Chapter 3

Vittorio’s grip on my throat was firm enough to lock my head in place.

My pulse hammered against his palm. He felt it—a wicked smirk carving across his face as his thumb traced the flutter of my vein.

Living a sheltered life meant that I’d never been this close to any man before, physically and otherwise.

"Bad for business, huh?" I gasped out, forcing a venomous smile and ignoring the pressure on my windpipe. "And here I thought a man of your stature didn't hide behind protocol."

"I don't hide behind anything, fiammella," Vittorio purred, his dark eyes dipping to my lips, lingering there until my breath hitched. "I dictate the terms. And right now, the terms dictate you don't leave this room until I figure out what to do with a blade-wielding heiress who embezzled two million dollars from her own father."

My heart tripped.

He knew.

Vittorio chuckled, reading my shock. He leaned even closer. "Did you really think I wouldn't check the credentials of the woman who sliced my face open?" He tapped his bandaged cheekbone with his free hand. "You're not a helpless asset, Alessandra. You're an insider threat. And inside my compound, threats get managed."

"I'm not a threat to you," I spat, gripping his wrist with both hands, trying to wrench his grip free. "I just want out."

"Liars make terrible negotiators," he growled low, his thumb sliding up to tilt my jaw higher.

Before I could hurl another insult, the double doors of the suite clicked open.

A middle-aged man in a butler’s suit stepped inside. He paused for half a second, eyeing Vittorio’s hand wrapped around my throat, before looking straight ahead with robotic professionalism.

"Dinner is prepared in the dining room, Don De Marco," the butler announced smoothly.

Vittorio’s eyes remained locked on mine, dark and dangerous.

"Give us five minutes, Smith," Vittorio ordered, his voice dropping into a low rasp.

"Yes, sir." Smith backed out of the suite and locked the double doors behind him with a heavy clack.

Thick silence fell over the room.

Vittorio slowly released my throat, his fingers dragging down my neck, over my collarbone, before resting lightly against the center of my chest. I was mortified when I felt my nipples pucker.

"Get dressed," Vittorio murmured, his gaze sweeping down to lock on my nipples through the shirt. "We have a dinner date."

I swallowed at the huskiness in his tone. "I'm not dining with my kidnapper."

"You are," Vittorio corrected, stepping back and tossing a sleek black velvet box onto the bed. "Unless you prefer to eat in my shirt."

I glared at him, picking up the box and snapping it open. Inside sat a backless, dark crimson silk slip dress with a thigh-high slit.

Vittorio turned towards the door. "Ten minutes, Alessandra,” he tossed over his shoulder. Don't make me come back in here and put it on you myself."

"Try it, and I'll use the zipper to choke you," I snapped back.

Vittorio threw his head back and let out a rich, booming laugh that echoed off the glass walls before the doors shut behind him.

Ten minutes later, I walked into his private dining quarters.

The room was lit by low, amber wall sconces and a heavy silver candelabra sitting on a dark marble table. Rain slammed against the floor-to-ceiling glass wall framing the city below.

Vittorio sat at the head of the table. He looked up as I entered, his hyper-observant eyes taking in every inch of the crimson silk clinging to my body. The fire in his gaze flared hot enough to melt steel.

He gestured to the chair opposite his. "Sit."

I pulled out the chair and sat down, keeping my posture rigid, crossing my legs beneath the table.

Two plates sat between us, filled with seared ribeye, roasted vegetables, and a rich, dark reduction. Beside my plate sat a heavy silver butter knife and a glass of deep red wine.

I didn't touch a thing.

"Afraid of poison?" Vittorio asked smoothly, cutting a piece of steak and popping it into his mouth.

"Afraid you're predictable," I countered, leaning back. "Poison is a coward's weapon, Don De Marco. I figured you were more hands-on."

"I am," he growled, picking up my glass of wine. He took a slow sip from the exact spot my lips would touch, his eyes burning into mine over the rim. He set it back down in front of me. "Clean."

"Well, well, well…Chivalry isn't dead," I muttered drily, picking up the silver butter knife.

I didn't use it for the steak.

As Vittorio ate, my eyes scanned the perimeter of the room. Two guards stood by the exit doors—weapons holstered, but hands resting near their belts. One of them shifted his feet every eight seconds. Lazy balance. Weak left side.

If I launched the butter knife into his eye socket, I could bridge the eight-foot gap in three seconds, unholster his sidearm, and take Vittorio hostage before the second guard unclipped his holster.

My muscles tensed. I subtly adjusted my balance as my fingers tightened around the silver handle.

Suddenly, under the table, a heavy, leather-clad boot slammed over my heel, pinning my leg flush against the marble floor.

Before I could strike, Vittorio’s massive hand shot out under the tablecloth, wrapping around my wrist in an iron grip.

I gasped.

"Nice try, fiammella," Vittorio purred across the candle flame, his expression utterly calm while his grip below held me captive.

He yanked my wrist upward under the table, forcing my body forward across the white linen. The silver butter knife clattered harmlessly onto the floor.

He tutted. "Tracking my guard's stance," Vittorio whispered, his hand still buried beneath the cloth, holding me down against my own thigh. "You were going for his piece."

"He's sloppy," I hissed, glaring at him, trying to ignore the searing heat of his palm pressing through the silk against my skin. "You should fire him."

His hand slid down from my wrist, scraping up the silk of my dress until his warm, calloused palm pressed directly against the curve of my bare hip.

An electric shock shot straight down my spine. My breath hit a wall.

"You think you're playing chess with me, Alessandra?" Vittorio purred, his dark eyes darkening until they were almost pitch black.

"I'm not playing chess, Vittorio," I panted, leaning over the candles until our faces were inches apart, refusing to let him see the wildfire consuming me from the inside out. "I'm setting the board on fire."

Vittorio’s jaw clenched. In a sudden, violent move, he ripped the tablecloth sideways. Plates, silver, and crystal shattered against the floor, red wine spilling like blood over the marble.

"Out!" Vittorio roared toward the doors. "Both of you! Now!"

The guards didn't waste a second. They retreated into the hallway, slamming the heavy doors shut.

Vittorio rounded the table in two massive strides. Before I could stand, his hands locked around my waist, hauling me off the chair and slamming my back directly against the edge of the marble table.

"Ah—"

I gasped as his hard body pressed flush into mine, trapping me completely between the cold stone and his burning heat.

His hand gripped my jaw, tilting my face up until I was forced to look into the storm raging in his eyes.

"What game do you think you’re playing, Alessandra?" Vittorio growled, his breath hot and smelling of mint and red wine.

"You can drug me, lock me up, and pin me to your table, Don De Marco,” I breathed, my hands coming up to rest flat against his broad chest, holding him just a fraction of an inch away. “...But you will never own me."

A slow, devastating smirk spread on his face.

"I don't want to own you, fiammella," Vittorio growled, his face dipping down until his lips brushed the shell of my ear, sending a shudder straight to my toes. "I want to watch you struggle until you realize you have nowhere left to run."

His thumb dragged slowly across my bottom lip. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, his dark gaze holding me captive.

"Eat your dinner, Alessandra," he rumbled low, releasing my jaw and stepping back, leaving me breathless and aching on the edge of the table.

I smoothed down my dress with trembling fingers, glaring at his retreating back as he walked toward the balcony doors.