Fire and Ice

Chapter 3: Fire and Ice

(First-Person POV: Alessia)

Dinner at the De Luca estate was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. The table, a massive expanse of polished mahogany, gleamed under the flickering light of the chandelier. It stretched far enough to seat twenty or more, but tonight it held only five of us: Matteo at the head, me to his right, his brother Luca to his left, and two senior lieutenants farther down. The spread before us looked like something out of a Michelin-starred restaurant—truffle-laced risotto, roasted lamb, and delicate desserts that seemed too perfect to eat.

It was the kind of meal meant to impress, but the tension at the table was so thick that even the finest food turned to ash in my mouth. My stomach churned, though I wasn't sure if it was from the pressure of sitting at this table or from the sharp, watchful gaze of Luca De Luca.

"You must be Alessia," Luca said, his voice smooth but carrying a razor-sharp edge.

I met his gaze without flinching, though it took effort. Luca was different from Matteo, and not just in the way he carried himself. Where Matteo was cold and calculating, a storm waiting to break, Luca was a wildfire—reckless, dangerous, and impossible to control.

"And you must be Luca," I replied flatly, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

His lips curled into a grin, but there was no warmth in it. "Our new addition," he said, his tone mocking.

"Lucky me," I muttered, earning a low chuckle from Matteo.

Luca tilted his head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey. "You've got spirit," he said, leaning back in his chair with his glass of wine dangling carelessly from his fingers. "Careful with that around here. It tends to get extinguished quickly."

I opened my mouth, ready to deliver a sharp retort, but Matteo's voice sliced through the conversation like a blade.

"Enough."

Luca raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk didn't fade. "Just making conversation, brother."

Matteo didn't respond. He didn't need to. The icy command in his voice had already silenced the room.

I turned back to my plate, forcing myself to take a bite of the risotto even though my appetite was nonexistent. Every movement felt stiff, every breath calculated. Matteo's presence loomed over me like a shadow, and I hated the way it made my skin prickle.

The silence stretched until it was unbearable, broken only by the clinking of silverware. Finally, Matteo's voice cut through the tension.

"Eat, Alessia."

"I'm not hungry," I said, keeping my tone as even as I could.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't push further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "This arrangement might not be what you wanted, but you're here now. It's time you started acting like it."

I set my fork down with deliberate slowness, meeting his gaze head-on. "And by that, you mean obedient? Docile? Like the perfect little wife?"

The room fell into a stunned silence. Even Luca, who'd been lounging carelessly in his chair, seemed to stiffen.

Matteo's lips curved into a slow smile, but there was no humor in it. "No," he said, his voice soft but laced with menace. "I mean like someone who wants to survive."

After dinner, Matteo summoned me to his study.

The room was dark and imposing, lined with shelves of leather-bound books and lit only by the flickering flames in the fireplace. Matteo stood by the window, his back to me, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The sight of him there, silhouetted against the night, sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"You embarrassed me tonight," he said without turning around. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made my pulse race.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. "If you wanted a wife who'd sit quietly and play nice, you picked the wrong woman."

He turned to face me, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "I didn't pick you, Alessia. This was your father's decision."

"And you didn't object," I shot back, stepping into the room. "Why is that, Matteo? What do you really get out of this marriage?"

He took a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down on the desk. "Power," he said simply. "Stability. An end to years of bloodshed between our families."

I laughed bitterly. "And here I thought it was my sparkling personality that won you over."

His gaze darkened, and in two strides, he was standing in front of me. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat of him almost tangible.

"You think this is a joke?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I refused to back down, though my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "Isn't it? You get what you want, my father gets what he wants, and I'm just the sacrificial lamb caught in the middle."

His jaw tightened, and his hand shot out, gripping my wrist—not painfully, but firmly enough to make me feel the weight of his power. "This isn't a game, Alessia. Every move I make is to ensure that we stay alive. You might hate me, but the moment you stepped into this house, you became a target. And whether you like it or not, I'm the only thing standing between you and the people who want to see your family destroyed."

The intensity in his voice stole the air from my lungs. For a moment, I saw something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded—but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"So what?" I whispered. "I'm supposed to thank you? Bow down and kiss your ring because you've decided to play protector?"

His lips curled into a humorless smile. "No, cara. You're supposed to stay out of my way and do as you're told."

I yanked my wrist out of his grip, my defiance flaring. "You can't control me, Matteo. No matter how much you try, I'll never be one of your pawns."

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze boring into mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Then, to my surprise, he stepped back, giving me just enough space to breathe.

"You're not a pawn, Alessia," he said quietly. "You're the queen. But don't forget—queens can fall, too."

That night, I sat by the window in my room, staring out at the moonlit gardens. The estate was breathtaking, the fountains glittering like diamonds in the dark and the roses swaying gently in the breeze. But no matter how beautiful it was, it wasn't mine.

I'd been here only a few days, but I already felt trapped. Every interaction with Matteo was a battle, every word a move in a dangerous game I wasn't sure I knew how to play. And yet, beneath all the anger and defiance, there was something else.

Something I didn't want to name.

Because the moment I did, I would lose. And Matteo De Luca would win.