Burning Walls

Burning Walls
The villa door slammed behind us, echoing like thunder in the silent hall.
Alessandro shoved me inside, closing it hard, his eyes locked on mine.

“We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to say,” I spat, ice in my tone.

I moved to brush past him, but he caught my arm, dragging me back to face him.
“You don’t understand, Hope.”
“No, you don’t understand, Alessandro!”

My voice cracked through the hall, shattering the silence.

Lorenzo and Matteo, leaning near the door, exchanged a tense glance but stayed quiet.

“I can’t kill her. Not now,” Alessandro growled, his black eyes blazing.

I froze. Disbelief cut through me.
“You’re joking?!”
“It’s not about want or don’t want. It’s politics, Hope. She’s protected under certain accords. Touch her now and it puts the clan at risk. She knows it. That’s her weapon.”

I slapped him.

The sound rang out sharp.
He didn’t flinch. His stare stayed locked on mine.

“So you leave me alone to face her? She gets to keep threatening me, humiliating me, and—”

My fists pounded against his chest, again and again, rage choking my words.
“I obeyed, Alessandro! I accepted everything! And you—you let her breathe?!”

He grabbed my wrists, locking them in place, his eyes inches from mine.
“I’m not protecting her, Hope. I’m protecting you.”
“From what?!”
“From a war that would burn down everything we’ve built.”

I struggled, heels clicking against marble, but his grip was unyielding.

“Let me go!”
“No.”

My breath came ragged, hair sticking to my face, makeup smeared by heat.
His forehead pressed to mine, his breath harsh.
“You are my chaos, Hope.”

I glared up at him, panting.
“You don’t control me.”
“Yes,” he whispered, eyes blazing, “I do.”

Rage bled into desire, a volatile fire consuming me.

“Alessandro—”

He slammed me against the wall, pinning my wrists above my head.
The force of his body against mine sent the tension spiraling, unbearable.

Lorenzo and Matteo exchanged a look. Matteo cleared his throat.
“Come on,” Lorenzo muttered.
They disappeared down the hall, shutting Matteo’s door softly behind them.

Their absence thickened the air.

Alessandro’s face hovered close, his scent of leather and whiskey drowning me.
“Say it,” he breathed.
“What?”
“Say you hate me.”

I locked eyes with him, chest heaving, my hips unconsciously straining closer.
“Say it, Hope.”

My voice broke, clinging to his stare.
“I… hate you.”

His lips curved dark, victorious.
“Lie again.”

His mouth crushed mine—brutal, possessive.
A kiss that tasted like fury, pain, desire, chaos, need.

I fought back. Teeth clashing, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him tighter even as I wanted to shove him away.
He let my wrists go, hands sliding down my waist, gripping my hips, tearing a moan from me I hated to give.

“You hate me, huh?” he rasped between kisses, voice raw.
I clawed his shoulders, breath ragged.
“So much…”

His hands slid under my dress, ripping a shudder from me.
“Say it again.”
“I hate you.”
“And yet you let me touch you like this.”

He bit my neck, my breath shattering.
“Because you’re mine, Hope. Only mine.”

He grabbed my hand, rough, pulling me toward the stairs.

“Let go,” I snarled, stumbling up the steps.
“No,” he breathed without looking back.

He shoved open the bedroom door, dragged me inside, and slammed it shut.

The air was heavy, thick with our ragged breathing.

“You think I’ll let you put on a show like that? Think I’ll let you push me away?” he snapped.

I glared, jaw tight.
“I do whatever the hell I want.”

He stalked closer, slow, dangerous.
“No, Hope. Not with me.”

I raised a hand to strike him again. He caught it mid-air, pinning it to his chest.
“Stop,” I hissed, shoving at him with the other.

He caught that too, trapping both wrists in one iron grip, eyes locked to mine.
“No.”

He pushed me back against the wall, hips grazing mine, eyes raking down my body before snapping back to burn into mine.

My breath caught, heart hammering.

“Tell me you don’t want me, Hope. Say it, and I’ll let you go.”

I swallowed hard, my gaze faltering, my legs trembling.
I wanted to resist. To hate.

But my body betrayed me.

He leaned in, noses brushing, his hot breath searing my lips.
“Say it.”

My teeth clenched.
“Go to hell.”

His smile curved, dark and triumphant.
“As you wish.”

He released my wrists, hands sliding down to my hips, then under my dress, scorching my skin.

My head tipped back, a moan escaping as my eyes shut.

He gripped my nape, dragging my face back to his, his lips grazing mine but not kissing.
“Look at me.”

I opened my eyes. Met the abyss of his.

“You’re mine, Hope.”

And before I could breathe, his mouth crashed onto mine again.

I pushed. Pulled. Scratched. Fought. Wanted.

And in the tangle of hands, teeth, lips, rage, and fire, he lifted me, my legs locking around his waist, laying me out on the bed, his weight crushing me in the best way.

“Say it,” he whispered against my mouth.

I stared into him, gasping.
“I’m yours,” I breathed at last.

His growl tore through the room as he kissed me harder, deeper, his hands branding me, his body claiming mine.

That night, under twisted sheets and ragged breaths, we found each other again—
not in tenderness, but in fire, in need, in chaos.

He took me like a man who couldn’t bear to lose me.
I took him like a woman who couldn’t survive without him.

And in the blaze of our bodies, the lock of our eyes, the fury of our love—

we burned.