The jet's wheels kissed the Italian runway, the soft screech barely audible over the storm raging inside Alessandra's mind. The moment the aircraft slowed, her grip on the leather armrest tightened, nails sinking in until the pressure numbed her fingertips.
She wasn't ready.
Yet, she had no choice.
The hum of the engines faded into a hollow silence as the plane taxied to a stop. The flight attendants murmured their rehearsed goodbyes, but Alessandra barely heard them. Her heartbeat was a hammer inside her chest, the weight of her return pressing down on her ribs like an iron vise.
Then, the cabin door opened.
The Italian air hit her first— warm, spiced with the distant scent of citrus groves, but tainted with jet fuel. It was the same air she had once breathed freely. Now, it felt suffocating.
Then, she saw her.
A lone figure stood at the bottom of the stairs, poised and unyielding. Giovanna Ricci.
Alessandra's pulse stuttered. How did they know?
She hadn't told anyone. Not her family. Not Luca. Not even Matteo.
Yet there Giovanna stood, as if her arrival had been scheduled weeks in advance.
Dressed in a pristine ivory dress that clung to her curves like armor, her elder sister was the perfect embodiment of a Ricci woman—elegance dipped in steel, beauty laced with venom. Her dark hair was pulled back into an impossibly smooth bun, not a single strand out of place. Everything about her screamed control.
Unlike Alessandra, who was barely holding on to hers.
A slow, knowing smile curled Giovanna's lips as their eyes met.
"Cara mia," Giovanna murmured as Alessandra reached the bottom step. She didn't extend her arms for a hug—Ricci women did not show weakness. Instead, she reached out and took Alessandra's hand in hers, her grip firm, unyielding. "Nonno is waiting."
Alessandra forced a smile, tilting her chin up. "How thoughtful of him."
Giovanna's fingers tightened. "He does not like to be kept waiting."
Neither did Alessandra. But it wasn't as if she had a choice.
The black Maserati waiting by the tarmac was sleek, a panther crouched and ready to strike. The moment she slid inside, she was enveloped in the familiar scent of leather, perfume, and power.
Power that did not belong to her.
Giovanna settled beside her, crossing her legs elegantly as the driver pulled away.
"How did he know?" Alessandra asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.
Giovanna hummed, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her thigh. "Nonno is not a man who waits for information. He takes it."
Alessandra's stomach twisted.
Of course he knew.
Leonardo Ricci didn't wait for anything.
---
The Ricci estate came into view, its towering walls casting long, menacing shadows in the fading light. The stone façade was ancient, untouched by time, as unyielding as the bloodline it housed.
The wrought-iron gates opened without hesitation, as if the house itself had been expecting her.
The moment the Maserati rolled to a stop, she knew something was wrong.
The courtyard was full.
Not just with her family's cars, but with sleek, black Maseratis and Ferraris lined up like sentinels. Not Ricci vehicles.
Corsini ones.
A cold dread settled in her bones.
The Corsinis were here.
Luca was here.
Matteo…
She didn't allow herself to hope.
The driver opened the door, and Alessandra stepped out, her heels clicking against the cobblestone driveway. All eyes turned to her the moment she did.
Her father, Vittorio Ricci, stood near the grand entrance, his face unreadable. Her mother, Isabella, was beside him—a porcelain mask, her beauty as frozen as ever.
And then, seated in the heart of it all like a king on his throne, was Leonardo Ricci.
Her grandfather.
His silver hair was combed back, his tailored suit impeccable, but it was his eyes that held her captive—piercing, calculating, assessing her like she was nothing more than a chess piece.
Alessandra lifted her chin. She wouldn't let them see her fear.
And then she saw him.
Luca Corsini.
He was relaxed, seated in an ornate chair near her grandfather, his navy suit tailored to perfection. His gaze met hers, amusement flickering in those cold, detached eyes.
And Matteo?
Nowhere.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.
Before she could speak, before she could even process her next move—
The slap came.
A sharp crack of flesh against flesh rang through the courtyard. The force of it snapped her head to the side, her vision swimming for a moment.
A gasp left her lips.
Not from pain—she had expected that.
But from the raw humiliation that followed.
A murmur rippled through the gathered family members, but no one moved to stop it.
She turned slowly, her cheek burning, her breath uneven.
Leonardo's hand was still raised, his expression a mask of fury.
"You defy me," he said, his voice like steel.
Then came the second slap.
Harder.
This time, she tasted blood.
She staggered but did not fall.
Her mother did not move.
Her father remained silent.
The Corsinis watched, unbothered, as if this was nothing more than tradition.
Leonardo's voice cut through the heavy silence.
"Did he touch you?"
The question froze her lungs.
She knew what he meant.
Did Matteo Corsini claim her?
Did she still have her purity, the thing they valued more than her life?
Alessandra licked the blood from her lip.
She could lie.
She could say Matteo hadn't touched her.
Or she could tell them the truth.
That she chose him.
That he was already inside her, in ways they could never take back.
Her lips parted, but before she could speak—
The third slap.
Pain exploded across her face, the world tilting for a moment. The taste of iron flooded her mouth.
A low chuckle broke the silence.
Luca.
She turned her head slowly.
He leaned back lazily in his chair, adjusting his gold cufflinks with practiced ease. "It's irrelevant," he said smoothly. "Virginity is an outdated concept. I don't care."
Alessandra's stomach twisted.
Leonardo exhaled slowly, his rage simmering beneath the surface.
Luca smirked. "I'll marry her regardless."
Her breath caught.
No.
No, no, no.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Leonardo studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Then it's settled."
Ricardo Corsini, Luca and Matteo's father, stood. His presence alone demanded attention. "We'll finalize the wedding date immediately."
A sharp, suffocating panic clawed up her throat.
Her mother didn't protest.
Her father remained silent.
No one objected.
Because her fate had never been hers to decide.
Alessandra's nails bit into her palms.
She needed Matteo.
She needed him now.
But Matteo Corsini—the only man who could stop this—
Was nowhere to be found.
And if he didn't come soon…
She would belong to his brother.