Captured by shadows

Alessandra didn't sleep.

Even after Matteo left, his presence clung to her skin like a brand.

She stood by the window as Rome awakened, watching the city bathed in gold, while her own world remained shrouded in shadows.

Her heartbeat hadn't returned to normal.

Not after the way he had touched her—not in lust, but in possession.

Not after the way he had whispered those words against her skin.

"You don't even know what you want, do you?"

Matteo hadn't kissed her. Hadn't crossed the line. But he'd erased it completely.

And now, she had to face Luca.

And her family.

Her phone rang just as she fastened her diamond earrings.

Mamma.

Alessandra inhaled deeply before answering.

"Alessandra," Isabella Ricci's voice was smooth, clipped—an order, not a greeting. "Family breakfast. You and Luca will attend."

A deliberate pause.

"Don't embarrass us."

Alessandra's grip on her phone tightened.

"I understand, Mamma."

The line went dead.

She barely had time to process the familiar suffocation before a knock sounded at her door.

She turned.

Luca.

Standing in the doorway, dressed in charcoal gray, sharp and controlled, his gaze settled on her.

His black eyes swept over her too slowly, as if searching for something.

Her pulse skipped.

"Does he know?"

But Luca only adjusted the cuff of his jacket and said, "We leave in twenty minutes."

He didn't move.

Didn't blink.

For a breath too long, he just… watched her.

Then, with a sharp nod, he turned and left.

Alessandra exhaled slowly.

The real game was just beginning.

The Ricci estate stood like a Roman fortress, its sprawling halls whispering of legacy, power, and control.

The dining hall was already buzzing when Alessandra and Luca arrived—a room full of men who controlled cities, economies, and lives.

At the head of the table sat Leonardo Ricci, her grandfather.

"Il Capo di tutti Capi."

The patriarch. The unchallenged ruler of the Ricci empire.

Beside him sat her father, Vittorio Ricci—the enforcer, the strategist, the man who turned love into currency.

And then there was Isabella Ricci, her mother, regal and unreadable.

Across from her, poised with calculated perfection, sat Giovanna Ricci.

Her sister. The ideal Ricci daughter. Married. Obedient. Everything Alessandra was supposed to be.

Giovanna smirked.

"You look tired, sorellina," she mused, sipping her espresso. "Late night?"

Alessandra's nails bit into her palm.

She forced a polished, unaffected smile.

"Just restless."

Giovanna arched a perfectly sculpted brow.

"Of course."

Before Alessandra could respond, she felt it—

A warm palm settling on her thigh.

Luca.

The touch was calculated, possessive—a silent declaration.

Her breath hitched.

What the hell was he doing?

Luca lifted his glass, voice smooth as silk.

"Alessandra and I have been… enjoying our time together."

The implication was razor-sharp.

Her mother's lips curved in approval.

Her father nodded.

Leonardo Ricci's gaze remained unreadable.

Luca was playing a game.

A dangerous one.

And then—

The doors to the dining hall swung open.

Matteo Corsini walked in.

Uninvited. Unapologetic. And utterly fucking dangerous.

Silence rippled through the hall.

The air shifted.

Tension crackled.

Alessandra's breath caught as Matteo strode in, every step dripping with audacity.

Like he owned the damn place.

Like he hadn't stood in her room last night and unraveled her.

Like he hadn't whispered things that still burned under her skin.

His gaze didn't flick to Luca.

Didn't acknowledge Isabella.

Instead—

His eyes locked onto hers.

And he smirked.

Alessandra's stomach dropped.

Luca's grip on her thigh tightened.

Matteo pulled out a chair across from them, his movements lazy, confident—a man who feared nothing.

Leonardo Ricci leaned back, his sharp gaze settling on him.

"Matteo Corsini," the old man said, voice slow, deliberate. "I don't recall inviting you."

Matteo's lips curled.

"I was in the neighborhood." His voice was smooth. Sin incarnate. "Thought I'd drop by."

Luca's jaw ticked.

Tension coiled tighter.

Matteo lifted a glass of red wine—a deliberate, mocking gesture.

"To family."

The room didn't breathe.

Luca didn't move.

Didn't blink.

But Alessandra could feel the shift.

This wasn't just about territory.

This was war.

Matteo's gaze flicked to her.

And then—

He smirked again.

Dark. Knowing.

Like he owned a piece of her.

Because he did.

Because no matter how hard she fought it—

She was still thinking about last night.

And worst of all?

So was Luca.