Nowhere left to run

The streets of Milan stretched before Alessandra like a shimmering illusion, golden city lights flickering against the deep indigo sky. Her grip on the steering wheel was tight—so tight her knuckles had turned bone white, but she barely felt it. The adrenaline surging through her veins drowned out everything else.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, its erratic rhythm matching the roar of the engine as she sped through the nearly deserted roads. The sleek black Maserati hugged the curves of the road with effortless precision, but Alessandra wasn't thinking about the car.

She was thinking about him.

About the look in Luca's eyes before he had left her room.

Dark. Possessive. Certain.

Like he had already won.

A shiver crawled down her spine, a sickening blend of rage and helplessness tangling inside her.

She could still feel him—his touch, his breath against her skin, the rough scrape of his lips branding her like a claim.

Her stomach twisted, nausea rising in her throat.

Even after she had scrubbed at her skin with scalding water before leaving the penthouse, even after she had pulled on layers of clothing to bury the evidence of his control, Luca Corsini clung to her like a sickness.

She pressed harder on the gas pedal.

Faster.

Farther.

Away from Luca. Away from the Ricci family. Away from the suffocating alliance that had reduced her life to a transaction.

The neon lights of Milan blurred past her peripheral vision, turning the elegant city into a chaotic swirl of colors. The scent of rain lingered in the air, mixing with the distant aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby pasticceria. On any other night, the city would have felt alive, bustling with laughter and the hum of late-night conversations spilling from trattorias.

But tonight, Milan felt empty.

Or maybe she was the one who felt empty.

Her breaths came fast, shallow, her pulse thrumming against her skin.

She thought she'd be safe in her penthouse. It had been her sanctuary, her escape from the world. But the moment she stepped inside, reality had hit her like a bullet to the chest.

Luca would come for her.

And when he did, there would be no escape.

Her fingers trembled as she turned sharply down a quieter road, leaving behind the glamour of the city center. The headlights of passing cars streaked across her windshield, illuminating the sheen of sweat on her brow.

There was only one place left.

The one place no one would dare to look for her.

Villa Rossa.

The penthouse she had gone to after that night in the club.

The night she met Matteo.

Corsini Estate

Luca Corsini stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his study, staring out at the twinkling cityscape with a lethal kind of stillness.

Milan had always been his playground. His empire.

And now, his future wife had the audacity to run from him? Again?

The moment he found her penthouse abandoned—closet raided, safe emptied, bed untouched—he had known.

Alessandra hadn't just left.

She had vanished.

She was challenging him.

A slow, dangerous smirk curled his lips, but his eyes remained ice cold.

Let her run.

It would only make it more satisfying when he finally caught her.

He lifted a glass of scotch to his lips, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the study, but the moment it touched his tongue, his grip tightened. The glass cracked under the pressure of his fingers.

His jaw flexed, the ghost of her tear-streaked face searing into his mind.

She had looked at him like he was a monster.

And maybe he was.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his neck as if trying to shake off the phantom feeling of her slipping away. He reached for his phone, dialing a number with practiced ease.

"She's gone," he said smoothly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Find her."

There was a pause.

Then—his man's voice, hesitant. "And, Luca… do you want her brought back… untouched?"

The air in the room thickened, suffocating.

Luca's grip on the glass tightened until it shattered, shards slicing into his palm. Blood dripped onto the pristine floor, staining the marble with crimson streaks.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then—his voice dropped, soft and lethal.

"No."

"Bring her back exactly as she is."

A dark smirk ghosted across his lips.

"I'll handle the rest myself."

Villa Rossa

Alessandra barely killed the engine before she was out of the car, sprinting toward the familiar high-rise building. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the distant hum of the city.

Every inch of her felt raw. Exposed.

Like she had escaped one wildfire, only to run straight into another.

She pushed through the grand lobby, her Balenciaga sneakers scuffing against the sleek marble floor. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cigars—a scent she remembered all too well.

Her reflection caught her eye in the mirrored elevator walls.

She looked wrecked.

Mascara smudged.

Eyes wild.

The red mark blooming on her shoulder—Luca's mark.

A tremor ran through her.

She ripped off her hoodie, shrugging out of the cashmere scarf as if shedding his claim.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime.

And then—silence.

The penthouse was just as she remembered it.

Dark. Expensive. Dangerous.

She pushed the door open—

And froze.

She wasn't alone.

A shadow moved from the balcony.

And then—Matteo stepped into the light.

Her breath hitched.

He was shirtless, golden skin illuminated by the dim glow of the city. The muscles of his torso were carved in sharp ridges, tattoos curling along his forearms, stark against the smooth expanse of his skin.

But it wasn't just his body that made her pulse falter.

It was his eyes.

Dark. Calculating. Knowing.

"You came back, princess."

His voice was like silk soaked in danger.

She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come.

Because suddenly—he was in front of her, closing the space between them in slow, measured steps.

Then—his fingers brushed over her shoulder, tracing the bruised imprint Luca had left behind.

A slow, dangerous stroke.

Alessandra shuddered.

Matteo's smirk vanished. His jaw clenched.

His fingers tightened around her wrist, yanking her against him—

Hard. Unyielding. Heat.

A gasp slipped past her lips as her hands landed on his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips.

His voice dipped lower.

"You ran to me."

Her breath was shaky. "I had nowhere else to go."

Matteo's lips curved into something wicked.

"Bullshit."

His fingers threaded into her hair, tilting her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Tell me why you're really here, princess."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Matteo wasn't possession like Luca.

Luca was control. A cage.

Matteo?

Matteo was seduction wrapped in sin.

His fingers traced lower, skimming the curve of her waist.

"I should throw you out," he murmured.

Her pulse pounded.

His grip tightened.

"But I won't."

His lips brushed just below her ear.

His voice, a dark promise.

"Because if Luca thinks he owns you…"

A slow, sinful smirk.

"Then maybe it's time I remind him—"

His teeth grazed her skin.

A shudder ripped through her.

Matteo's grip turned possessive.

"He fucking doesn't."