I smiled, playing along. "It's beautiful. The villa is stunning, and the food—" I gestured toward the table. "Incredible."

Alessandro leaned in, smirking. "And yet, you two barely leave your quarters."

I sipped my wine. "We're adjusting."

A few chuckles broke out around the table. Antonio's fingers brushed over my thigh under the table in silent warning, but I only smirked, popping an olive into my mouth.

His mother gave me a knowing look but said nothing, instead signaling for another course to be brought out. Conversation carried on, shifting between family business and casual topics—summer plans, investments, the latest political gossip.

At some point, Antonio's uncle gestured toward me with his glass. "So, Celine, are you keeping my nephew in check? Or is he as impossible at home as he is in the boardroom?"

Antonio scoffed, reaching for his drink. "She's worse than me."

I feigned offense. "Worse?"

Alessandro laughed. "He means you don't take his shit."

I smiled sweetly. "Of course not."

Antonio shot me a side glance, but I only took another slow sip of my wine, enjoying the way the conversation flowed around us. For once, it wasn't about deals or power plays. It was family, in the way that only a family like this could be.

And for now, that was enough.

Dinner stretched long into the night, the conversation effortless, the wine flowing just as freely. Every time my glass emptied, someone refilled it before I could even think to decline. Not that I would—the deep red tasted too good, smooth and rich, warming my veins with every sip.

Antonio's hand rested on my thigh under the table, his thumb brushing lazily against my skin in slow, deliberate strokes. He wasn't drinking as much, too busy keeping a watchful eye on me, but he never stopped me either. Which was how I knew I was probably pushing my luck.

Across the table, Alessandro poured himself another glass, watching me with amusement. "You're keeping up better than I thought, bella."

I lifted my chin, grinning. "You underestimate me."

Antonio hummed. "She's going to regret this in the morning."

I waved him off. "Future me problem."

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh but held it back. "I'm not carrying you back."

"You love carrying me," I countered, taking another sip.

His mother—who had been casually observing this entire exchange—tilted her head, smirking just enough to make me suspicious. "If you're going to keep drinking like that, Celine, you should at least dance it off."

My brows lifted. "Is that an invitation?"

She merely lifted a hand, and as if on cue, someone switched the music from soft dinner ambiance to something more lively—something with rhythm, deep bass, and the kind of melody that made you want to move.

Alessandro smirked. "I would dance with you, bella, but Antonio might kill me."

Antonio leaned back in his chair, voice dry. "Might?"

I barely heard them. The music had already hooked into me, tugging at something deep in my chest. I stood, smoothing my dress, and pointed at Antonio. "Come dance with me."

He exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "No."

"Papi," I coaxed, dragging out the word. "Don't make me dance with Alessandro instead."

That got him.

His jaw twitched, and before I could so much as blink, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me down onto his lap instead. His breath was warm against my ear. "I don't share, tesoro."

A shiver ran through me. But I still wanted to dance.

So I kissed his jaw, whispering, "Then prove it."

And just like that, he let me go, standing up and tugging me toward the open space near the terrace.

The music was intoxicating, the air thick with summer heat and the lingering scent of wine. I swayed to the rhythm, letting the melody dictate my movements. Antonio stood in front of me, not touching me, just watching—his gaze dark, unreadable, like he was letting me get away with something.

I turned my back to him, pressing into his chest as I moved, rolling my hips against him just to feel his hands snap to my waist, fingers digging in. His breath was harsh against my neck, and for a second, I thought he might drag me away from the party altogether.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured against my ear.

I grinned, tilting my head back against his shoulder. "And you love it."

His grip tightened. "You'll regret this tomorrow."

"I told you," I hummed, still moving, still teasing. "Future me problem."

Antonio's family watched with varying levels of amusement, but I barely noticed. The music was all I cared about—the way the night wrapped around us, the way Antonio held me firm against him, like he was this close to losing his restraint.

The wine had officially gone to my head, but I didn't care.

I just wanted to dance.

The night blurred at the edges, colors too bright, music too loud, laughter bubbling out of me without control. The wine had done its job—I was tipsy at first, then drunk, and now? Now I was somewhere between reckless and untouchable, floating in the warm haze of the Amalfi night.

Antonio had stopped drinking an hour ago, his hand never leaving me, his voice slipping between amusement and warning as I kept reaching for my refilled glass.

"Tesoro, you're done," he murmured, taking the wine from my hand before I could protest.

I pouted, leaning heavily into his side. "You always do this."

He sighed, long-suffering, before shifting to lift me effortlessly into his arms. The motion made me giggle, my head falling against his shoulder. "See?" I slurred. "You love carrying me."

