forget it just write ch 5 in old sty
The morning after Daddy's café truce felt like walking a tightrope over Slumberland's abyss, the rose tattoo on my hip humming with quiet approval as I slipped back into Luca Vitale's penthouse. His rooftop garden glowed under dawn light—tomatoes ripening like forbidden promises, herbs whispering secrets in the breeze. Luca stood there shirtless, soil-dusted hands gentle as he pruned basil, emerald eyes lifting to meet mine with that rare softness reserved only for me. "Sleep well, amore?" Voice rough from late-night strategy calls, but no demands—just a offered tomato, juice bursting sweet on my tongue when I bit.
Slept? Barely. Dreams tangled his scars with Rossi threats, the prophecy's thorns drawing phantom blood. "Like a queen guarded by wolves." Truth. His men patrolled perimeter; safehouses stocked for Lila, family. Green flag waving brighter: king who built walls *with* me inside, not caged.
Breakfast unfolded slow—fresh eggs scrambled his way (Nonna's again), coffee black as his world. Sat bar facing him, feet swinging playful. "Daddy softened. Thanks to you." Forked bite; he watched lips, hunger flashing before restraint. "Not me. Your fire melts empires." Hand brushed knee—electric casual, no frenzy. Stories deepened: his first legit deal, clinic opening slums; my gala fears pre-rose. Bond solidified beyond sheets—partners.
Midday alert shattered peace: Rossi summit today, neutral yacht bay. Luca prepped warily—Glock cleaned ritual, lieutenants briefed. "Dockside only. You stay tower." Protective, not possessive.
Defiance sparked. "I go. Queen sits throne, not sidelines." Argued maps—routes, snipers, escape. His laugh proud: "Mad flame. Vest up." Fitted bulletproof myself, hands lingering waist—heat promise. Convoy rolled: armored SUVs, me shotgun. Docks reeked salt-rust; yacht gleamed white lie.
Boarded tense: Rossi patriarch—silver wolf, Kai absent (expelled?). Handshakes ice; terms hashed: docks truce, no Moretti hits. Luca's voice steel: "Break it, blood pays." My input subtle—nodded key concessions, rose pulsing instinct. Deal inked shaky; champagne poisoned-sweet.
Return convoy hit ambush—East Dock shadows erupted gunfire. Tires screeched; Luca shoved me floorboard, shielding body. "Stay down!" Bullets pinged armor; his crew returned hellfire. Chaos: exploded van, bodies dropped. Dragged me extraction boat, waves slamming hull. Safe bay-side villa—his backup palace.
Shaking, adrenaline crashed. "You could've—" Voice broke.
"Never." Crushed embrace, lips claiming fierce—salt-blood taste. "Queen lives." Carried bridal to villa master: ocean view, silk endless. Stripped slow, reverent: vest off, dress pooling crimson. "Bruised?" Fingers traced ribs gentle, mouth soothing marks. "Heal you."
Bathtub steamed—oils, candles flickering waves. Back to chest, washed hair massaging scalp-tension away. "Rossi bent today. Your eyes sealed it." Praised instinct; green flag: elevated me. Stories flowed: his Ma's lullabies, dreams legit resorts "for our gardens." Future ours.
Bed waited: slow-burn worship. Explored scars mapping—kisses bullet holes, learning wars. "This Rossi?" Tongue circled.
"Ten years. Vowed end." Voice husky. Me atop guiding—empowered rhythm, nails raking fresh marks. Peaks waves crashing mutual, cries ocean-masked. "Ti amo, queen." Post-glow held, fingers traced rose: "Powers wake soon. Ready?"
Prophecy loomed. Afternoon: villa gym turned dojo. Taught knife work—wrists snapped precise, bodies grappling electric. Pinned under: "Yield?"
"Never kings." Flipped straddling triumph; laughter shared real. Green flag: trained equal.
Evening charity veil: Slumberland Children's Fund gala, his secret patronage. Gown sapphire silk—slit rose-winking. Arm-in-arm entrance; flashes blinded: *Vitale-Moretti power couple?* Tables glittering elites; Luca worked room masterful—donations doubled my whispers, hands single moms envelopes discreet. Speech: "Slums birthed me. Gardens feed futures." Vulnerable thunder; applause mine proud.
Dance floor claimed: waltz possessive yet tender, whispers neck-hot. "See? Light beneath thorns." Butterflies rioted; arched closer.
Crisis midnight: Lila safehouse alert—scout caught, Rossi plans spilled: hit Moretti gala tomorrow. Luca mobilized; I mapped decoys: "Fake convoy, real yacht." Plan flawless—scout cracked, plots crushed. Victory pizza takeout (guilty plebe), feet tangled couch debrief. "Your mind—deadly weapon." Praised brain over brawn.
Dawn revelation: rose *changed*—petals blackened edges, veins gold-glowing. Luca knelt inspection: "Awakening. Prophecy blood power." Fingers traced; moaned involuntary, heat slick instant. "Feel it? Ours."
Training escalated: rooftop dagger throws (bullseyes mine), strategy sims (outmaneuvered him once). Passion nightly peaks—shower steam, mouth worshipping rose: "Fire temptress." Butterfly storms.
Week blurred green flags: orphanage visit (kids adored "Uncle Luca," college funds slipped), garden planting (future ours), family dinners (Shana thawing, recipes shared). Daddy called: "He's good for you." Empire alliance whispered.
Climax Friday: Moretti gala—Crystal Tower reborn. Crimson gown dripping diamonds; Luca tux lethal. Entrance power—heads bowed. Danced electric; Rossi shadows lurked corners. Midnight toast: Christ announced "Moretti-Vitale merger." Cheers; kiss sealed public—passionate claim.
Afterparty villa: champagne ocean-view. Slow love-making missionary intimate, eyes locked: "Forever queen." Peaks shared profound.
Yet whispers grew: anonymous locker note forwarded Lila—*Rose demands blood sacrifice. Family or king?* Rose pulsed warning black. Rossi truce fraying. Lila's glances odd—secrets?
Green king shone, but thorns sharpened. Enchantment's throne tested.