Frustration
The sun beat down on the white terrace, but Alessandro only saw her.
Hope — sprawled like a pagan goddess on that lounge chair, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses, legs crossed in a way that was obscene, her silence sharper than a scalpel.
He walked toward her slowly.
“I have business in town. You’re coming with me. Then we’ll go shopping.”
She slowly turned her head toward him without even removing her glasses.
“No, thank you.”
Cold. Sharp. Untouchable.
For a second he didn’t answer. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkened.
“That wasn’t a request.”
Before she could reply, he grabbed her around the waist in one swift movement and threw her over his shoulder like captured prey.
“Alessandro! Put me down right now!”
She kicked and pounded his back with her fists but he didn’t slow down. He walked down the stone steps, crossed the courtyard under the startled gaze of two staff members who immediately looked away.
He opened the back door of the black SUV, shoved her inside, pressed her against the seat and pulled the seatbelt across her with one decisive snap.
Hope tried to rise, but he clicked it in one motion. The buckle’s snap rang out like a gunshot.
She glared at him, breathless, cheeks flushed with rage.
“You’re insane!”
He shut the door, slipped in next to her. His gaze locked onto hers.
“And you’re playing with fire.”
One of his men behind the wheel started the engine. Gravel crunched under the tires. Inside the car, tension snapped and sparked like live wires.
Hope pulled at the seatbelt—no use. He’d tightened it just enough so she couldn’t move without it looking indecent. She crossed her arms, trying for an impassive mask, but her heart was hammering.
Neither of them spoke.
But both of them knew something was shifting.
Hope had never known humiliation like this.
Sitting perfectly straight at a terrace table overlooking the sea, a still-hot cappuccino in front of her, she was literally surrounded. Four men, tall, massive, dressed in flawless black. Two to her right, two to her left. Not one spoke.
Alessandro sat a few meters away, conversing with a man his own age in a beige suit and gold glasses. They spoke in low, rhythmic voices — the easy flow of two men who knew each other inside out.
The guard on her right, square-jawed and expressionless, stood with arms crossed. Perfect for a game.
Hope leaned slightly toward him, her long brown hair sliding off her shoulder.
“Do you always get this kind of thrilling assignment, or am I just special?”
Silence.
She insisted, a carnivorous smile tugging at her lips.
“You know, I can be very… entertaining.” She brushed her fingertips across his forearm.
No reaction. Not even a blink.
Frustration rose like heat up her throat. This guy was a statue. Better yet, a wall. She straightened, crossed her legs slowly, deliberately, made her spoon clink in her cup.
She wasn’t simmering anymore. She was burning.
Across the terrace, Alessandro looked up. He’d seen everything — the provocation, the little performance, the spectacular failure.
His cousin Mattéo leaned in, amused.
“Good luck with her. American women… they say fire runs in their veins.”
Alessandro smiled without looking away from Hope.
“It’s not a saying. It’s a fact.”
Mattéo chuckled, shaking his head.
“She’s going to drive you mad.”
“She already does.”
Hope felt his gaze on her — burning and icy at once.
She lifted her cup to her lips, eyes locked on his, perfectly aware every move was under surveillance.
And she thought, hard:
“You can surround me with guards, strap me into cars, undress me by proxy. But you’ll never own me.”
She set her cup down slowly.
And him? He stood. Lunch was over.
The walk through Palermo’s streets was more like a parade. Not a fashion parade — a war parade. Hope walked head high, oversized sunglasses on, heels clicking against the cobblestones, four bodyguards behind her carrying dozens of luxury shopping bags.
Leather, silk, stilettos, boots, perfumes, makeup, accessories, jewelry. She took whatever she wanted. Absolutely everything. Without once asking Alessandro. Just to provoke him. To remind him she decided what she wore.
Then they entered that boutique.
Lingerie.
A temple of vice, all dim lighting, intoxicating scents, and lace suspended in black, burgundy, and ivory.
Hope said nothing. She swept the room with her gaze, grabbed two or three sets without consulting anyone, and vanished into the fitting rooms at the back.
The men remained on the sofas, arms heavy with shopping bags. Alessandro sat apart, legs crossed, dark gaze unreadable.
Then… he rose.
Hope had just slipped into a black lace set, almost transparent. The fabric fit her perfectly, revealing more than it concealed. She admired herself for a heartbeat in the mirror, cool as ice, then heard the door open.
She spun around.
“Get out.”
He shut the door behind him.
“No.”
Her eyebrow arched, fury sparking.
“Out. Or else…”
He moved closer, slow, dangerous.
“Or what?”
She didn’t move. Her eyes were a guillotine.
“Or I guarantee it’s the last time you’ll ever see me like this.”
He caged her against the wall, a hand on either side of her head. His breath burned against her skin.
“Don’t threaten me.”
His voice was low. Venomous. But it wasn’t anger. It was something else — deeper. Animal.
And then he left.
No other word.
Hope stood there for a few seconds, fists clenched, heart racing. Then she hurriedly dressed, grabbed the black lace set by two fingers, and strode straight toward Alessandro.
He was waiting, arms crossed.
She threw the set at his chest.
“If you like it so much, you wear it.”
And she stormed out of the boutique without looking back.
He stood there, holding the black lace.
A barely visible smile on his lips.