- Spoiled, sun-drenched devil

Alessia

─ ∘❉∘ ─

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, golden and blinding, hitting the marble floors. The Lombardi estate looked like something out of a magazine, arched ceilings, carved columns, art that probably cost more than a small country. If you didn’t know any better, you’d call it beautiful.

But all I felt was dread.

Because across from me, Rino Lombardi was slouched in his chair, playing with his breakfast like a child. His white shirt hung open at the collar, sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms, cufflinks nowhere in sight. His dark hair was still damp, slicked back lazily like he’d just stepped out of the shower and said “fuck it” when he was about to comb them. He looked infuriatingly relaxed, thighs spread wide, posture like he was bored of everything around him.

He struck me as the kind of guy who’d roll out of bed at noon, run a hand through his hair once, and spend ten full minutes smirking at his own reflection, just to remind himself how good looking he looked.

He caught me staring before I could school my face, and the bastard winked.

I snapped my eyes away, jaw tight.

To my left, Isabella gave my hand a gentle squeeze beneath the table. On my right, Salvatore said nothing, just cut into his toast like he was trying not to notice how hard I was pretending to breathe.

Arturo Lombardi cleared his throat.

“Alessia,” he said, folding his hands over his napkin with all the grace of a man used to being obeyed. “You’ve been quiet this morning.”

I smiled the way my mother taught me, just enough to be charming, “Just a touch too much champagne last night, Don Arturo. Celebration can be…” I paused, gave a soft shrug, “...dizzying.”

A few chuckles murmured around the table. Mine was not among them.

Don Arturo didn’t smile, he kept looking at me like he was trying to read past my skin and into the pit of my stomach, “Are you unhappy with the match?”

Every fork paused midair. I felt it in my spine, that collective breath being held, waiting. My father didn’t look at me, but his presence beside Arturo was thunderous. He did not say a word, but still made it crystal clear: whatever I said next better fall in line.

I lifted my chin. “I’m honored by the match. I trust my father’s wisdom and the alliance it brings our families.”

Arturo tilted his head, eyes still on me. “Even though you and Rino seem to clash?”

Across the table, Rino let out a low laugh and popped a grape in his mouth.

I didn’t look at him, “With respect, Don Arturo, I was raised to serve my family’s future, not my own preferences.”

Rino let out a soft whistle under his breath, “Cold as ice,” he muttered, clearly pleased. He probably thought I was throwing a tantrum but I wasn't doing any of that.

I was surviving.

Don Arturo smiled and nodded once, “Capone blood runs proud,” he said. “You answer like your grandfather would’ve wanted.”

Mamma’s face lit up beside me, eyes gleaming like she’d just been handed a crown. Her smile was soft, almost girlish, pride radiating off her in waves. And my chest hurt. Because that one sentence, that single nod of approval from a man who wasn’t even family, meant more to her than any truth I could ever speak

“You’ll have time,” Don Arturo added, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin like we were talking about the weather and not the next four years of my life. “Four years of courtship. We don’t rush our daughters into marriage here in Liguria.”

He glanced at Rino, who was now lounging like a bored prince in his chair.

“Rino will take care of you.”

Rino raised his coffee cup toward me in a mock toast, “I take excellent care of things that belong to me.”

I clenched my jaw.

And then Elisabetta, his mother smiled sweetly, “Perhaps they should spend some time alone together today. Get to know each other. We’ll have more luck nurturing love than forcing it.”

Love.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to tell her I’d have better luck falling in love with a cobra in a pit of fire, but I stayed silent.

“That’s a fine idea,” Arturo agreed, “Rino, take her out. Show her the city. Walk the hills. Teach her a little Ligurian pride.”

“She’s American,” Elisabetta added delicately, though her smile was laced with judgment. “She needs exposure to our culture.”

I nodded once, spine straight, hands folded neatly in my lap, “Of course,” I said, “It would be an honor.”

Rino let out a laugh, “Oh, I’ll expose her to all sorts of things.”

My fork scraped the edge of my plate.

Elisabetta giggled, “Dio mio, Rino,” she said fondly, “always such a handful. He’s been that way since he was a baby, no woman’s ever managed to tame him.”

Her eyes slid to me, assessing, like I was a knockoff handbag someone brought to a gala.

“I suppose we’ll see if this one can keep up,” she added, sipping her espresso with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Though I do hope she’s not too… sensitive. Rino does enjoy his fun.”

