18. Craving the enemy

18. Craving the enemy
I hated him—until he touched me like I was the only truth he believed in. And in that kiss, I forgot every reason I had to stay away.

GABRIELLA

It started like a secret, a featherlight brush of his lips against mine—hesitant, reverent, like he was asking a question he already feared the answer to. I froze, my breath caught somewhere between shock and temptation. His lips were warm, trembling slightly, yet soft with a carefulness that shook me more than any aggression ever could. It was a kiss that didn’t demand—it
pleaded. Like he was holding something fragile and sacred and wasn’t sure if he had the right to want it.

Time fractured around us.

Then, something shifted.

The kiss deepened—his hesitation melting into need. He angled closer, his hands gripping my waist like he couldn’t bear to be apart from me another second. I didn’t move, paralyzed by the war between my conscience and the wildfire erupting in my chest—until he pinched my side, a teasing little sting that snapped the last of my resistance.

I gasped—and that was all the invitation he needed.

His tongue claimed mine in a searing collision of heat and hunger. This wasn’t a kiss anymore. It was
everything—months of suppressed tension, buried desire, and emotional chaos combusting between us. It was raw and hot and impossibly real.

I tangled my fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, anchoring myself to him like he was the only real thing left in the universe. I kissed him back with every ounce of madness swirling inside me, tasting whiskey, sin, and something uniquely Alejandro—dark, dangerous, addictive.

His hand slid to the small of my back, pressing our bodies together until I could feel the full length of him, every muscle coiled, every breath ragged. My knees almost buckled, but his hold tightened, possessive and primal. The kind of touch that left bruises and stories.

We didn’t come up for air until our lungs burned.

When we finally broke apart, our foreheads stayed pressed together, lips parted, breaths colliding in the scant inches between us. His eyes were hooded, dark with something I couldn’t name—but whatever it was, it made my heart slam against my ribs.

No words were spoken.

But the damage was done.

We had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at me.

Just quietly opened the car door.

The kiss ended, but the sensation lingered like a shadow clinging to my skin.

The warmth of the kiss faded instantly, replaced by a sharp chill of confusion and vulnerability. I slid into the passenger seat, my heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted out. The silence between us on the drive back was deafening, filled with questions neither of us dared voice. My mind spun—was it a mistake? Was he drunk? Did he feel what I felt, or was I just a distraction?

I slid into the seat in silence, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. The ride back to the mansion was quiet—too quiet. He didn't glance at me, didn't speak, didn't even breathe too loud. And that, somehow, hurt more than it should have.

Why did I let it happen?

Why did he kiss me like that?

Why did I kiss him back?

Everything about it felt wrong. He was my target, my enemy, the man I’d been gathering secrets on, the one who built an empire on blood and bones. And yet, when his lips met mine, the rest of the world vanished. There was no cartel, no secrets, no lies—just heat, and the terrifying comfort of his embrace.

By the time we pulled up to the mansion, I was unraveling inside.

He turned to me finally, his voice low. “Take a few days off. Rest. You’ve been through enough.”

I nodded, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re not,” he said. “But that’s okay. You don’t have to be.”

He stepped out and disappeared into the house, leaving me alone in the passenger seat, staring at the steering wheel like it might give me answers.

My fingers trembled in my lap.

I hated him.

I hated how gentle his kiss had been.

I hated how, for those seconds, I didn’t want to leave.

I pressed my back against the seat and closed my eyes.

You’re losing control, Gabriella, my inner voice whispered.

And if you’re not careful, he’ll destroy more than your plan—he’ll destroy you.

By the time I entered the mansion, silence had settled like a heavy blanket over the halls. Everyone was already in bed, the house cloaked in an eerie calm that only deepened the whirlwind inside me. For reasons I couldn't explain, my eyes drifted upward—toward
his room. I stood there a moment longer, frozen, my fingertips grazing my lips, still tingling from the kiss that had upended everything.

Something had changed. Irrevocably. And I had no idea what the hell to do about it.

With a weary sigh, I turned away and trudged back to my room. My heels hit the floor with a quiet thud as I kicked them off. I collapsed onto the bed, legs dangling over the edge, staring blankly at the ceiling. Then, out of nowhere, a tear slipped down my cheek.

I was furious. Furious at myself for letting it happen—and more than that, for
liking it.

I’d been with men before. I knew lust, desire, even manipulation. But this... this was different.
He was different. Alejandro made the air around him hum, made me feel seen in a way I couldn’t afford to be. I liked his presence. I enjoyed the way he looked at me, the way his voice settled under my skin.

And that was the problem.

This is the man I’m supposed to destroy.

This cannot happen.

I let out a shaky breath, stood up, and quickly changed into my nightdress, hoping routine would chase away the chaos in my head. I climbed under the covers, curling into myself, willing the ache in my chest to disappear.

Sleep took me soon after, but peace never came.