Captured by shadows

Alessandra should have walked away.

Every bone in her body screamed at her to get up, leave, pretend this conversation had never happened.

But she didn't.

Instead, she sat there, pulse hammering, staring at the man who had just shattered her world with one sentence.

Matteo Corsini.

Luca's younger brother.

A man who had lurked in the background of her life for years, never truly stepping into the light—until now.

And now that he had, there was no turning back.

Her throat felt tight as she forced out the words. "You're serious."

Matteo leaned back against the plush booth, one arm draped over the leather as if they were discussing business, not the destruction of her engagement.

"I don't waste my time with things I don't intend to see through," he said smoothly. "And I intend to see this through."

Alessandra inhaled sharply. "You're asking me to betray your own brother."

His lips curved—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. "I'm asking you to do what you already want to do."

A sharp silence hung between them.

Because he was right.

She didn't want to marry Luca.

She didn't want this life, this fate, this carefully orchestrated lie her family had built for her.

But Matteo offering her an escape?

That was dangerous.

That was a gamble with consequences she wasn't ready to face.

Her fingers curled into her lap. "Why?" she asked, voice quiet. "Why would you do this?"

His gray eyes darkened.

She expected a calculated answer, something smooth and rehearsed.

Instead, he said—

"Because I want you."

A breath caught in her throat.

He said it with no hesitation, no shame. As if it were a simple fact. As if it had always been true.

Her chest tightened. "Since when?"

Matteo's gaze never wavered. "Since before Luca put a ring on your finger."

A sharp pulse of heat raced through her.

She had never paid much attention to him before. Matteo had always been the shadow standing just outside Luca's world—quiet, calculating, untouchable. He didn't draw attention to himself the way his brother did.

And yet, now that she was looking at him—truly looking—she realized he had always been watching her.

A slow, dangerous awareness settled in her bones.

"This is insane," she whispered.

Matteo's jaw ticked. "Insanity is staying in a life you don't want when you have a way out."

She exhaled shakily, glancing around the club. No one was paying them any attention, but she still felt exposed. Vulnerable.

"We can't have this conversation here," she muttered.

Matteo's lips twitched. "Then come with me."

She stiffened. "Where?"

His voice dropped lower. "Somewhere no one can hear us."

Every instinct screamed that she should say no.

But she didn't.

She was already in too deep.

So when Matteo stood and extended a hand, she took it.

And let him lead her into the unknown.

The Penthouse

The elevator ride was silent.

Alessandra stood beside Matteo, her body tense, her pulse thrumming in her throat.

She had made a mistake.

She had definitely made a mistake.

But it was too late now.

The doors slid open, revealing a sleek penthouse bathed in dim lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Milan skyline, the city stretching endlessly below.

Alessandra stepped inside hesitantly. The space was vast, yet somehow intimate—dark wood, leather, a decanter of whiskey sitting on a polished bar.

And it smelled like him.

Crisp, clean, expensive. With something darker underneath.

She turned to face him. "What exactly is your plan?"

Matteo didn't answer immediately. He walked toward the bar, pouring himself a drink.

Then—without breaking eye contact—he poured one for her, too.

Alessandra swallowed. "I don't drink with strangers."

His lips quirked. "We're not strangers."

A beat of silence.

Then she sighed and took the glass.

The whiskey burned as it went down, spreading warmth through her chest.

Matteo set his own glass aside, stepping closer—too close. Close enough that she could see the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.

"You want to leave Luca," he murmured. "I'm giving you the way out."

She shook her head. "It's not that simple. My family—his family—this is more than just a relationship. It's—"

"A transaction," Matteo finished.

She hesitated. "Yes."

He tilted his head, studying her. "And what if I offered you a different transaction?"

Her breath stalled.

"What kind of transaction?"

Matteo reached out, tracing a single finger along the rim of her glass. The movement was slow, deliberate. Possessive.

"Stay with me instead."

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"That's not an offer," she said hoarsely. "That's an ultimatum."

His lips curved, but his gaze remained unreadable.

"Call it whatever you want," he said. "But you need to make a choice."

Alessandra's fingers tightened around the glass.

She wanted to say no.

Wanted to walk away.

But she couldn't.

Because deep down, a part of her already knew—

There was no going back.

And maybe, just maybe…

She didn't want to.