He forced his lips into hers and kissed hungrily like life depended on it, he bites, sucks, licks and she tries to push him away but the grip on her hair was iron made.
She thrashed against him, nails digging into his wrist, but Alessandro didn't budge. His grip in her hair was relentless, his body pressed flush against hers, trapping her between the cold wall and the scorching heat of his presence.
His lips moved with a ruthless hunger, biting down hard enough to draw a gasp from her—a mistake.
He swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing past her parted lips to claim, to conquer. He tasted like expensive whiskey and cigarette smoke, dark and intoxicating.
She tried to push him away, fists landing against his chest, but he didn't care.
"Fight all you want," he murmured against her lips, his breath hot against her skin. "I fucking love it."
And then, he bit her lower lip—hard.
Emilia gasped again, this time out of pain, but he soothed it instantly with his tongue, licking over the raw spot he'd just created.
"You bastard," she hissed, her voice breathless but sharp.
Alessandro laughed, dark and low. "You say that like it'll make me stop."
It wouldn't.
If anything, it made him worse.
He yanked her head back further, exposing the delicate column of her throat, and he struck. His lips latched onto her skin, kissing, sucking, biting his way down her neck.
Marking her.
Branding her.
His.
Emilia's breathing turned uneven, her body betraying her even as her mind screamed at her to fight back.
She wasn't a woman who let anyone have power over her.
And yet—
"You're shaking," Alessandro murmured against her skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her jaw. "Tell me, topolina… is it rage or something else?"
She hated the way his voice slithered into her veins, like slow, burning poison.
"Let me go," she spat.
Alessandro pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
And then—he smirked.
"I don't think so."
His free hand slid down her waist, over the curve of her hip, pressing possessively against her body.
"You belong to me now," he whispered, his voice rough, full of dark promises.
Emilia's breath hitched.
No.
Nobody owned her.
With a growl, she jerked her knee up, aiming straight for his groin—
But Alessandro was faster.
He caught her thigh, pinned it against his waist, forcing her even closer.
"Nice try," he murmured.
Her heart pounded.
She was outmatched.
But she wasn't outplayed.
So she did the only thing she could—she played dirty.
Lifting her hands to cup his face, she kissed him back.
And then—she bit.
Hard.
Blood flooded her tongue.
Alessandro hissed, jerking back slightly, his smirk wiped clean off his face.
Emilia licked her lips, tasting him.
"Lesson two," she whispered, her voice like silk wrapped around steel. "If you play with fire—be ready to burn."
Alessandro stared at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
And then, he grinned.
"Fuck, dolcezza" he chuckled, licking the blood from his own lips. "Now you're really making me fall for you."
Her stomach twisted.
This was bad.
This was very bad.
Because Alessandro Bianchi didn't just fall.
He possessed, and once he decided something was his, he never lets go.
Bianchi Estate – Next Morning
Alessandro sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, sipping his espresso like he hadn't spent the previous night tasting blood and fire.
But the moment his father walked in, he set the cup down, leaned forward, and spoke without hesitation—
"Dad. The Russo girl. I. Want. Her."
Mateo Bianchi stopped mid-step.
Silence settled over the room like a loaded gun.
Luciano, who had just taken a bite of his croissant, nearly choked. "Jesus Christ, Alessandro."
Mateo's eyes narrowed. "The Russo girl?" His voice was unreadable. "As in, Emilia Russo?"
Alessandro smirked. "Is there another?"
His father exhaled slowly, dragging out the moment before settling into his chair. "You met her yesterday. And now you're saying you want her?"
"I don't want her, Father." Alessandro's voice turned deadly serious. "I'm going to have her."
Mateo leaned back, studying his son like he was trying to dissect him.
The Bianchis and the Russos were not enemies. Not yet. But their relationship was fragile. A single wrong move could turn it hostile.
"Why?" Mateo finally asked.
Alessandro's jaw ticked. His mind flashed to last night—her fire, her defiance, her fucking bite.
"She's mine," he said simply.
Luciano let out a low whistle. "Fuck. I knew it. I fucking knew it. That girl did something to your head."
