The flames of possession

Alessandra barely had time to steady her breath before Luca was upon her as if something had snapped within him when he returned.

The moment she reentered the ballroom, he was waiting—stormy-eyed, rigid with barely contained fury. His grip was unyielding as he wrapped a firm hand around her wrist, pulling her into him.

"Whatever happened earlier should be corrected" he murmured, voice edged with steel. "Dance with me."

It wasn't a request.

The orchestra swelled, the haunting melody weaving through the tension. Alessandra's stomach tightened as Luca guided her toward the dance floor, his movements calculated, precise—a silent warning.

But she wasn't blind to the attention they've gathered as if proving to the world that whatever happened a while ago never happened.

Matteo was watching.

From the edge of the room, he stood—dark, relaxed, but unmistakably present. His gaze burned into her like a ghostly caress, a reminder that he had touched her first tonight, that her body had already molded to his before Luca ever had the chance.

And he knew it.

Matteo tilted his glass lazily, his lips curving into something lethal. Amusement. Possessiveness. An unspoken promise.

Alessandra swallowed hard as Luca's arm tightened around her waist.

"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured near her ear, his voice deceptively soft. "A public spectacle?"

"You're the one making it one," she whispered back.

Luca's fingers pressed into her lower back, pulling her closer than necessary. "You let him put his hands on you when you're my fiancee," he said. "Let him lead you, touch you, claim you in front of everyone."

Alessandra stiffened. "It was a dance."

"Not to him."

Not to Matteo.

A shiver coursed through her as she risked a glance over Luca's shoulder. Matteo was still watching. Not blinking. Not smiling. Not looking away.

And she knew—she would feel that gaze long after this night ended.

"Do you enjoy playing with fire, Alessandra?" Luca murmured.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "Do you?"

His jaw tensed, his hand sliding lower on her back. "Be careful because you're mine and I don't plan on letting you go " he warned, voice like ice.

"You don't own me," she whispered.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Not yet."

It was an echo of Matteo's words, but they didn't feel the same. Matteo had said it with the hunger of a man who wanted to devour her. Luca said it with the entitlement of a man who believed she already belonged to him.

And she didn't know which terrified her more.

The music shifted, and Luca pulled her through the dance, his movements sharp and controlled. She had been raised for this—trained to be the perfect partner, to glide effortlessly, to smile even when her world was crumbling.

But tonight, she faltered.

Because she could feel him.

Matteo's presence—unrelenting, scorching, as if his touch had left an imprint on her skin that even Luca's hands couldn't erase.

And he knew it.

Matteo lifted his glass to his lips, his smirk deepening. He was daring her to remember.

She hated that she already did.

Luca turned her sharply, his grip tightening. "Look at me," he commanded.

Alessandra did.

And for a moment, she saw it.

Not love. Not tenderness. But something close to possession.

Luca Corsini was a man who had never been denied anything. And tonight, she had become something to win.

Alessandra's stomach twisted.

"You want a fight?" she murmured, her lips barely moving. "Fine. But don't pretend this is anything more than what it is."

Luca exhaled through his nose. "And what is it, Alessandra?"

"A game of power."

Something flickered in his gaze, something unreadable.

But before he could respond, a voice as deep as authority itself cut through the air.

"Enough, Luca."

The music slowed.

Leonardo Ricci.

The patriarch of the Ricci family.

Alessandra turned slowly as her grandfather approached. His presence alone demanded silence—years of power etched into the lines of his face, his dark gaze sharp enough to cut through glass.

Luca stiffened beside her, stepping back but not letting go of her hand.

Leonardo's gaze flicked between them before settling on Alessandra. "It seems you have a penchant for causing a stir, bambina."

Alessandra swallowed. "Nonno—"

He lifted a hand, silencing her. "A woman must be careful where she places her affections. In this world, alliances are everything."

A pause.

Then—his gaze slid to Matteo.

Alessandra's pulse stuttered.

Leonardo studied Matteo for a long, weighted moment. Measuring him. Acknowledging him.

Then he returned his attention to Luca.

"The Ricci and Corsini families have long stood as pillars of power," he said. "And I expect that unity to remain intact."

Luca's grip tightened on her.

Alessandra's breath hitched.

There it was. The confirmation.

Her grandfather wasn't just supporting this engagement. He was cementing it.

The weight of it settled like iron in her chest.

Leonardo's eyes met hers, unreadable. "Do you understand?"

She did.

But she couldn't bring herself to nod.

Not when she could still feel Matteo's gaze on her.

Not when her skin still burned from where he had touched her.

Not when she knew—deep in her bones—that she had already made the worst mistake of all.

Because this war wasn't just between Luca and Matteo anymore.

It was inside her.

And she had no idea who would win.