She takes a small sip, clearly gathering her thoughts. When she finally speaks, her voice is steady.
“Why did you take me instead of just seizing the bakery?”
A direct question. I appreciate that. “Sophia didn’t put the bakery up as collateral,” I reply truthfully, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “She put your name on the contract, Alina.”
I can see the sadness and hurt swimming in her pale blue eyes, and it makes me want to fucking hurt something.
“When your mom asked for the loan, she kept saying she would repay the money before the ten years were up,” I explain, wanting to comfort her. “Obviously, this was way before she was diagnosed with aggressive ALS—”
Alina gasps. “You knew?”
I nod. “Her doctor called me as soon as she was diagnosed. I always monitor my… investments.” I pause when she flinches at the last word. “Sophia contacted me within a week and explained herself.”
Though I don’t know whether it’s good for Alina to know this or not, I tell her everything that happened. How her mom kept me updated on the progress, the lack of money to pay her monthly due to me once the medical bills started rolling in.
The one thing I don’t tell her is that after the diagnosis, Sophia never tried to get me to use the bakery instead of her daughter as collateral. I wouldn’t have allowed the switch, which is probably why she didn’t ask.
Alina nods slowly, absorbing this. Her fingers tighten around her glass. “Do you feel guilty?” she asks next. “About taking me, keeping me here against my will?”
I meet her gaze directly, unflinchingly. “No, I don’t.” The truth falls between us, hard and immovable as stone. “I don’t feel guilt over collecting what’s owed to me. It’s business, Alina. Nothing personal.”
When she scowls, I wonder if she expected me to lie, to offer some hollow comfort about regret or necessity. But I promised honesty, and that’s what she’ll get.
She takes another sip of whiskey, larger this time, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. The silence stretches between us, charged with unspoken thoughts. When she finally speaks again, her voice is softer, uncertain.
“Why did you…” she starts, then stops, color blooming across her cheeks. She takes a deep breath. “Why did you want to kiss me that first night?”
The question catches me off guard. “Because I’m attracted to you,” I reply honestly. She rolls her eyes, making it clear she doesn’t believe me. “Why are you questioning that kiss and not the ones since?” This doesn’t make sense to me.
Smiling, she flashes her dimples at me. “It’s not your turn to ask questions.”
Growling, I pin her with my gaze. “I don’t fucking care. Answer me.”
Lifting her chin, her pale blue eyes flash with… is that anger? “No.”
I set my glass down and approach her. I position myself between her legs, my hands coming to rest on the arms of her chair as I cage her in without touching. Her breath quickens, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Raffaele…” she whispers, uncertainty and something else—something darker, needier—threading through my name.
“I am,” I say, my voice dropping to a growl. “I’m very fucking attracted to you. And you need to start believing that.”
I don’t give her time to respond. I capture her mouth with mine, one hand moving to cup the back of her neck. I press harder, deeper, my tongue sweeping inside to taste her.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, half surprise, half surrender. Her hands flutter at her sides before she loops her arms around my neck. Her touch is tentative at first, then firmer as the kiss continues.
I slide my free hand up her thigh, feeling the heat of her through the denim of her jeans. She trembles beneath my touch, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into me, her mouth moving more confidently against mine.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her eyes glazed with desire. I can feel my own control fraying at the edges, my body demanding more than just a kiss.
“Do you believe me now?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.
She nods wordlessly, but as I look into her eyes, I’m not so sure.
I step back, putting distance between us before I take more than she’s ready to give. “Best out of three,” I say, nodding toward the chessboard. “Let’s play again.”
Her brow furrows in confusion at the sudden shift. “Now?”
I reset the pieces with methodical precision, each one clicking against the board with finality. “Yes, now.” I meet her gaze, letting her see the hunger there, the determination. “And this time, I won’t be so distracted.”