Antonio said nothing, but I could feel his smirk against my temple. His grip was firm as he carried me through the dimly lit pathways, away from his family, away from the dinner and the music, toward the private villa they had exiled us to.

I nuzzled against his neck, sighing dramatically. "You're so hot when you're annoyed."

Antonio chuckled, low and deep, but didn't respond.

The moment he stepped inside the villa, I slid from his arms with surprising ease, swaying only slightly before turning to face him with a mischievous grin.

"Celine—"

I didn't let him finish.

Instead, I reached for the zipper of my dress, dragging it down my spine with slow, deliberate movements. Antonio's gaze darkened instantly, his jaw tensing as he watched fabric slip from my shoulders, then down my arms, before pooling at my feet.

I stood before him, completely bare, emboldened by alcohol and the warm air wrapping around me like a second skin.

Antonio's expression was unreadable, but his hands curled into fists at his sides, his restraint a tangible thing between us.

I took a step back. Then another.

And then I ran.

Straight past the villa's terrace, past the lantern-lit pathways, toward the beach. The sand was cool against my feet as I laughed, breathless, the sound carrying into the night as I sprinted toward the dark, endless waves.

"Celine."

Antonio's voice was sharp, almost a growl, but I ignored it.

I waded into the water without hesitation, sighing as the cool waves lapped at my skin. The ocean stretched infinitely before me, moonlight shimmering across the surface like scattered diamonds.

I turned, arms outstretched, the salt air tangling in my hair as I grinned at Antonio, who had stopped at the shoreline, hands on his hips, looking both livid and—dare I say—impressed.

"Come on, Papi," I called, my voice dripping with intoxicated mischief. "Live a little."

His brows lifted. "You're insane."

I smirked. "You married me."

Antonio exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath—something that sounded a lot like "Fucking hell, woman"—before pulling his shirt over his head.

My grin widened.

This was going to be fun.

I watched him as he stripped off his clothes, a smirk tugging at my lips. The ocean was inviting, cool against my skin, but Antonio—well, he was my real temptation. His muscles flexed in the moonlight, his jaw clenched as he walked toward me with a look in his eyes that made my heart race.

"Celine..." he muttered, clearly conflicted, and I could tell he was holding himself back.

I stepped deeper into the water, the waves rising to my waist, my body tingling with the coolness of the sea—and the heat of him. I tossed my hair back, feeling the weight of the alcohol in my system, but it didn't slow me down. Not at all. I wanted him, wanted this reckless freedom that came with being in his arms, in the water with him under the stars.

"Papi," I purred, swaying a little. The alcohol was making everything feel hazy, a bit dreamy, but I wasn't drunk enough to miss the way his eyes darkened when they met mine. "The water's perfect." I swayed a little again, just to test the waters—both literally and figuratively.

His breath caught, and I saw his shoulders tense. "Celine, you're—"

Before he could finish, I took a step toward him, the water lapping against my chest. "You're no fun," I teased, grinning wide as I slid closer, my bare skin meeting the sea's cold touch. I reached out, running a finger down his chest, drawing it lower.

That was all it took.

Without a word, Antonio was pulling his shirt off, tossing it to the sand. His belt followed, and then his pants, until he was standing in front of me, his body just as sculpted and irresistible as I remembered.

"Finally," I whispered, biting my lip.

And then, as if nothing else mattered, I pulled him into me, my mouth finding his in a heated kiss.

His lips were soft, warm, and the ocean wrapped around us like it was part of the moment—part of the madness that was just us. I kissed him hard, letting my hands roam down his chest, feeling the muscles ripple under my fingers. He growled against my lips, his hands securing my waist, and for a moment, I thought I might melt right into him.

But then he pulled back, looking at me with dark eyes.

"Celine..." His voice was strained, like he was holding back.

"You're so serious," I teased, my voice breathy, "Just kiss me again, Papi."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I kissed him again, harder this time, my tongue meeting his in a slow, teasing dance. My hands slid up his back, pulling him against me, the salty sea air and the taste of wine mixing in our mouths.

I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop.

His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer, and I could feel his body hardening against mine. The water moved around us, but it felt like everything stopped—like time, the waves, the world outside of us, didn't matter. All that mattered was him. His touch. His kiss.

My breath hitched as his hands traveled lower, sliding down to my hips, holding me still for a moment before pulling me closer, my body pressing against his.

"Celine," he groaned softly, his voice a mix of desire and restraint.

"Stop holding back," I whispered, my lips brushing his as I pulled back to look up at him. "Let go."

His eyes darkened in a way that made my pulse race.

Then, without warning, he kissed me again—fierce and full of heat—and the world around us seemed to disappear completely.

The ocean, the night, everything faded into the background. It was just me, him, and the chaos we created together.

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