The words are like cold water. “What?”
“We can’t do this. Not yet. Not like this.” He steps back, putting distance between us, and the loss of his warmth is actually painful.
“Alessandro, I’m a grown woman. I know what I want—”
“I know. Believe me, I know.” His hand rakes through his hair. “But you just found out about my world. You’re staying here because you’re in danger. Starting this now, when everything is chaos and fear and adrenaline, that’s not how I want this to happen.” Alessandro shakes his head and takes another step back.
“How you want it to happen? What about what I want?”
“What you want is influenced by proximity, danger and your body’s response to stress.” His voice is gentle but firm. “When we do this, and we will, I want you to have no doubts. No questions. I want you to choose me when you’re not running from someone else’s threats.”
The logic is sound. Infuriating, but sound.
“I hate that you’re being reasonable right now,” the complaint comes out sulky.
“I hate it too.” His smile is pained. “Trust me, turning you down is the hardest thing I’ve done in years.”
“Good. Suffer.” But there’s no real heat in my words.
He laughs, the sound surprised and genuine. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“So, I’ve been told.” A step forward, then another, until we’re close again. Not touching, but close enough to feel his body heat. “But Alessandro? When this is over, when Greco is handled and I’ve had time to process everything and I choose you anyway, all bets are off.”
His eyes darken. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Good.”
We stand there, suspended in tension and want and the sweet torture of almost. Outside, the city looks vast. Inside, awareness crackles between us like electricity.
“I should let you rest,” Alessandro finally says. “It’s been a long day.”
“Will you tell me? Everything? Like you promised?”
“Tomorrow. Over breakfast. I’ll lay it all out, the family, the business, what we’re up against.” His hand reaches out, tucking a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “But now, rest. You’re safe here. I promise.”
“Will you be here? Or do you have... business?”
“I’ll be here. Down the hall in my room. If you need anything—”
“I know where to find you.”
Something passes between us, understanding, maybe? Or acknowledgment of what almost happened, what still might happen, what we’re both desperately trying to resist.
“Go rest, Elena.”
I nod and he leaves, the penthouse suddenly feels even more enormous. The guest room beckons, but sleep seems impossible. Too much adrenaline, too much fear, too much want still humming through my veins.
The bed is comfortable though, the sheets expensive and soft.
Hours later, city lights filter through the windows, casting shadows across the ceiling.
Somewhere down the hall, Alessandro is probably not sleeping either. Probably thinking about the same almost-kiss, the same almost-more, the same impossible situation that’s drawing us together despite every logical reason to stay apart.
Tomorrow brings explanations. Truth. The full picture of what loving Alessandro De Luca actually means.