"She didn't do shit," Alessandro snapped. "She just doesn't fucking understand who she belongs to yet, she's my possession, she belongs to me, MINE."
Mateo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Alessandro, she's not some business acquisition. She's the only heir to the Russo family. You can't just claim her like—"
"I can and I will."
His father stared at him for a long time before speaking again, voice laced with warning.
"Taking her means declaring war with the Russos if they refuse."
Alessandro didn't even flinch. "Then we prepare for war."
Mateo sighed. "And if she refuses you?"
Alessandro grinned.
"Then I'll break her until she says yes."
---
Meanwhile – Russo Estate
Emilia was still seeing red.
Her lips still tingled. Her skin still burned. And her mind was trapped in an endless loop of Alessandro fucking Bianchi.
She threw a glass against the wall, watching it shatter like her patience.
Gia, sitting on the bed, raised a brow. "Well, someone's pissed."
Emilia turned on her with a glare. "That bastard—he thinks he owns me."
Gia smirked. "And do you?"
"What?"
"Belong to him."
Emilia's chest tightened. No. Never.
But last night…
That fucking kiss. The way he touched her. The way he looked at her—like he was ready to burn the world down for her.
Like he'd rather destroy her than let her go.
Emilia clenched her fists. Fuck that.
Nobody owned her.
And if Alessandro Bianchi wanted war— She'd give him one.
Emilia forced a smile as she and Gia stepped forward, but her mind was elsewhere. She was still seething from last night.
The nerve of that bastard, Alessandro Bianchi.
She had barely slept, running every possible scenario in her head. What if she had stabbed him last night? What if she had walked away? What if—
"My babies!" Mia Rossi's voice cut through her thoughts. Gia's mother beamed as she pulled them both into a tight hug.
Emilia barely had time to react before her own mother, Sofia Russo, was fussing over her. "You look tired, sweetheart. Did something happen?"
Emilia forced another smile. "Nothing, Mama. Just work."
Her father, Piero Russo, looked up from his coffee, sharp eyes scanning her face. He wasn't easily fooled. "Work, huh?" His voice was low, thoughtful. "Or does this have something to do with the Bianchis?"
Emilia's stomach dropped.
Gia tensed beside her.
"Why would you say that, Papa?" Emilia asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral.
Piero leaned back, crossing his arms. "Because the Bianchis called this morning. They want a meeting. With all of us."
Emilia's blood turned cold.
No fucking way.
Her mother, Sofia, glanced at her husband. "Why? We don't have any unsettled business with them."
Piero exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "That's what I intend to find out."
Emilia's mind raced. This had to be Alessandro. What the hell was he trying to pull?
"Did they say when?" Gia asked, voice casual, but Emilia could feel the underlying tension.
Her father nodded. "Tonight. At their estate."
Emilia clenched her fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.
That son of a bitch.
He was forcing this meeting. Forcing her family into his game.
Gia glanced at her, and Emilia saw the silent question in her best friend's eyes. What do we do?
Emilia exhaled slowly.
"We go," she said. Her voice was calm. Cold.
But inside?
She was already preparing for war.
---
Bianchi Estate – That Night
The Russo family entered the grand Bianchi estate, tension thick enough to choke.
Emilia walked beside her father, her spine straight, her expression unreadable. But inside? Her blood was boiling.
Alessandro was waiting for them in the massive dining hall, seated at the head of the table like a king.
He was in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, his watch gleaming under the chandelier light. He looked relaxed. Confident. Like he'd already won.
Luciano sat beside him, watching everything unfold with mild amusement.
Alessandro's father, Mateo Bianchi, was there too, expression unreadable.
The moment Emilia locked eyes with Alessandro, he smirked.
"Welcome, Russo family." His voice was smooth, taunting. His eyes, however, were locked onto her.
Emilia's jaw tightened.
The Bianchis motioned for them to sit.
Nobody touched their drinks.
"Let's not waste time," Piero Russo said, voice firm. "Why did you call for this meeting, Mateo?"