Between Brothers

Alessandra's heartbeat thundered in her chest as Luca unfastened his cufflinks, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement.

Run.

She had to run.

Her gaze darted to the door, but he was too close, the weight of his presence suffocating.

"You won't do this," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Luca only tilted his head, amusement curling his lips. "And who's going to stop me, cara?"

Without thinking, Alessandra grabbed the nearest thing—an ornate glass vase from the bedside table—and hurled it at him.

The vase shattered against the wall just inches from his head.

Luca's expression darkened, his amusement evaporating. "Feisty," he murmured, flexing his jaw. "But pointless."

Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as she reached for another vase, gripping it with trembling fingers.

"You think you can fight me?" Luca taunted, his voice smooth but edged with menace. "You're mine, Alessandra. You always have been. And it's time you accept it."

"Like hell I will!" she screamed, hurling the second vase.

This time, he dodged, his patience snapping.

With a low growl, Luca lunged forward, grabbing her wrist before she could reach for another object. He twisted her arm just enough to make her gasp, his grip unrelenting.

"Enough," he hissed. "Enough of these fucking games."

Tears burned in her eyes as she struggled against him. "Let me go!"

But Luca was losing his patience. With a forceful yank, he tossed her onto the bed.

Alessandra barely had time to scramble away before he was on her again, his hands pressing into the mattress, caging her in.

"You want to be claimed so badly?" His voice was a cruel whisper. "Then let's see if you still beg for him after I—"

Click.

The sound was quiet. Deadly.

Luca froze.

Alessandra gasped, her eyes flying to the shadow standing at the door.

Matteo.

His stance was calm, almost lazy—except for the gleaming barrel of a gun pressed against Luca's temple.

"Move," Matteo said, his voice low and lethal, "and I swear to God, I'll blow your fucking head off."

Luca's breathing was ragged, but he didn't move. His body was rigid over hers, his muscles locked in hesitation.

Alessandra had never seen him hesitate before.

Matteo's finger rested on the trigger, his grip steady. "Tell me, fratello," he murmured, "would our mother be proud of you right now?"

A flash of something unreadable crossed Luca's face.

Matteo pressed the gun harder against his skull. "Forcing yourself on a woman—even if she was promised to you?"

Luca exhaled sharply. His jaw clenched.

"Would she be proud of you, Matteo?" he countered, his voice laced with venom. "Fucking your brother's fiancée?"

Alessandra flinched.

Matteo only chuckled, the sound low and knowing. "She chose me." His tone was almost amused. "And you know why, don't you?"

Luca's breath hitched, but he remained still.

"You never wanted her," Matteo continued. "You just wanted to own her. So why don't you be a man and fucking admit it?"

A muscle in Luca's jaw twitched.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he pushed himself away from Alessandra and rose to his feet.

Matteo didn't lower the gun.

Luca straightened his shirt, exhaling through his nose as if regaining his composure. Then, without looking at Matteo, he turned toward the door.

But at the threshold, he hesitated.

Alessandra curled into herself on the bed, silent tears streaming down her face.

Luca looked at her—really looked at her. And something flickered in his gaze. Something dangerous.

Then, in a voice colder than death, he murmured, "Tell my brother to put a ring on you, Alessandra. Then you'll see just how fucked up you are for choosing him over me."

And with that, he walked away.

The moment the door clicked shut, Alessandra let out a strangled sob.

Matteo's eyes remained on the door for a beat longer, as if ensuring Luca was truly gone.

Then he turned to her.

"Alessandra," he murmured.

But she shook her head, pressing a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound of her pain.

Matteo cursed under his breath before setting the gun aside and moving toward her.

He reached out, but she flinched.

Something dark flashed across his expression, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he crouched beside the bed, his hands resting on his knees, watching her.

"Did he hurt you?" His voice was a whisper, but the tension in it was suffocating.

Alessandra shook her head, though she wasn't sure if it was the truth.

Matteo exhaled, his fingers twitching, as if resisting the urge to touch her.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

Her lip trembled. She hated that he saw through her.

Matteo's jaw tightened, his frustration barely restrained. But instead of pressing her for answers, he moved closer—slowly, carefully—until he was right beside her on the bed.

For a moment, he just sat there, his presence steady, grounding. Then, with deliberate gentleness, he reached out and pulled her against him.

Alessandra stiffened at first, but Matteo said nothing, simply resting a hand on her back, his touch firm yet soothing.

"You're safe," he murmured, his voice low and certain. "I've got you."

Alessandra let out a shaky breath.

And as Matteo rubbed slow circles on her back, her tense body gradually melted into his warmth.

He didn't push. Didn't demand.

He just held her.

And for the first time in a long, long time—Alessandra allowed herself to be held.