Chapter 10: Fire and Fire

He didn’t move.

Not a step.

Not a blink.

Just stood there, staring down at me with those infuriatingly unreadable eyes as the muzzle of my gun pressed into his chest.

I didn’t tremble.

I didn’t flinch.

But inside, I was ready to detonate.

My heart was galloping like a wild animal, slamming against my ribs in violent rebellion. My breath was hot and heavy in my lungs. And still, the bastard didn’t move.

Then—

He took a step forward.

A single, deliberate step.

As if daring me.

As if silently challenging me to do it.

My lips curved.

Slow.

Lethal.

He thought I was bluffing? That this was some spoiled brat's tantrum?

He didn’t know me.

He didn’t know the war I was capable of waging.

I tightened my grip and tilted my head, a mocking smirk dancing across my mouth. “You're brave,” I whispered, low and dangerous. “Or just stupid.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

Another half-step.

The space between us was gone now—only inches separated us. I could feel his body heat. The quiet, lethal power coiled beneath his skin. The scent of clean soap and danger that clung to him like a second skin.

I inhaled sharply.

And just when I was about to pull the trigger—

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

My world flipped upside down before I could process it.

The gun was wrenched from my grip with brutal precision, fingers bent back until I cried out, the cold metal vanishing from my palm as he disarmed me like I was nothing.

“YOU—!” I shrieked.

I swung.

Furious.

A right hook straight for his jaw.

But he caught it.

Effortlessly.

His fingers closed around my wrist, his grip like iron.

I screamed in pure rage and tried to kick him, but before I could land another hit, he lifted me.

Literally lifted me.

Like I weighed nothing.

Like I was a misbehaving child.

“Put me down!” I roared, squirming violently as he tossed me over his shoulder.

He didn’t say a word.

Not one fucking word.

His arm locked across the back of my thighs as he carried me inside, striding up the marble steps of the mansion like he was walking through air. My fists pounded against his back, hair flying, dress riding up with every furious twist of my body.

“I will KILL you!” I screamed. “Do you hear me? Put me down you psychotic robot! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Still—nothing.

Not a grunt. Not a breath. Not even a warning glare.

He climbed the stairs, unbothered by my curses, my struggling, my threats of murder and dismemberment.

“Alessandro, you piece of shit!” I yelled, voice echoing down the ornate hallway. “You’re going to regret this! I’ll have you skinned! Fired! Buried under the driveway and pissed on by the gardener—!”

We reached my room, and without a second thought.

He kicked the door open like it offended him.

And then—

He dropped me.

Unceremoniously.

Right onto the cold marble floor.

My heels skidded. My shoulder slammed against the wall. My bag flew across the room with a thud. I scrambled to my feet, wild and breathless, hair everywhere, murder in my eyes.

“You absolute BASTARD!” I roared, lunging for the door.

But he was faster.

It slammed in my face before I could reach the handle.

The lock clicked.

My fingers clawed at the knob, twisting, yanking, useless.

“OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!” I screamed, banging my fists against the wood.

Silence.

“Alessandro!” I shrieked. “You do not get to do this! This is my house, my life, my fucking freedom!”

Nothing.

No response.

I banged harder, the skin of my palms stinging.

“You think you can lock me up? Like some damsel? Like I’m weak?!” I howled. “You think this is going to tame me?!”

Still—silence.

Rage boiled in my blood like lava. My whole body shook with it. I could feel the red hot pulse behind my eyes, the wild, seething scream that needed to be unleashed.

I slammed my palm against the door one last time and then dropped.

Just dropped.

Back sliding down the wood until I hit the floor, knees bent, chest heaving. I was foaming, furious, completely unhinged.

I didn’t even care.

Let them call me spoiled.

Let them call me dramatic.

I was dramatic.

I was fire and fury wrapped in Chanel and lipstick, and right now, I was ready to burn this whole fucking house down.

And then—

His voice.

Low.

Rough.

Quiet enough to make my skin crawl.

“Miss Moretti,” he said, just on the other side of the door.

I stilled.

Breathing hard.

Listening.

His next words came like a thunderclap in my veins.

“I am not a patient man,” he said, each word measured. Controlled. Dangerous. “If I were you… I’d keep that attitude in check.”

I stared at the door, eyes wide, mouth parted.

His tone wasn’t loud.

It didn’t have to be.

It was a threat.

A warning.

A line drawn in blood.

And something inside me—something hot and angry and vengeful—snapped.

I shot to my feet and slammed both palms against the door.

“GO TO HELL!” I screamed, every syllable a dagger. “YOU HEAR ME, ALESSANDRO?! GO. TO. FUCKING. HELL!”

And then—

Silence again.

But not the calm kind.

The kind that means war.

The kind that meant nothing was over.

Not by a long shot.

Not until someone broke.

And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.