Salvatore set his knife down, leaned back, and fixed Rino with a stare cold, “Then maybe Rino should learn how to pace himself,” he said, eyes fixed on him. “She’s not one of your toys. She’s my sister.”

Rino sat up straighter, hands raised slightly in mock surrender, a crooked smile on his face. “Of course, Salvatore. I meant no disrespect. You know how I joke... bad habit.” He turned to me, “Alessia is my future wife. I would never hurt what’s mine.”

Arturo cleared his throat, “Rino, show her the city. Alessia, walk with him like the donna you were raised to be," his eyes narrowed slightly. “And remember who you represent.”

I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak.

Rino stood and offered me his hand, that charming, devilish smile painted perfectly back on his face like it had never faltered.

“Well then,” he said, cocking a brow, “shall we, Miss America. I’ll show you where the real Italy lives.”

He didn’t wait for me and just started walking. I pushed back my chair, hands braced against the table, but before I could rise, Salvatore’s fingers closed firmly around my wrist.

I looked at him.

He leaned in, his voice low, eyes hard as stone, “Don’t let him take your virginity before the wedding,” he said. “Lombardis love to break things they haven’t paid for yet.”

And just like that, my stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Before I could react, Isabella’s hand reached up, tucking a loose strand gently behind my ear, “Breathe, Stellina,” she murmured, “You’re not alone. I’m right here, okay?”

And somehow, that helped.

I stood, every muscle stiff as I followed Rino while he walked ahead, whistling as if he was bringing his pet for a stroll and me trailing behind like my ribbon was tied to his wrist.

The car was already waiting in front of the stairs, sleek and black beneath the sun, a Lombardi soldier holding the door open. I climbed in without a word, but the moment the door thudded shut behind me, regret hit me like a punch to the gut.

Rino slid in beside me in the driver's seat, his scent hit first, cedar, smoke, something dark underneath. He didn’t speak right away, he just adjusted the cuff of his sleeve and then spread one arm over the back of my seat, stretching out like the car had been built around him.

Like the world had.

Like I was just another thing that came with the territory.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

I stared out the window. “Fine.”

He let out a low laugh, the kind that said he didn’t believe me for a second. “You sound absolutely ecstatic. This is supposed to be the fun part, you know.”

I didn’t answer. What was the point?

The car rolled forward, as we pulled out of the estate. My spine was stiff against the seat, the fabric of my trousers catching on the leather, my pulse loud in my ears.

“You always this uptight, tesoro?” he asked, turning his head now, fully facing me.

“It’s not every day a girl gets auctioned off like fine art,” I replied evenly.

“Oh, come on,” he said, dragging the word out like a drawl. “You should be thanking me. Plenty of girls would kill to ride in this car with me or ride me in it.”

I turned my head slowly. “Did you just say that out loud?”

He grinned, “Why not? We’re alone now. No daddies, no rules.”

“I’m not one of your little Italian fangirls, Rino.”

“No shit,” he said, eyes flicking down my body with zero shame. “They’ve got tits. You? You’ve got a stick so far up your ass I’m surprised you can sit.”

My jaw snapped shut so hard it clicked. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I just expected a little more from a country that invented cheeseburgers and p**n.”

Heat crawled up my throat, but I kept my expression still. He leaned in slightly, his voice almost rough now.

“Four years, tesoro. That’s all they’re giving you before I own every inch of you. And believe me, when I do? I won’t be polite about it.”

I turned my face to the window, jaw clenched, vision tunneling on the blur of vineyards and winding roads. Anything but him.

He laughed again, “God, you make this fun. You know that?”

I said nothing, just pressed my palm flat against my chest, trying to breathe. It was going to be a long ride through Liguria and far longer life ahead.

And I’d chosen this.

For my family.

For our name.

I just hadn’t realized how early it would start to feel like a cage.

I knew something was wrong the moment we veered off the main road. The villas vanished. The historic architecture turned into narrow, winding streets lined with scooters and graffiti. Then came the coast, sunlight glinting off the Mediterranean like it wanted to blind me. I recognized nothing.

“This isn’t the city center,” I said tightly, gripping the leather seat beneath my fingertips.

Rino didn’t even look at me, “Change of plans.”

“I was told this was a tour.”

He just smiled, “It is. A tour of what real freedom looks like.”

The car rolled to a stop near a stretch of sand hidden behind low stone walls and bougainvillea vines. I could already hear the bass vibrating from somewhere below.

