Dangerous game.

Alessandro stood there for a moment, watching Emilia's retreating form, his smirk deepening into something darker. Something dangerous.

No woman had ever walked away from him. No woman had ever dared to play with fire the way she just did.

And fuck, did he love a challenge.

---

That night, Emilia sat in her bedroom, a glass of whiskey in her hand, her mind replaying the encounter.

She wasn't stupid—she knew Alessandro Bianchi wasn't the kind of man to let things go. He was a hunter, and she had just made herself his prey.

A knock on her door snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Miss Russo, there's an issue downstairs," one of her guards said.

Emilia sighed, placing her glass down. She slipped into her silk robe and padded down the marble staircase, her slipper tapping softly against the floor.

The moment she reached the entrance hall, her blood ran cold.

Three of her guards were on their knees, their faces beaten and bloodied, while Alessandro Bianchi stood in the center of the carnage, rolling his sleeves back down, his suit still pristine.

"I thought we were done for the night," Emilia said, voice calm, but her nails dug into her palm.

Alessandro turned to her, his smirk returning like a bad habit. "You thought wrong, little mouse."

He took slow, calculated steps toward her, his presence consuming every inch of the space.

"You really shouldn't make me chase you," he murmured, eyes locked onto hers.

Emilia crossed her arms, refusing to let him see her unease. "And you really shouldn't show up uninvited."

Alessandro's hand shot out, fingers curling around her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. His touch was firm, possessive, and entirely too intimate.

"I don't need an invitation," he said, voice like a deadly whisper. "Not when you already belong to me."

Emilia's eyes flashed with defiance. "I told you, I belong to no one."

Alessandro's grip tightened ever so slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message.

"You keep saying that," he mused, tilting his head. "Yet your body reacts to me every time I get close." His thumb brushed against her bottom lip. "I wonder how long it'll take before you stop lying to yourself."

Emilia's heart pounded, but she didn't let it show. Instead, she smirked.

"Tell me, Alessandro," she whispered, stepping closer, her breath teasing his lips. "Do you always use brute force when a woman rejects you? Or am I just special?"

Alessandro's eyes darkened.

"Oh, you're special, alright."

And then, with a swift motion, he pulled her against him—hard. Their bodies collided, heat radiating between them. His grip on her jaw softened just enough for his fingers to trail down her throat, feeling her pulse beneath his touch.

"You think you're untouchable, don't you?" he murmured, his lips ghosting along her cheek. "You think you can fight me, resist me…"

Emilia smiled.

And then, in a move he didn't expect, she pulled the small blade she had tucked beneath her robe and pressed it against his throat.

Alessandro stilled.

"Don't mistake me for a damsel in distress, Bianchi," she whispered, her voice dripping with lethal intent. "You're not the only monster in the room."

For a long, tense moment, they simply stood there, locked in a battle of wills, the knife biting just enough into his skin to draw a single bead of blood.

Then, to her surprise, Alessandro grinned.

And laughed.

A dark, predatory sound.

"Oh, topolina," he exhaled, completely unbothered by the blade at his throat. "You really are going to be fun."

Then, faster than she could react, he grabbed her wrist, twisted it, and in a blink, the knife was in his hand, the cold metal now pressed against her throat.

Her breath hitched.

"Lesson one," he murmured, lips barely an inch from hers. "Never bring a knife to a game you don't know how to play."

The injured guards immediately got up and held him at gun point. "Young madam, with your permission".

"... Leave us". She ordered.

The guards hesitated, their fingers twitching near the triggers, but Emilia's cold, unwavering gaze was enough to make them lower their weapons. One by one, they backed away, leaving the two alone in the grand entrance hall.

Alessandro let out a quiet chuckle, his knife still resting against the delicate skin of her throat. "I like this," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "That power in your voice. Makes me wonder what you'd sound like begging."

Emilia's lips curled into a smirk, completely unfazed by his taunt. "You'll never hear it."

Alessandro's grip tightened for just a second before he finally lowered the knife—but he didn't step back. If anything, he closed the remaining distance, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

"You think you have control here?" he mused, tracing the flat edge of the blade along her collarbone, slow and deliberate. "You think your men, your name, your reputation make you untouchable?"

Emilia met his gaze, her eyes sharp like cut glass. "No," she whispered, "I make myself untouchable."

And before Alessandro could react, she grabbed his wrist, twisted it—hard—and in one fluid motion, she had the knife back in her hand.

She pressed it against his chest, right above his heart.

A silent threat.

A promise.

Alessandro looked down at the weapon, then back at her, his lips parting slightly—not in shock, but in amusement.

"Impressive."

Emilia arched a brow. "That's all you have to say?"

Alessandro smirked. "What else is there? You want me to be afraid of you, topolina?" He leaned in, his voice dropping to something low, something dangerous. "I don't fear women like you—I ruin them."

A shiver ran down her spine, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

Instead, she smiled. A slow, wicked thing.

"Funny," she whispered. "I was about to say the same to you."

And then—she slashed.

Not deep, just enough for the blade to bite into the fabric of his expensive suit, drawing a thin, shallow cut across his chest.

Alessandro barely flinched.

Instead, he let out a quiet laugh, dark and full of promise.

Then, faster than she could react, his hand was in her hair, fisting it hard, yanking her head back as he backed her against the wall. The cold marble bit into her spine, but she didn't gasp, didn't whimper. She simply glared up at him, defiant as ever.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Emilia," he murmured, pressing his body against hers. "Are you sure you're ready for the consequences?"

Her breathing was steady, her smirk still in place.

"I don't play games," she whispered. "I end them."

Alessandro's smirk mirrored hers.

"Then let's see who breaks first."