Chapter 10 - THE STOLEN MIDNIGHT CONFESSION
That night, the physical distance between us finally evaporated. We were standing in the dim light of the penthouse kitchen, sharing a quiet moment after hours of analyzing countermeasures against Lorenzo Russo’s impending moves. Enzo was pouring a glass of water when I stepped into his personal space, the air between us thick with unspoken longing. He stopped, setting the glass down with a soft thud, his dark eyes tracking every movement I made.
"Elena," he breathed out, sounding almost like a plea. I reached up, my fingertips lightly tracing the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline. "Say it," I whispered. "Say what you were too afraid to admit on the Monaco terrace." He didn't hesitate anymore. His hands caught my waist, pulling me flush against his hard frame as his lips captured mine in a kiss that erased two years of agonizing restraint, unspoken tension, and dangerous denial. It was fierce, desperate, and filled with a raw, consuming passion that left us both breathless. In that stolen midnight hour, wrapped in the arms of the most feared man on the East Coast, I learned the absolute truth of the threat I had faced: I wasn't just his secretary, and I wasn't just a security liability—I was his entire world.