I opened the door, stepped out and the salt hit me. That, and the noise.

Laughter, screaming, music too loud for midday. My heels hit the sand and I took one look at the scene below and nearly froze.

They were everywhere.

Tanned teenagers in swimsuits and linen, spilling drinks and bodies onto the beach. Loud Italian and French and something else I couldn’t place. Girls dancing on sunbeds, half-naked. Boys pouring wine into their mouths straight from the bottle. A couple was very obviously making out against a palm tree. Someone was smoking something that definitely wasn’t a cigarette.

God.

I felt heat crawl up my neck.

Rino adjusted his sunglasses. “Welcome to the Riviera, tesoro.”

“You brought me to a beach party?”

He grinned, devil-may-care. “Better than a walking tour, no?”

I took a slow breath, “This is inappropriate.”

“Everything fun usually is.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just started walking towards the party, hands in his pockets, whistling again like dragging me into this was entertainment.

I followed.

Because I had no choice.

Because Capone girls follow with their heads high, even when their heels sink in the sand.

We passed a group of girls in string bikinis that left nothing to the imagination. One of them, blonde, glossy, wet from the water called out, “Rinoooo, come swim!” in a thick accent.

He winked at her, “Later.”

Another girl shoved a red cup into his hand. “Try this.”

He sipped it, made a face. “God, what is that? Jet fuel?”

She laughed and touched his arm but he turned to me, “Drink?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” he knocked the rest back and tossed the cup into a bin without looking.

More people greeted him. Boys with Rolexes and nicotine-stained grins, girls with slick legs and hungry eyes. They all looked at me the same way, like I was an antique vase someone had dragged into the wrong room.

I kept my hands at my sides. Shoulders straight. Eyes high.

I was wearing a silk blouse and tailored trousers, while they were barefoot and dripping in oil and sex and laughter. A girl nearby stripped off a top and cannonballed into the water.

Rino turned to me, that maddening grin still in place.

“Having fun yet, sposa mia?”

I stared at him, “You really think this is how you’re supposed to court me?”

He shrugged, “Better than pretending to be someone I’m not.”

Then he took off his shirt, and then his slacks just peeled it off like he hadn’t a care in the world and tossed it onto a sunbed.

He had smooth tanned skin, defined muscle for a teenager. A tattoo in Latin across his ribs I didn’t recognize. And he knew I’d seen it, because he leaned close and murmured, “You’re staring.”

I looked away.

Too late.

“I’m judging.”

“Close enough.”

And then he ran toward the water.

I stood there, stunned, as he dove headfirst into the sea, leaving me alone on the edge of some Bacchanalian nightmare, surrounded by drunk strangers and hedonism.

I had never felt more American.

More overdressed.

More furious.

I sat stiffly beneath a striped umbrella, arms crossed over my chest as the party went on around me. Rino had vanished somewhere between his fourth drink and the third girl who threw herself into his lap. I watched him now, sprawled across a towel in nothing but swim shorts, laughing at something that bottle blonde Valeria said as she traced her fingers down his chest like she was writing her name.

I turned my face toward the sea. Salt stung the back of my throat, and I couldn’t tell if it was the breeze or my own bitterness. Every few minutes someone brushed past me and I flinched every time.

“She doesn’t drink?”

The voice came from behind me. I turned slightly.

Fabio. I knew him from dinner last night. Rino’s right-hand parasite.

“She’s on display,” Valeria said sweetly, appearing beside him, “Doesn’t want to crack the packaging.”

They laughed.

I smiled perfectly polite. “Did I say something funny?”

Fabio gave me a look. “No offense. We just don’t usually get imports at these things.”

Valeria pretended to feel bad for me, “You must feel so... out of place.”

“I do,” I said. “It’s rare to be in the company of so many peasants.”

Her smile dropped, Fabio blinked, then barked a short laugh. “Rino said you had claws. He wasn’t kidding.”

“He says a lot of things,” I said.

Behind them, Rino finally stood, stretched and walked over, “Problem?” he asked, cocking a brow at Fabio and Valeria.

“Not at all,” Valeria said smoothly, slipping her hand into his.

I looked at it, at their joined hands. His thumb stroked her knuckles slowly, his eyes on me.

He was doing it on purpose.

“Your girl’s got an attitude,” Fabio said.

“She’ll learn,” Rino replied, not even looking at me. “Eventually.”

Heat rose in my chest, rage or shame, I couldn’t tell anymore.

