Her body fits against mine perfectly, soft curves pressing against hard muscle as she rises up on her toes to meet me.
The kiss deepens, becomes something desperate and consuming—her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me down to her as if she can’t get close enough.
When she makes a small sound of need against my mouth, it nearly undoes me completely.
My hands slide up her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her sweater, and she arches into my touch like she’s been waiting for this as long as I have.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me groan, and I back her against the edge of her desk.
The kiss turns hungrier, more desperate, years of careful distance and suppressed want pouring out between us.
When I trail my lips down to her neck, she tips her head back with a gasp that sends heat straight through me.
“Alessandro,” she breathes, and for a moment the rest of the world disappears entirely.
There’s only her warmth, her softness, the way she clings to me like I’m the only real thing in her collapsing world.
Until the door slams open behind us.
“What the hell?—”
Matteo’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade, and we spring apart so quickly that Bianca stumbles backward into her desk.
I turn to face him, my heart pounding and guilt flooding through my system like poison.
His face cycles through shock, then rage, then something that looks like betrayal so profound it’s almost physical.
The color drains from his olive complexion, leaving him ashen except for two spots of fury burning high on his cheekbones.
Those piercing blue-gray eyes—so similar to Bianca’s—go from warm concern to glacial fury in the space of a heartbeat.
His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin, and his hands curl into fists at his sides.
The sharp angles of his face seem more pronounced in his rage, his aristocratic nose flaring slightly as he struggles to control his breathing.
His eyes move between Bianca and me, taking in her disheveled appearance, her swollen lips, the broken glass around us, the obvious intimacy of what he just interrupted.
When his gaze finally settles on me, his eyes have gone completely cold—the kind of cold that’s gotten men killed in our world.
His mouth is pressed into a thin, unforgiving line, and there’s something predatory in the way he stands, like he’s calculating exactly how much damage he can do before anyone can stop him.
“Alessandro,” he says, his voice low and filled with rage. “What thefuckdo you think you’re doing?”
Whatever just happened between Bianca and me has just made an already impossible situation infinitely worse.
“Bianca, get away from him.Now.” Matteo’s voice is calmly quiet, the kind of tone that makes grown men step back and reconsider their life choices.
“No.”
The single word hangs in the air.
Bianca doesn’t move from where she’s standing next to me, doesn’t even flinch under the weight of his fury.
If anything, she lifts her chin in that defiant gesture that reminds me too much of Sophia.
“What did you just say to me?” Matteo’s voice drops even lower, dangerous in a way that would terrify anyone who didn’t know him as well as she does.
“I said no.” Bianca’s voice is steady, cold. “You don’t get to give me orders anymore. You’re not my father, remember? You’re my brother. And last I checked, brothers don’t get to control their sisters’ lives.”
