Chapter 3: Dangerous Games

News travelled fast at St. Marcus Academy well not that Damien was scared of a little controversy. By the next morning, whispers of the confrontation between Damien Toriela and Rosaline Vittori had spread throughout the student body.

Speculation ran wild about why the fearsome Toriela heir had backed down, however temporarily, and what it meant for the carefully maintained hierarchy of power at the school.

Some suggested that Damien was merely playing a longer game, allowing Rosa a false sense of victory before striking back. Others wondered if the Vittori family had some leverage over the Torielas that no one knew about.

The bolder gossip hinted at romantic possibilities, though they were careful to share such theories only in hushed tones, far from the ears of either party involved.

Within days, everyone watched with bated breath as their paths crossed in hallways, classrooms, and the courtyard, each encounter charged with an electricity that was both thrilling and dangerous.

The other students began keeping mental scorecards of their verbal sparring, with some secretly taking bets on who would ultimately prevail in this clash of underworld royalty.

Three weeks into the semester, tensions reached a feverish peak during the lunch period. Damien leaned against the marble pillar in the cafeteria, his eyes fixed on Rosa as she sat with a group of students who had been quick to align themselves with this new power centre. Alessandro Romano, son of a prominent judge and notorious social climber, was sitting entirely too close to her, making her laugh with what Damien assumed were pathetic attempts at humour.

"You want me to handle it?" Marco asked, noting his boss's darkening expression.

"No," Damien replied, his voice cold. "I'll deal with this myself."

He pushed off the pillar and walked toward their table, his presence causing conversations to die mid-sentence. Alessandro saw him coming and visibly paled, but Rosa merely raised an eyebrow, that now-familiar challenging smile playing on her lips.

"Alessandro," Damien said pleasantly, though his eyes were anything but friendly. "Your father's working on the Montenegro case, isn't he? Shame if certain documents about his offshore accounts found their way to the press."

The judge's son practically stumbled in his haste to leave the table, mumbling incoherent excuses. The other students followed suit, abandoning Rosa as quickly as they had flocked to her. Power recognized power, but self-preservation trumped both.

Rosa watched him go, then turned to Damien with fire in her amber eyes.

"Subtle," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you always resort to threats when you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Damien scoffed, taking Alessandro's vacated seat. Their knees almost touched under the table, and he was suddenly aware of her perfume, something expensive with notes of jasmine and something darker, more intoxicating. "I'm protecting you from wasting your time with someone beneath you."

"How thoughtful," Rosa replied, gathering her books. "But I don't need your protection, Toriela. I'm perfectly capable of choosing my own company."

"Are you?" He caught her wrist as she stood, his touch sending an unexpected jolt through both of them. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, soft but with the faint calluses that spoke of weapons training. "Because from where I'm standing, your choices could use some improvement."

Rosa glanced down at his hand on her wrist, then back to his face. The cafeteria had grown quiet again, all eyes on them, waiting for her response. When she spoke, her voice was low, meant only for him.

"Remove your hand, or lose it."

The threat would have sounded ridiculous coming from anyone else, but there was something in her eyes that made Damien release her. Not fear, he wasn't afraid of her, but recognition and respect forced him to cave in. They were the same, after all. Both were raised in worlds where threats weren't idle and power wasn't just for show.

"Have dinner with me," he said suddenly, surprising even himself.

Rosa laughed, the sound was both musical and mocking. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," he replied, standing to face her. "One dinner. Just us. No threats, no power plays, no family names."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you're as curious about me as I am about you." Damien stepped closer, close enough to catch the subtle scent of her perfume again, to see the tiny flecks of gold in her amber eyes. "Because every time we clash, you feel it too – this thing between us that's bigger than family rivalries and school politics."

For a moment, something flickered in Rosa's eyes, interest, perhaps, or recognition of the truth in his words. She didn't step back despite his proximity, and he counted that as a small victory. Then her walls slammed back into place.

"You're right about one thing," she said, her voice soft but firm. "There is something between us." She leaned in, her lips almost brushing his ear, sending an unexpected shiver down his spine. "War."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Damien standing there with a mixture of frustration and admiration. He watched her go, noting how other students scrambled to get out of her path, just as they did for him. She moved with the same confidence, the same awareness of her own power. In another life, under different circumstances, they might have been allies rather than adversaries.

The rest of the school day passed in a blur of lectures he barely heard and assignments he would delegate to others. His mind kept circling back to Rosa, her defiance, her fire, the way she'd leaned close enough that he could feel her breath on his skin when she'd declared war.

That evening, Damien sat in his father's study, pretending to focus on the company reports while his mind kept drifting to Rosa. The room was a sanctuary of old-world power, walls lined with leather-bound books, the air scented with cigars and aged whiskey. Duncan watched him from behind his massive oak desk, his experienced eyes seeing more than his son realized.

"The Vittori girl," Duncan said finally, setting down his crystal tumbler. "She's causing quite a stir."

Damien looked up, carefully masking his surprise. He should have known his father would already be aware of the situation. Little happened in Rome that escaped Duncan Toriela's notice, particularly when it involved his son and heir.

"She's stubborn," Damien replied, attempting to sound casual. "Defiant. Refuses to acknowledge our family's position."

Duncan chuckled, the sound warm and knowing. "Reminds me of someone else I know." His eyes, so similar to Damien's own, studied his son with amusement. "I knew her father in the old days before the families drew their territorial lines so strictly. Marco Vittori is clever, and adaptable. His daughter seems to be cut from the same cloth."

Damien tensed slightly. "Should I be concerned about their presence in Rome?"

"Concerned? No." Duncan set down his whiskey glass, his expression growing more serious. "Aware, yes. The Vittoris don't make moves without purpose. If Rosa is at St. Marcus, it's because Marco has plans that involve us in some way."

"I can handle her," Damien assured him, perhaps too quickly.

"I'm sure you can," Duncan replied, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Just remember son, in our world, love and war often look the same. The trick is knowing which one you're really fighting."

The conversation shifted to business matters, but Duncan's words lingered in Damien's mind. Love and war looked the same, the idea was unsettling, yet it resonated with something he'd felt during his encounters with Rosa. The anger, the fascination, the tension... all of it blurred into an emotion he wasn't ready to name.

Damien pondered his father's words as he lay in bed that night, replaying his encounters with Rosa. Every clash, every heated exchange, every challenging smile, they were all moves in a game neither of them quite understood yet. Or perhaps one they understood too well but weren't ready to acknowledge.

His phone buzzed with a message. Unknown number.

"Next time you want to scare off my companions, try being less obvious. It's embarrassing. - R"

Despite himself, Damien smiled. She'd gotten his number – impressive, considering how carefully he guarded that information. He saved the number before typing his reply:

"Next time pick better companions, and I won't have to intervene. Dinner offer still stands. - D"

The response came quickly: "In your dreams, Toriela."

"Every night, Rosa," he murmured to himself as he set the phone aside. "Every night."

He fell asleep thinking of amber eyes and the scent of jasmine, his dreams a confusing blend of confrontation and something far more dangerous – desire.