“She won’t even take her shoes off,” Valeria whispered, as though I weren’t standing right there, “I think she’s afraid the beach might stain her.”

Rino’s mouth twitched. “She was raised in the Capone Family. You know how they are over there. All rules, no rhythm.”

More laughter filled the space and I felt my nails bite into my palms. And then Rino turned to me, finally, like I was an afterthought.

“You good, sposa? Want me to call the embassy for you?”

I looked at him, this spoiled, sun-drenched devil, and I said nothing.

Because what could I say?

Any hope of finding a way out of this was already rotting in my chest. No one was coming for me. Not Papà. Not Mamma. Not Salvatore.

To them, I was already gone, spoken for and handed over like a peace offering.

And just like that, my life as I knew it ended.

- Crack the seal and the value drops

Alessia

─ ∘❉∘ ─

They were playing games.

They were not the kind we played back in Chicago, not spin-the-bottle or some watered-down version of Truth or Dare.

These were Italian games, I guess. I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t even know the names.

There was “Palla Avvelenata”, some drunk version of dodgeball using a rolled-up towel soaked in seawater, half the boys were shirtless by the time it ended.

Then there was the weirdest one, “Il Giudice” The Judge. One person stood blindfolded in the center, playing the “judge,” while the others circled around and whispered confessions or secrets. The judge had to guess who said what. If they were right? The confessor had to jump in the water... naked. If they were wrong? The judge went in.

I didn’t understand most of it.

The rules changed depending on who was winning.

Everyone was barefoot, tanned, already drunk or pretending to be.

They shrieked, ran, dove, climbed on one another, I stood at the edge of it all, arms crossed, watching with a sick knot in my stomach.

Fabio jogged over to me, damp hair plastered to his forehead. He was shirtless, tan, and still wearing his gold chain, “Hey, sposa Americana,” he said with a lopsided grin, “We’ve got a free spot. Judge round. Come on.”

I blinked, “What?”

He gestured toward his friends where the others were gathering around the speaker, “Il Giudice. Come on. We need a fresh voice.”

I shook my head, “I’m not playing.”

He blinked, thrown off for half a second, “Why not?”

“I didn’t grow up here,” I said flatly. “I don’t know these games.”

Rino was watching from the other side, glass in hand, amusement written all over his face. His eyes burned holes into me even from a distance.

Fabio stepped closer, “You don’t have to do anything crazy. Just join in. You’ll loosen up.”

I wasn’t going to humiliate myself for their amusement.

“Thanks,” I said coolly, “But I’ll pass.”

Valeria’s voice rang out, “Then maybe we should play something the American can actually understand. We wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”

I turned toward her and she was grinning wide, perfectly pleased with herself.

“Perhaps…” she continued, drawing out the words, “Truth or Dare?”

“I’m fine,” I said, “You don’t have to change anything for me.”

But Rino stepped forward, then he crooked a single finger in my direction, like he was calling a dog, he could summon at will.

“Come on, Alessia,” he said, “Don’t be rude. You’re the guest of honor.”

My stomach turned.

“She’ll play,” he added, not even looking at me, just announcing it to the group like it was law and my voice didn’t matter

Valeria tilted her head and waved me closer, “It’s settled, then. Truth or Dare.”

The other girls were already giggling, whispering behind their hands. Rino didn’t look away from me, and I could already feel the leash of his order around my neck tightening.

Boys hooted, one of them shouted, “Capone’s daughter better not be a coward!”

Heat prickled up the back of my neck. I felt their eyes on me. Someone gave me a nudge from behind. My heart slammed against my ribs, but I moved anyway. Chin high, back straight. I walked toward the circle and lowered myself onto the edge, as if I still had some control over the situation.

They spun an empty beer bottle, and it landed on one of the guys, Matteo, I think.

Someone shouted, “Lick Gerardo’s foot!”

Groans and laughter erupted as Matteo dragged himself across the circle, muttering curses, before grabbing Gerardo’s sweaty ankle and giving it the most disgusted lick imaginable.

Everyone howled.

The bottle spun again, landing on a few of Rino’s friends who took their turns with loud dares. Laughter echoed around the circle, then it spun once more, slower this time, wobbling on its final rotation and stopped.

Pointing straight at me.

“Truth or dare, American?” Fabio asked.

I swallowed. “Truth.”

His grin widened, “Alright then… tell us, Miss America, are you still a virgin?”

My lips parted in surprise but Rino didn’t even let me answer.

