Nico De Santis pov:
She wasn't just some passing distraction.
*Marin* had already rooted herself in my mind like a sin I didn't want to confess.
As the music throbbed faintly through the floor and laughter echoed from nearby booths, I sat still—stone-faced—but my mind was anything but calm.
I saw her again. Not in front of me, trembling with that tray—but *naked*. Bent over my desk, her soft moans muffled in her arm while my hand pressed into the arch of her back, holding her still as I drove into that untouched heat.
I imagined her sobbing my name, her thighs slick and quivering, begging me to stop even while her body begged for more. The innocent ones always did.
That tight little body wasn't made for a place like this. It was made for me.
For my bed.
For my mouth.
For my hands.
And when I was done corrupting her, she'd never walk the same. Never think the same. Her God would forget her name—because she'd only know *mine*.
I shifted in my seat, my jaw clenched, the weight in my pants unbearable. I didn't get like this often—*never* over a girl I hadn't even touched.
But her?
She had no idea.
I pulled out my phone and texted Marco.
*"I don't care how you do it. Find everything on her. Tonight."*
A minute later, his reply buzzed in.
*"Already on it. Name: Marin. Came in with another girl. Working her first shift. Info loading in."*
I didn't reply.
My fingers drummed against the edge of my glass.
I could wait a little longer. Let her breathe. Let her think she was free.
Because the moment I had what I needed—where she slept, what she feared, how she tasted—
*She'd be mine.*
And I'd take her in every way I'd already imagined.
Over and over again.
Until the innocent little dove finally realized—
*she belonged in the hands of the devil.*
A dove. Unspoiled. Naive. But too damn beautiful to walk free for long.
Marco's pov:
I typed up the files and sent them directly to Nico's private line, then added a voice note just to be sure:
*"She's clean, boss. Unclaimed. Barely touched the world. Just Sofia and that chapel background. This girl's fresh off the altar."*
I paused, then smirked to myself.
*"You want to play God, boss… she's the perfect
---
I knew the moment Nico said *"tonight"*, he wasn't playing.
He rarely asked twice—and if he did, someone bled for it.
I stood outside the club, phone pressed to my ear as I spoke with a contact at the local registry. I wasn't just looking for a resume. I wanted to know where the girl came from, who brought her here, and why a bunny-eared virgin was walking into a bar like *The Serpent's Kiss* with that kind of body and those innocent eyes.
It didn't take long.
"Name: Marin Sorella," I muttered into my recorder, pacing by the alley. "Age twenty, no previous work record. No school enrollment under that name after age sixteen."
I tapped my boot against the curb.
"No criminal record. No affiliations. Clean. Too clean."
I scrolled through the rest.
"Address listed under her friend—Sofia Russo. Shared apartment in South End. Small place. Nothing fancy. Both girls came from a religious institution outside the city. Some kind of long-term orphan care slash chapel program."
I paused. That tracked. Explains the way she looked like she'd never been touched. Because she *hadn't*.
And that?
That made her exactly Nico's type.