Chapter Fifteen: White Heat
1499 Words
The doorbell rings.
Neither of us moves immediately.
Luca’s hand slides to my waist, pulling me just slightly closer before he steps away.
Subtle.
Claiming.
When Adriano walks in, the air shifts instantly.
He didn’t wear Black
He wore contrast.
He Wore White and plain white shirt and trousers , sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. The fabric hugs his chest just enough to reveal the sculpted strength beneath.
The ink is partially visible tonight.
The Roman crest peeks just above the open collar. White lines against skin. Intentional.
His eyes find mine first.
Just for a second.
Then they move to Luca.
“Romano,” Luca greets smoothly.
“De Luca.”
Their handshake is firm.
Measured.
Two controlled forces testing pressure.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Adriano says calmly.
“Of course,” Luca replies.
Neither smiles fully.
Dinner begins civil.
Wine is poured. Conversation is polite. Business talk flows easily between them shipments, territories, partnerships.
But beneath the words
Something else hums.
I feel it every time Adriano’s gaze drifts toward me and quickly retracts.
I feel it when Luca notices.
Luca’s suspicion doesn’t show on his face.
It shows in small shifts.
The way his hand rests more firmly on the back of my chair.
The way his knee brushes mine under the table and stays there.
The way his voice lowers half a tone when he addresses me directly.
“Isabella prefers the northern vineyard,” Luca says casually at one point.
Adriano glances at me.
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” I reply evenly.
“I didn’t know that,” Adriano says.
“You wouldn’t,” Luca answers before I can.
Silence.
Not awkward.
Heavy.
The candles flicker between us.
Adriano leans back slightly in his chair, studying Luca openly now.
“You’re protective,” Adriano observes.
“I’m careful,” Luca corrects.
“With what’s yours?”
The question is smooth.
Not aggressive.
But deliberate.
Luca doesn’t look at him.
He looks at me.
Then back at Adriano.
“I don’t keep what doesn’t choose to stay.”
The statement lands like a blade wrapped in silk.
Adriano’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“And if someone else tried?” he asks lightly.
Luca finally smiles.
It’s slow.
Controlled.
“Then I’d assume she gave them a reason to try.”
Heat floods my chest.
This isn’t about business anymore.
Under the table, Luca’s hand slides to my thigh.
Not inappropriate.
Just resting there.
Warm.
Possessive.
Adriano notices.
Of course he does.
But instead of reacting, he lifts his wine glass calmly.
“To clarity,” he says.
Luca clinks his glass lightly against Adriano’s.
“To loyalty.”
Their eyes lock over crystal.
War without weapons.
And I sit between them
The only thing neither of them fully controls.
Adriano
I knew I shouldn’t have accepted the invitation.
White tablecloths. Crystal glasses. Candlelight reflecting off polished silver Luca always hosts like a king entertaining allies.
But tonight wasn’t about alliances.
It was about watching her.
Isabella sits at the head of the table beside him, black silk falling over her body like it was poured there deliberately. The fabric clings when she shifts, revealing curves without trying too hard.
She doesn’t know she does that.
Or maybe she does.
Her hair is down tonight. Not pinned. Not formal. It spills over her shoulders, brushing against the thin strap of her dress. Every time she tucks it back, Luca watches.
And I watch her watching him.
She laughs at something he says soft, controlled, not overly affectionate.
She leans toward him when he speaks.
But she never melts.
That’s what keeps me here.
She never melts.
Luca is composed in all black tonight. . No tie. Top buttons undone just enough to suggest ease. The sleeves rolled to his forearms. Gold watch catching candlelight.
He looks like control personified.
He touches her lower back casually when he stands. Not possessive. Just claiming enough space to remind everyone she is his.
But when his hand settles there, her spine straightens slightly.
Not relaxes.
Straightens.
I file that away.
Dinner ends too smoothly.
Too clean.
Luca excuses himself when his phone rings. Business never sleeps. He steps away with a quiet apology.
And I see my moment.
I don’t rush.
I never rush.