“Of course she is,” he drawled, “If she wasn’t, we’d be renegotiating the deal.”

The heat that rose in my face wasn’t embarrassment, it was fury.

He kept going, “Capones don’t serve spoiled meat,” he added with a smirk, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Crack the seal and the value drops. Everyone knows that.”

People laughed loud and hard, like it was the funniest thing they’d heard all week. And I just sat there, skin burning so hot it felt like it might peel off my face.

Rage curdled in my gut but I smiled sweetly. “Of course I am a virgin, Fabio. We don’t all sleep with our cousins behind vineyard sheds like Lombardis,” I tilted my head, eyes locked on Rino’s. “Aren’t your parents distant cousins, Rino? Or is that just an old family rumor that somehow never dies?”

No one laughed, at least, not fully, not the way they had a second ago. Laughing at Rino Lombardi’s expense felt unlawful here, like some unspoken crime against the crown.

But his smile did freeze, just for a second. A flicker of something sharp and annoyed behind his eyes.

And it was the best second of the whole evening.

The bottle spun again.

This time, it landed on a girl with dripping black curls and cherry-red lipstick. Serena, I thought her name was.

“Truth,” she beamed.

Gerardo leaned forward, “Have you ever had a threesome?”

She laughed, “Not yet.”

Another boy held up his drink and said, “She’s taking applications!”

Rino chuckled, lazily reclined beside Valeria, still nursing his drink. The bottle spun again. This time it pointed to a boy I hadn't met.

“Dare.”

Rino grinned, “Kiss the person to your left.”

That guy reached over and kissed Fabio... with tongue. The others screamed with laughter. A few clapped. Valeria threw her head back and shrieked, “Disgusting!”

Rino raised his cup, “That’s the spirit.”

The bottle spun again, it landed on Valeria.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled like the spotlight had been waiting for her. “Truth.”

A girl next to her leaned in, grinning. “Did you sleep with Rino last summer in Monaco?”

Everything stopped and heads turned toward me like I was there with them.

Valeria gave a little shrug, all shy, “No,” she said sweetly. “I’m still a virgin but you never know,” she said airily, fingers twirling her straw, “Summer’s not over yet.”

The girls around her giggled like she’d just dropped a mic. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Fabio's laugh vanished like someone had slapped it off.

He turned his head toward his sister. “The fuck did you just say?”

Valeria blinked. “Relax, Fab. It was a joke.”

“Nah,” he said, “It wasn’t. You wanna flirt, do it with someone who didn’t teach you how to ride a damn tricycle, capito?”

Her cheeks flushed, but her mouth pulled into a stubborn pout.

Fabio turned to the rest of the group. “Anyone else wanna joke about who my sister's fucking before I start cracking skulls?”

The game moved on.

One girl was dared to skinny dip.

Another boy confessed to stealing his cousin’s car and crashing it into a vineyard wall.

There were tales of coke in Vatican bathrooms. Secret hookups. A girl who admitted to breaking her sister’s nose in a fight over a boyfriend.

And I sat through all of it, they laughed, bragged, kissed and drank and dared and boasted.

I went to an all-girls private school in Chicago.

We weren’t saints but we didn’t snort powder off holy sinks or throw punches over boys. We learned posture, elocution, Latin prayers, and how to smile without showing too much teeth.

When the bottle spun, it landed on me again.

Gerardo grinned. “Only dare left, sweetheart. I dare you to strip down and run into the water, just in your underwear. Come on, Capone.”

Someone whistled, “Show us some real American culture!”

I tilted my chin higher, “No.”

“Scared?” Fabio grinned. “Thought you Outfit girls didn’t back down.”

“She’s modest,” Valeria said with exaggerated sweetness. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“I said, no!”

“That’s enough," Rino said, and no one dared to oppose him, “She’s mine to piss off,” he said coolly, “Not yours.”

Fabio raised his hands, half-smiling. “Just a joke—”

“She’s still a Capone,” Rino snapped, suddenly colder. “Remember who the fuck her family is.”

No one laughed after that but I didn’t feel protected. I felt owned. He didn’t say it to defend me. He said it to remind them I was his. Off-limits.

Fabio spun the bottle again, obnoxiously slow.

It passed Valeria, skimmed Serena, and then stopped on Rino.

Gerardo leaned forward, “Dare?”

Rino’s face turned smug, “Obviously.”

“I dare you,” Gerardo said, dragging the words out, “to kiss your American bride.”

