Matteo's grip on Alessandra's wrist was firm but not forceful, his dark eyes filled with a fire she had only seen in glimpses. The desperation in his voice was evident, laced with something dangerously close to pleading.
"Stay with me a little longer," he murmured, his breath ghosting over her skin. "Before we leave, let me have you—just once."
Alessandra's heart pounded, but she steeled herself. The way he held her, the way his fingers grazed her waist as he slowly backed her toward the nearest room, sent shivers up her spine. He wanted her, and not just in the way a man wants a woman—Matteo wanted to consume her, to brand her.
Her back hit the door as he caged her in, his lips just inches from hers. "Say yes." His voice was pure sin, rough and commanding. "We don't have to rush. Just a little time together, cara. Let me touch you properly."
A sharp breath left her lips as he ran his fingers down her arm, making her body burn with need. She wanted him. She wanted this.
But not like this.
Alessandra placed a hand on his chest and pushed—just enough to create distance. "Not now, Matteo."
His expression darkened. "Why?"
She swallowed hard, steadying herself. "Because when I give myself to you, it won't be like this. It won't be because we're running out of time or because we're desperate." She met his gaze, refusing to waver. "It will be after we're married."
Matteo froze.
Her words cut through him like a blade, his fingers twitching at his sides.
Marriage.
It wasn't a foreign concept to him, but it was something he had never truly entertained for himself. And yet, for her, he had thought about it—he had thought about defying everything he believed in just to keep her.
But hearing her say it, seeing the conviction in her eyes… It was different.
His jaw tightened as he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along the side of her neck, down to her collarbone, as if testing the limits of her resolve. "You weren't saying that when you were moaning my name," he whispered, his voice deep, laced with a raw edge. "Or when your nails were digging into my back, begging for more."
Alessandra sucked in a sharp breath.
She hated how easily he could unravel her, how his words alone sent heat pooling low in her stomach.
Matteo took a step closer, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Tell me you don't remember the way I made you feel." His hand slid down, stopping at her waist, his grip possessive. "Tell me you don't want it again."
Her body betrayed her, reacting to his touch, to his voice, to the memories he had just stirred to life. That night had been reckless, raw, and undeniably perfect.
But it wasn't enough.
Alessandra clenched her fists and forced herself to step away. "That night happened because I let it," she said, her voice softer now. "But if you want me again, Matteo, it won't be on impulse. It won't be a stolen moment." She lifted her chin. "It will be because you chose me fully. Because I'm yours—not just in bed, but in every way that matters."
Matteo stared at her, his expression unreadable.
He had never been a man who needed to beg for a woman's attention. He took what he wanted. But Alessandra wasn't like the others—she never had been.
And damn it, he knew she was right.
Alessandra took a deep breath, stepping around him. "If you want me, Matteo, then marry me. Until then…" She walked away, leaving him standing there, fists clenched, jaw tight, and frustration burning in his veins.
Matteo exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. "Dannazione."
She was driving him insane.
Alessandra barely made it through the corridors before she heard her name being called.
"Alessandra!"
Bianca's voice rang through the hall, urgency laced in every syllable.
Alessandra sighed, rubbing her temples as her manager finally caught up to her. "Where the hell have you been?" Bianca huffed, slightly out of breath. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"I needed air," Alessandra muttered.
"Well, you're going to need more than air after you hear this," Bianca shot back, stepping in front of her. "People are looking for you. Big people."
Alessandra arched a brow, unimpressed. "Define big."
Bianca scoffed. "Does the CEO of Lyon Pictures sound big enough for you? Because he's been waiting for over ten minutes."
Alessandra stilled. Lyon Pictures. One of the most prestigious film production companies in the world.
"That Lyon Pictures?" she asked, skeptical.
"Yes, Alessandra, that Lyon Pictures. And he's not the only one. There are also executives from LVMH and Valentino who want a word."
Alessandra frowned. "Why?"
Bianca threw her hands up. "I don't know, maybe because you're Alessandra Ricci—the most sought-after supermodel in the world? Maybe because your face sells more luxury than any brand ambassador in history?"
Alessandra crossed her arms, unimpressed. "I told you, I'm tired."
Bianca groaned. "Cara, do you know what these meetings could do for you? Lyon Pictures doesn't just talk to anyone—they offer contracts."
Alessandra hesitated. The idea of stepping into the film industry had never truly been on her radar, but it wasn't impossible. Still, right now, her mind was elsewhere—on her grandfather, on Matteo, on the storm waiting for her in Italy.
Bianca must have sensed her reluctance because she grabbed her shoulders. "Listen to me, if you walk away from this, you might never get this chance again."
Alessandra sighed. "Fine."
Bianca exhaled in relief and quickly led her back toward the VIP lounge. The second they entered, all eyes snapped toward them. Alessandra was used to attention, but this felt different.
Seated at the grand, private table was Laurent Chastain, the CEO of Lyon Pictures, flanked by two executives. Across from them sat a man in an expensive Italian suit—someone Alessandra immediately recognized as the director of Valentino's creative division.
"Miss Ricci," Laurent greeted with a warm yet businesslike smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
She returned his handshake smoothly. "The pleasure is mine."
"Have a seat," he gestured. "We have a proposal for you."
As Alessandra sat down, Bianca shot her a look that practically screamed, I told you so.
Matteo stood near the grand bar, nursing a whiskey as his mind wrestled with the mess Alessandra had left him in.
He wanted her.
He wanted her like he had never wanted anything before.
And yet, she had walked away claiming only marriage was an option.
But marriage wasn't his thing.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Matteo swiped it open, his expression darkening as he recognized the caller.
"Talk," he answered.
A gruff voice responded. "We've got a problem at the port. An unauthorized shipment came in."
Matteo's fingers tightened around his glass. "Whose shipment?"
"Not ours. And not from anyone we recognize."
His jaw clenched.
Unfamiliar cargo. Unauthorized movement. Someone was making a bold move on his territory.
He straightened, setting his drink down. "I'm on my way."
The night air was thick with the scent of salt and metal as Matteo arrived at the private docks in Italy with his private jet . His men were already positioned, shadows blending with the towering stacks of shipping containers.
He stepped out of the sleek black car, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, his presence alone commanding attention.
A group of men stood near a truck, their expressions tense as Matteo approached.
"What's the situation?" he demanded.
One of his men, Enzo, stepped forward. "Cargo arrived an hour ago. No records. No prior notice. We checked the crates—firearms and untraceable cash. Someone is moving big money without your permission."
Matteo's lips pressed into a thin line. A direct violation.
He turned to Enzo. "Who's responsible?"
Enzo hesitated. "We're still tracking the source, but whoever they are… they have balls."
Matteo exhaled sharply. His patience was running thin tonight. Between Alessandra slipping through his fingers and now this, he was in no mood for games.
His voice was steel. "Find out who they are. And when you do…"
A slow, predatory smirk curled his lips.
"Make sure they regret it."
The night stretched around him, danger brewing in the air.
One thing was certain—whoever had crossed into his world would soon learn a painful lesson.
And Matteo Corsini never forgave trespasses.