Price of defiance

The moment Alessandra stepped back into the grand ballroom, he was there.

Luca Corsini.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wrapped in a custom-tailored black Brioni suit that fit him like a second skin. A glass of whiskey rested in his grip—untouched, steady—waiting.

Her stomach plummeted.

Crystal chandeliers bathed the gilded hall in golden light, the scent of rare perfume, aged wine, and power hanging thick in the air. Laughter echoed across the marbled floors, a symphony of the elite, oblivious to the storm about to break.

But Alessandra could feel it.

The moment his gaze locked onto her—everything shifted.

Dangerous. Lethal. Possessive.

The air crackled with unspoken rage, pressing down on her like an invisible force.

Then—he moved.

Before she could react, Luca's fingers clamped around her wrist.

Tight. Unyielding.

The whiskey in his other hand never wavered, but his grip did—like iron wrapped in velvet.

"Where the fuck were you?"

His voice was **low, sharp—**razor wire coated in silk.

Alessandra's pulse slammed into her ribs.

People were watching.

Whispers. Curious glances. A few exchanged smirks behind crystal champagne flutes.

Giulia stiffened beside her. "Luca—"

His grip tightened.

"Stay out of this, Caruso."

His eyes—**grey, burning, livid—**never left Alessandra's.

A chill crawled down her spine.

"I was just—"

"Don't lie to me."

The words were quiet. Deadly.

Her breath hitched.

"You disappeared," Luca continued, voice deceptively calm. "For how long, Alessandra? Twenty minutes? Thirty?" His head tilted, his grip unrelenting. "What were you doing?"

Her blood ran cold.

She tried to pull back, but Luca yanked her closer.

Then—

His head lowered, his nose grazing the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply.

Alessandra's breath stalled.

Then—his jaw clenched.

"You smell like him."

The words were like a death sentence.

Alessandra froze.

Her mind screamed, her body locked in place as the reality of his words sank in.

He knows.

The scent of Matteo lingered on her skin—his cologne, his touch, the remnants of heat left behind in a reckless, stolen moment.

And Luca knew.

She opened her mouth—**denial poised at the tip of her tongue—**but he never gave her the chance.

Luca turned—dragging her through the crowd.

"Luca—people are watching!" she hissed.

His grip didn't loosen.

"Let them."

The words sent a shudder down her spine.

Gasps followed them. Eyes traced their every move. The music swelled, violins reaching their crescendo as Alessandra stumbled behind him, her emerald silk gown catching the light like liquid fire.

By the time they reached the entrance, a sleek black Rolls-Royce was already idling at the curb, its polished surface reflecting the glittering lights of the grand estate.

The driver barely had time to react before Luca shoved the door open and hauled her inside.

The door slammed shut.

Then—silence.

Thick. Stifling.

The only sound was her ragged breathing.

Luca leaned back against the buttery leather seats, legs spread, one hand gripping the whiskey glass—the other still wrapped around her wrist.

He stared.

Watching. Studying.

Waiting.

Then, in a voice cold as steel—

"Tell me where you were."

Alessandra lifted her chin. Refusing to bow.

"I don't have to tell you anything."

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"Is that so?"

With one smooth movement, he shifted closer.

Heat rolled off him in waves.

The **scent of his cologne—smoky, spiced, dark—**wrapped around her, suffocating.

He caged her in. One arm draped across the back of the seat, the other resting on his knee—his thigh pressed against hers.

"I'll ask one more time," he murmured, voice like dark velvet.

"Where. Were. You?"

Alessandra's breath hitched.

She refused to yield.

She pressed back against the door, hands curling into fists.

"Move."

Luca chuckled.

Low. Slow. Dangerous.

"You're acting brave now, princess."

His fingers brushed against her knee—tracing upward.

Alessandra jerked away.

"Don't touch me."

His smirk widened.

"Don't tempt me, then."

The car pulled up to the Corsini estate.

**A sprawling Italian masterpiece—**granite archways, towering cypress trees, the warm glow of chandeliers spilling onto the marble courtyard.

Alessandra barely had time to exhale before **Luca was already out—**opening her door, gripping her wrist—dragging her inside.

The grand doors slammed shut.

And then—

He was on her.

"Luca—"

His hands gripped her waist, spinning her around—slamming her back against the wall.

His lips crashed onto hers.

Bruising. Punishing. Devouring.

She gasped.

Tried to fight.

But he was stronger.

One hand snaked into her hair, tilting her head back—deepening the kiss.

Heat flooded her.

Her body—traitorous.

His teeth dragged over her lower lip, his grip tightening.

"You think you can run from me?"

Alessandra shoved against his chest.

"Let me go."

Luca didn't.

Instead—his fingers curled around the delicate fabric of her dress.

Then—

Riiiiip.

The sound of tearing silk filled the air.

Alessandra gasped.

Eyes widening in horror.

"Luca, stop—!"

His lips moved to her shoulder, his teeth scraping over her skin.

Then—

He bit down.

Hard.

Pain spiked through her.

Sharp. Possessive. Claiming.

Tears pricked at her eyes.

"Now he'll know," Luca murmured against her skin.

Alessandra's body trembled.

Her heart thundered.

And then—

She broke.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"I've had enough."

Luca stilled.

Her voice—wavered, cracked—

Shattered.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered.

His grip loosened.

For the first time—

Luca Corsini looked at her.

Really looked.

And something in his gaze shifted.

But it was too late.

Because Alessandra was done.