Valeria's smile shriveled.

Rino glanced at me and I saw the decision made behind his eyes. I felt the shift. His whole body language changed. His mouth curved with lazy confidence.

“C’mere, Miss America,” he said, “Let’s give them a show.”

I didn’t move from my place, so, Rino took it up on himself and rose from his place and walked over to me. He dropped to his haunches right in front of me, close enough to steal my breath.

I felt panic crawl up the back of my spine like heat, but I kept my face blank.

He reached out and caught my chin between his fingers, tilting my face toward him with the kind of gentleness that made it worse, that made it feel intimate. He leaned in, too sure of himself.

And that's when I pulled back, it made him freeze, “I wouldn’t kiss you,” I said, “if you were the last guy on earth.”

The smile slipped from his mouth, his eyes, those stupidly dark eyes, narrowed at the corners, locked on mine like he was recalculating. His breath touched my lips. My skin prickled.

Then I exhaled slowly, peeled his hand off my face finger by finger, and leaned back like his touch had burned right through my skin. I needed distance just to breathe again.

“You think I’m impressed by this? By any of this?” I looked around slowly, at Valeria, with her silicone smile, at Fabio, who looked like he hadn’t read a book in his life, at Gerardo, who was already halfway down the bottle and halfway to being a full-time drunk, “Your little club of inbred clowns and tailored trash?”

Someone gasped.

“You think I want to be kissed by you?” I said, “You reek of cheap liquor, blood money, and desperation. I’ve seen better men shot in the back alleys of Chicago. At least they had ambition.”

A flicker of movement, a muscle in Rino's temple twitched.

Then I stood, brushed the sand off my trousers, and took one slow breath. He was still crouched there like he belonged at my feet.

“We may have been engaged but you’ll never be enough for me, Rino Lombardi,” I said calmly, “The only reason I’m putting up with you and this pathetic little circus you call friends is because I don’t have a choice.”

He rose slowly until he was towering over me, his smile was gone, his eyes were murderous. That was no spoiled rich boy standing in front of me now.

I finally saw the Made Man in him.

And I remembered exactly what kind of monster I was talking to.

I looked around at the stunned faces circling us. His friends were frozen, wide-eyed and silent, the laughter dead on their lips. Clearly, none of them had ever seen anyone talk to Rino Lombardi like that. He owned Liguria and everyone in it.

But I wasn’t from Liguria and he didn’t own me.

So I took a step back and turned, ready to walk straight to the car and pretend none of them ever existed.

But I didn’t even make it two steps.

His hand fisted in my hair so fast I didn’t even flinch, just felt the sharp tug at my scalp as he yanked my head back. A crack of pain shot down my neck as I stumbled, trying to catch my balance. I barely had a second to register the burn of his grip and the way his knuckles pressed hard against my skull, fingers rooted deep into the base of my scalp before he was already pulling me forward.

And then his mouth slammed into mine. Lips crushed mine with bruising force, upper lip pressing into my philtrum, bottom lip caught under his teeth. My jaw tensed and his forced it open.

I felt the heat of his breath flood into my mouth, liquor, salt, something darker. My reflex was to pull away, but I couldn’t. His grip in my hair held me immobile, neck arched back at just the right angle so he could take without permission.

His tongue shoved past my teeth, pushing against the roof of my mouth, filling every inch of space.

My hands pressed weakly against the flat of his chest but he didn’t even notice. His body was like stone. His mouth tilted over mine again, and his teeth caught my bottom lip and bit hard.

His hand never left my hair. His other hand stayed at his side, he didn’t need two to overpower me. One hand, one mouth, and he already had me locked in place, body stiff, mind white-hot with disbelief.

When he finally pulled back, I was dazed but Rino didn’t stop there. He let go of my hair with a shove.

The sudden force jolted through me. My balance cracked, and my feet slipped backward in the sand. I went down fast, my knees buckling and my body twisting as I hit the ground on my hip. The breath flew out of my chest.

Then laughter. First one voice, then another, then full-on howling. A wave of it like someone had just played the best joke of the night.

“Damn!” Fabio shouted, already wheezing, “Guess that’s one way to finish a dare!”

I stayed where I was, frozen, fingers curled into the sand, trying to remember how to breathe.

My cheeks were burning from the humiliation. My mouth was still wet from his. My lip stung from where his teeth had caught it.

Rino just stood over me, calmly like nothing had happened, like I wasn’t even worth looking at and then he smiled darkly because he won.