He was always there. Luca Moretti — her father's best friend, the man with the storm-grey eyes and a voice that commanded entire rooms. To her, when she was little, he was just "Uncle Luca," the one who patted her head, brought expensive chocolates from his travels, and carried her on his shoulders at family barbecues.

Everyone respected him. He was the man with power, money, influence — yet with her, he was always softer, indulgent in ways that made her smile. To him, she was a child, and that's all he let himself see.

Until she grew. Until she stepped into a woman's body with curves he shouldn't notice, lips he shouldn't stare at, and laughter that wrapped around his throat like silk.

The first time he realized it, he almost hated himself. She had walked into the kitchen one evening, wearing a simple summer dress, hair falling over her shoulders. She was looking for juice, humming softly to herself, oblivious.

And Luca... froze. Not because she looked like a child anymore. But because she didn't. Something dangerous shifted inside him. His chest tightened. His hands curled into fists.

And from that day, the way he looked at her changed.

Years later, she's grown. Legal. Independent. Beautiful in a way that made men stumble.

But she still laughed the same way, still tilted her head when she was teasing, still called him "Uncle Luca" sometimes out of old habit.

And every single time she did, it drove him mad.

Because he wasn't her uncle. He wasn't just her father's best friend. Not anymore. He wanted her. He had tried to fight it — with women, with work, with anything to keep himself from looking at her the way he did. But nothing worked. And the worst part? She was oblivious. She still smiled at him innocently, still leaned too close when asking him things, still touched his arm in passing, not knowing every small contact made him want to pin her against the wall.

It happened one night. Her father had gone to bed, leaving them alone. She was curled on the couch, scrolling through her phone, hair falling into her face. Luca sat across from her, pretending to read, but he wasn't reading. He was watching. Always watching.

His heart stopped. The air thickened. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice rough, dark, nothing like the man she thought she knew.

"You really want to know?"

She blinked, confused, caught off guard by the tone. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking, eyes burning into hers. He stood, walked over slowly, and stopped in front of her. The silence was deafening.

Then, in that low voice that vibrated straight through her bones, he said:

"You've been driving me insane for years. You're not a kid anymore. And if you call me Uncle again..." He bent down, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear, "...I'll make sure you won't be able to walk for a week."

And Luca knew. He'd crossed the line — and there was no going back.