The Morelli estate was crawling with guards. Extra cars lined the driveway, engines humming low, every man with a weapon tucked under his coat.
Seraphina hated it.
She hated the sterile calm her parents put on at breakfast. She hated the way Isabella whispered about "appearances" as though a massacre hadn't just shaken their walls. She hated most of all the man leaning against his black Maserati at the edge of the drive, watching her like a predator deciding how quickly to pounce.
Alessandro Valenti.
Of course he was still here.
Her heels clicked against the marble steps as she descended, silk dress brushing her ankles. She clutched her coat tighter around her, pretending she didn't feel his eyes burning through her every step.
"You're not coming with me." She said it before he even opened his mouth.
He smirked. "I wasn't asking."
Her pulse skipped. "I have a driver."
"Not anymore." He pulled open the passenger-side door. "Get in."
Her chest rose, sharp with indignation. "You don't get to order me around."
"You'd prefer I beg?" His gaze slid over her, unapologetic. "Not happening. Now, princess, get in the car before I throw you in."
Heat rushed to her face—part fury, part something far more dangerous. She hated that his threats didn't just make her want to slap him—they made her heart race.
"No." She lifted her chin. "You're not my chauffeur."
"You're right," he murmured, stepping closer. "I'm the man keeping you alive."
---
The Car Ride
She should've turned around. She should've stormed back inside.
Instead, ten minutes later, Seraphina found herself in the passenger seat of his Maserati, arms crossed, jaw locked. The engine purred beneath them like a predator at rest.
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows.
Silence stretched thick.
Finally, she muttered, "You're enjoying this."
His lips curved. "Immensely."
Her glare sharpened. "You think dragging me around makes you powerful?"
"I don't need to drag," he said smoothly. "You walked."
Her nails dug into her palms. "Because you gave me no choice."
"There's always a choice," he countered, echoing the words he'd thrown at her the night she overheard him. His voice dropped, velvet threaded with steel. "And you chose me. Again."
Her pulse spiked. "You're delusional."
He chuckled low. "If I'm delusional, then why are you trembling?"
"I'm not—" She stopped, realizing her hand shook slightly against her lap. She yanked it away, clutching the edge of her coat. "It's cold."
He reached forward without asking, brushing his fingers over hers as he adjusted the car's heater. The touch was brief. Barely a second.
But it scorched.
Her breath hitched.
He leaned back, smug. "Better?"
She hated him. She hated how easily he got under her skin.
---
The Argument
"Why are you really doing this?" she demanded, turning toward him. "It's not about protection. It's about control. You get off on making me bend."
His hands gripped the wheel tighter. "If I wanted you bent, you'd already be on your knees."
Her jaw dropped. "You—arrogant bastard—"
He shot her a glance, dark amusement flickering. "There it is. The fire. I was wondering when you'd stop pretending to be untouchable."
"I am untouchable," she spat.
"Not to me."
The words slammed into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs.
He turned into a narrower street, shadows closing in around them. "You need to understand something, Seraphina. Every other man will want to use you—your name, your family, your body. Victor especially. He'll smile, he'll charm, and then he'll ruin you."
"And you're different?" she shot back.
"Yes." His voice was flat steel. "Because I don't lie about what I want. I'll ruin you too. But I'll put you back together when I'm done."
Her stomach flipped, fury and heat colliding. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It's supposed to make you feel mine."
She slammed her hand against the dashboard. "Stop the car."
He didn't.
"I said stop!"
With a sharp jerk, the Maserati screeched to a halt at the curb.
Her chest heaved as she glared at him. "You don't own me, Valenti. And you never will."
---
The Touch
He turned slowly, eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, silence reigned, thick with unsaid things.
Then he reached out.
Fingers brushed her jaw, trailing down the curve of her throat, stopping at the frantic beat of her pulse.
Her breath caught.
His voice was low, lethal. "Your body disagrees."
She should've slapped him. She should've shoved him away.
Instead, she sat frozen, every nerve alight, as his thumb stroked once—slow, deliberate—against her skin.
The world narrowed to that touch.
Her chest rose and fell, ragged. "I hate you."
His smile was sharp, dangerous. "Then hate me closer."
Her hand snapped up, shoving his away. The spell shattered. She shoved open the car door, heels clicking against the pavement as she stepped out.
"Find another hobby, Valenti," she called over her shoulder. "Because this one's going to kill you."
She didn't wait for his answer. She walked, spine stiff, coat whipping around her.
But her skin still burned where he'd touched her.
---
His POV (Closing)
Alessandro watched her storm off, lips curving into a wolf's grin.
Every step she took away from him was another thread tying her closer.
She t
hought she'd won. That she'd escaped.
But her pulse had given her away.
And Alessandro Valenti never lost a game once he knew his opponent's weakness.