Alessandra sat across from Laurent Chastain, her poised demeanor betraying none of the inner turmoil raging within her. She listened as he laid out an enticing offer—an exclusive role in an upcoming international film, a project already backed by the biggest luxury brands. It was the kind of deal most supermodels would kill for.
But Alessandra's mind was elsewhere.
Matteo.
Would he agree? Would he finally step up and marry her so she could escape her family's suffocating control?
"Miss Ricci?" Laurent's voice pulled her back to the present.
She met his gaze, flashing him a practiced, dazzling smile. "It's an incredible opportunity, truly," she said smoothly, "but I'll need time to consider it."
Laurent nodded, though his sharp gaze assessed her with curiosity. "Of course. We'll be in touch."
With that, the meeting wrapped up, and Bianca wasted no time ushering her out. As they stepped into the hallway, Bianca exhaled dramatically. "Are you crazy? Do you even understand what you just walked away from?"
Alessandra smirked. "I didn't walk away. I just bought myself time."
Bianca rolled her eyes. "You and your mind games."
Before they could continue, an assistant from one of Volgaria's biggest TV networks hurried toward them. "Miss Ricci! One moment, please!"
Alessandra tensed as the woman approached, flashing an eager, almost desperate smile. "Our station would be honored if you could do an exclusive interview with us. Your Zenith Runway Show was a monumental success, and your fans are dying to hear from you."
Bianca took charge immediately. "Alessandra just wrapped up a major show. She needs rest. We appreciate the offer, but she won't be available."
The woman looked disappointed but persisted. "Perhaps at a later time, then?"
Bianca sighed, but after a moment, she nodded. "We'll consider it."
Satisfied, the assistant walked away, and Bianca turned back to Alessandra. "Let's get you out of here before someone else tries to trap you."
Alessandra chuckled softly.
Minutes later, she stepped into the waiting black luxury car, the interior cool against her flushed skin. As the vehicle pulled away, her fingers drummed against her lap, her thoughts darkening.
Her mind wasn't on the interview.
It wasn't on the career-changing opportunity she had just been handed.
It was on Matteo.
Would he say yes?
Would he finally claim her before it was too late?
Luca's words echoed in her mind, mocking and cruel.
"Ask my brother to put a ring on you, and you'll see how fucked up you are for choosing him over me."
Alessandra swallowed hard, her fingers gripping her phone. She dialed Matteo's number.
No answer.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Frustration burned through her, but she forced herself to stay composed. With no other choice, she allowed the night to carry her back to the hotel, where her manager and crew were already packing.
Bianca was clueless about her personal turmoil, oblivious to the fact that Alessandra was stalling—delaying her return to Italy, waiting for Matteo to make a decision that could change everything.
As the plane finally took off hours later, Alessandra leaned back in her seat, exhaling sharply.
She was going back.
But not to the Ricci estate.
Not yet.
She was running out of time.
And Matteo?
She didn't know anymore.
---
The scent of salt and oil filled the air as Matteo stepped onto the docks of his private port, the hum of machinery blending with the murmured voices of his men. The shipment sat before them—crates filled with weapons and stacks of untraceable cash. A bold move by someone foolish enough to challenge his rule.
Enzo stood at his side, his expression dark. "Whoever did this isn't afraid of you."
Matteo's lips curled into a dangerous smirk. "Then they don't know who they're fucking with."
He approached one of the crates, tapping his fingers against the wood before signaling for it to be pried open. A crowbar cracked the lid, revealing neatly packed firearms, some still bearing international military insignias.
Stolen goods.
A direct insult.
His jaw tightened as he turned to the group of men waiting at a distance—prisoners his crew had rounded up earlier that night. The ones responsible for smuggling the cargo into his territory.
Matteo walked toward them, his presence alone suffocating. He could see the fear in their eyes, the way they trembled under his gaze.
One of them, a rat-faced man with trembling hands, spoke first. "Mr. Corsini, I swear, we didn't know this was your port—"
Matteo tilted his head. "You didn't know?" His voice was deceptively soft. "So you mean to tell me you've been doing business in Italy without knowing whose land you were standing on?"
The man paled. "We—"
Before he could finish, Matteo pulled out his gun and shot him in the knee.
A scream echoed through the night.
Matteo crouched beside the writhing man, his expression eerily calm. "Let me educate you." He grabbed the man's face, forcing him to look into his cold, dark eyes. "This is my kingdom. Every shipment, every transaction, every fucking breath taken in my territory happens because I allow it."
He stood, wiping his hands as the man whimpered in pain. "Find out who's behind this," he ordered his men. "And make an example of them."
Enzo nodded. "Consider it done."
Matteo turned away, walking toward his car, the weight of the night pressing against his shoulders.
His world was built on power, blood, and fear.
And yet, amidst all of it, his mind drifted back to one woman.
Alessandra.
She wanted marriage.
She wanted something permanent, something binding.
He wasn't a man who made vows. He wasn't a man who tied himself to anyone.
But Alessandra Ricci was not just anyone.
As he slid into the backseat of his car, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Missed calls.
Alessandra.
His fingers hovered over the screen before he shut the phone off, his mind a battlefield of conflicting emotions.
The day belonged to him, and before the sky dimmed, the Italian underworld would remember why Matteo Corsini was untouchable.
The king of shadows.
And anyone who dared to challenge him would suffer the consequences.