Captured by shadows

The moment Alessandra stepped into the estate, she knew she was walking into an interrogation.

Luca was waiting for her.

Not in the sunroom this time, but in the grand sitting area, his posture exuding effortless control. A glass of whiskey rested between his fingers, the ice clinking softly as he swirled the amber liquid. The low glow of the chandelier cast golden hues across the room, accentuating the sharp lines of his face. His gaze lifted the second she entered—sharp, assessing, unreadable.

"You're late." His voice was smooth, measured, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it.

Alessandra forced herself to remain composed, slipping off her sunglasses with an air of indifference. "I was with Giulia."

Luca hummed, tilting his head slightly, studying her. "And yet, when you arrived, you weren't in your car."

Her fingers curled around the handle of her purse. Of course, he had noticed.

She kept her voice even. "I took a walk after leaving her. Needed air."

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Luca didn't blink, didn't speak. He only watched her, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Who brought you home, Alessandra?"

Her heartbeat stuttered.

She knew this game. She had played it countless times before—spinning half-truths, maneuvering through Luca's unspoken tests.

But Luca Corsini was no fool.

She met his gaze, careful to keep her expression neutral. "A driver. One of my family's."

Luca's lips curved slightly, but there was no humor in it. "Lying doesn't suit you, amore mio."

Her stomach clenched.

He stood with the slow, deliberate movements of a man who knew he had already won. Crossing the distance between them in measured steps, he stopped just a breath away.

"Let me guess," he murmured, his fingers reaching out to brush the strap of her dress, his touch featherlight. "You were with him?"

Alessandra forced herself to hold his gaze, ignoring the way her body tensed at his proximity. "You're being paranoid."

Luca chuckled, low and dark. "Am I?"

His fingers trailed from her shoulder down to her wrist before wrapping around it—firm, but not bruising.

"Did he touch you?"

She swallowed hard. "You're overreacting."

Luca's grip tightened slightly. "You've never been a good liar, bella."

Alessandra exhaled, forcing herself to play the part he expected. She softened her stance, tilting her chin just so, lips parting slightly. "If I was with Matteo, do you think I'd come back to you?"

Luca studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, he released her wrist, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"Stay away from him tonight," he murmured, voice deceptively gentle. "At the gala."

Alessandra arched a brow. "And if I don't?"

Luca's gaze darkened. "Then you'll regret it."

She held back a shiver.

Luca may not be in the mafia like Matteo, but he wielded power in his own way—through control, through expectation, through the suffocating weight of what it meant to be his fiancée.

And yet, she was already tainted.

Matteo had touched her. Had unraveled something deep inside her that she couldn't take back.

Luca took a slow sip of his whiskey before adding, "He's going to ask you for a dance tonight."

Her pulse spiked.

Luca smirked as if he could hear it. "I suggest you refuse."

Alessandra swallowed. "And if I don't?"

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Then I'll remind you why you belong to me."

The words sent a chill down her spine, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of reacting.

Instead, she met his gaze, unyielding. "I belong to no one, Luca."

His expression flickered, something dark and possessive flashing through his blue eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

He stepped back, nodding toward the grand staircase. "Go. The dress is waiting in your room. Wear it."

Her throat tightened, but she turned and left without another word.

She knew better than to argue.

Alessandra stood in front of the floor-length mirror, her reflection staring back at her.

The gown was exquisite.

A masterpiece of deep emerald silk, the fabric clinging to her curves before cascading into soft, fluid folds. The neckline dipped low, but not scandalously so—Luca would never allow that.

It was the kind of dress that made a statement. That whispered wealth, elegance, and power.

It was a Corsini dress. A declaration. A reminder.

Her engagement ring glimmered against the rich green fabric as she smoothed her hands down her sides.

She looked the part.

But tonight, the only thing she could think about was Matteo.

And whether she would refuse his dance.

Or let herself fall deeper into the shadows.

---

Outside the estate, a sleek black car pulled to a stop near the entrance.

Matteo leaned back against the leather seat, his fingers drumming lazily against his knee as he watched the glow of the villa from a distance.

He had seen the way Alessandra had walked into that house. The tension in her shoulders. The fire in her eyes.

Luca had interrogated her.

Matteo smirked. Good.

He wanted Luca to know she was slipping away.

Pulling out his phone, he typed a message.

Matteo: Wear green for me tonight, princess.

Seconds later, his phone vibrated.

Alessandra: Go to hell.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

This game they played… it was only just beginning.