I leave the table slowly, adjusting my cufflinks as if searching for something.
She follows.
Of course she does.
Isabella
I shouldn’t have stood up.
But staying seated felt worse.
Adriano disappears down the hallway with calm indifference, like he doesn’t care whether I follow.
And that’s exactly why I do.
The house is quieter here. The hum of conversation fades behind walls and distance.
He stands near the archway leading to the side corridor.
Not hiding.
Waiting.
“You’re predictable,” he says without turning.
I fold my arms lightly. “You’re arrogant.”
He finally looks at me.
God.
He dressed casually tonight, but it somehow feels more dangerous than formal.
White jeans. Low on his hips. A thin white shirt almost translucent under the softer hallway lighting. It clings to him in a way that reveals more than it hides.
His chest is defined, hard beneath the fabric. A faint outline of muscle visible with every breath. The shirt stretches slightly across broad shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist.
And the tattoo.
Black ink peeks from beneath his sleeve, curling down his forearm in intricate lines sharp, deliberate patterns that look like they were carved rather than drawn.
His jaw is sharp. Clean. Perfectly cut.
He looks like temptation with a pulse.
“You shouldn’t be alone with me,” he says.
“Then leave.”
He steps closer instead.
Adriano
She thinks I’m playing.
I’m not.
Up close, her perfume is softer than at the table. Something warm. Something that lingers too close to memory.
“You wore that for him,” I say quietly, letting my eyes trace the neckline of her dress.
She doesn’t flinch.
“I dressed for dinner.”
“You dressed to be watched.”
Her breathing shifts.
Barely.
But I hear it.
The hallway narrows between us. The air thickens.
I don’t touch her yet.
That’s the difference between me and Luca.
He touches casually.
I touch deliberately.
“You’re bold in his house,” she says.
“I’m bold everywhere.”
I step closer.
Not trapping her.
Just reducing the space.
Her back is inches from the wall now. My hand rests beside her shoulder not on her just enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
“If he asked you to marry him,” I ask quietly, “would you say yes?”
Her pulse jumps in her throat.
“That’s not your concern.”
“It is if I intend to make you doubt it.”
Her eyes darken.
There it is.
That spark.
Isabella
He’s too close.
But I don’t move.
That’s the problem.
He smells clean. Warm. Masculine without trying. His chest rises slowly beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. I can see the faint shadow of muscle through it, and it makes my fingers itch to test if it feels as firm as it looks.
He notices.
Of course he does.
“You’re thinking,” he murmurs.
“You’re imagining.”
His hand finally moves.
Slow.
He brushes a strand of hair away from my neck.
Just that.
Just fingers gliding over skin.
It shouldn’t feel like this.
But it does.
Heat spreads instantly, curling low in my stomach.
“Walk away,” he says softly.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because if you don’t…”
His hand slides down not inappropriate, not crude just resting at my waist.
Firm.
Steady.
“…I won’t.”
The honesty hits harder than the touch.
My hands press against his chest testing, grounding, pushing slightly.
He freezes.
His body tightens beneath my palms.
God.
He’s solid.
Every inch of him controlled strength.
“You don’t want to be second,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches.
“I don’t compete,” he replies quietly. “I replace.”
My breath catches.
Footsteps echo faintly from the main hallway.
Luca.
Adriano hears it too.
His thumb presses slightly into my waist imprinting the moment then he steps back.
Control restored.
By the time Luca appears, Adriano is adjusting his cuffs like nothing happened.
Adriano
Luca studies us both.
Sharp.
Calculating.
“You’re flushed,” he tells her.
“Wine,” she replies.
Liar.
But a beautiful one.
I meet Luca’s gaze evenly.
He’s strong. Built like a man who trains for endurance, not show. Broad shoulders beneath white cotton, sleeves hugging thick forearms. His dark hair perfectly styled without looking forced.
He looks like stability.
I look like risk.
And she felt it.
I move toward the door.
But before I leave, I look at her once more.
Not claiming.
Not asking.
Just reminding.
She didn’t walk away.
And that changes everything.
- Writer
