LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
1109 Words
( ALISTAIR’S POV)
Alistair Valerio hated events like this.
Too many eyes.
Too many liars in polished shoes.
Too many men in tuxedos pretending they weren’t carrying weapons beneath their jackets.
But the syndicate demanded his presence. Heir to the Valerio empire, newly in charge of the southern territories, Alistair knew how to play the part — cold, composed, untouchable.
He entered the gala late, shadows clinging to him like a second suit. His men flanked the walls, invisible to everyone but him. His father had sent him here to “smooth alliances.”
Alistair was prepared to be bored.
Prepared to be irritated.
Prepared to mask violence with politeness.
He was not prepared for *her*.
She walked in half an hour after he arrived, and for the first time in years, Alistair forgot how to breathe.
A slip of a woman—
no, not a woman, a quiet storm wrapped in silk peach-colored dress, soft curls cascading over her shoulders, eyes that held a kind of fragile defiance.
Fiona.
He didn’t know her name yet, but it hit him instantly:
I want her.I know it dangerous but I can't stop myself.
She had this hesitant grace, like she was trying not to be seen in a room built on being seen. That contradiction alone dug under his skin.
Alistair told himself to look away.but he could not.
He watched her glide through the hall, offering polite smiles, avoiding the predatory gazes of men who weren’t worthy to even breathe the same air as her.
She didn’t belong here.
That was the danger.
Women who didn’t belong in the mafia world often ended up shattered by it.
He should have ignored her.
Should have dismissed the spark tightening his chest.
But his eyes kept returning to her like a magnetic pull he couldn’t break.
His lieutenant approached him, murmuring about security updates.
Alistair didn’t hear a word.
He was too busy watching Fiona lift her hand toward a champagne flute—
And something in him snapped.
He moved before thinking.
He caught her wrist gently, his hand dwarfing her delicate skin.
Her eyes lifted to his —
wide, startled, impossibly soft.
For a man accustomed to screams, threats, and blood…
her innocence hit him like a silent explosion.
“peach doesn’t suit you,” he murmured, voice low enough for only her.
“You don’t like the taste.”
He didn’t know how he knew — he just did.
Some instinct deeper than logic.
She whispered, “How would you know that?”
Alistair almost smiled.
Almost.
“I pay attention.”
He released her slowly, feeling a sting of regret the moment her warmth left his fingers.
He should have walked away.
Instead, he remained.
And suddenly,
The orchestra shifted into a slow, intimate melody.
Before he could stop himself, he held out his hand.
“Dance with me.”
She hesitated, fear flickering through her eyes —
but she placed her hand in his.
It was over in that instant.
He knew it.
He felt it like a lock clicking into place.
He pulled her close, just enough to feel her breath brush his throat. Her body fit against his too perfectly, like she’d been crafted to match the angles of his frame.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Fiona.”
He repeated it under his breath, imprinting it in his mind.
She asked his.
And for the first time in years, Alistair hesitated to tell someone the truth.
“Alistair.”
Her lips parted slightly, the sound of his name on her tongue sending a hot spike of desire through him.
Their movements synced naturally—almost obscenely well. Every step tightened the web pulling them together. Heat stirred low in his spine, and he knew she felt it too.
He hadn’t lost control like this since he was sixteen.
He hated losing control.
But he didn’t stop.
He didn’t want to.
The moment the dance ended, he couldn’t step back.
Didn’t intend to.
He searched her eyes, saw uncertainty…
and interest.
And something fragile he wanted to protect more than he should.
“Come with me,” he said softly.
Not a threat.
Not a command.
Something more dangerous —
a request, wrapped in hunger.
When she nodded, Alistair’s heart kicked once, hard, like he’d been punched.
He took her to his private suite.
He told himself he would just talk.
That he would not touch her.
That he would remain disciplined.
But the moment the door closed—
her scent hit him.
Her eyes lifted.
And every oath he made shattered.
That night he broke his rules for her
He caged her against the wall with his hands but didn’t touch her yet.
He needed her permission first.
“If I touch you,” he warned, voice hoarse,
“I won’t stop.”
Her whisper was soft, terrified, honest.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
That was all it took.
He kissed her, losing a part of himself in the heat of her mouth. She tasted like innocence and danger and everything he had never allowed himself to want.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders with surprising strength.
She wasn’t fragile.
She wasn’t breakable.
She was fire masked as glass.
He lifted her against his body, devouring her soft gasps, feeling her melt into every kiss. The night blurred into heat, whispered names, and a connection he couldn’t explain.
When she fell asleep in his arms, Alistair stared at her for a long, unguarded moment…
And realized with a cold spike of fear:
He didn’t want her to disappear.
That terrified him more than any bullet ever had.
The Morning He Regretted
Duty called him before dawn — a syndicate emergency.
He stood beside the bed, watching her sleep in the early light.
Fiona.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, careful not to wake her.
He wanted to leave a note.
Wanted to give her his number.
Wanted to pull her back into his arms instead of walking out the door.
But Alistair Valerio did not get to want things.
So he left.
Not because he didn’t want her…
but because he feared what wanting her meant.
In the hallway, he paused, closing his eyes.
I’ll find you again,he promised silently.
He didn’t know fate was already waiting to punch him in the throat.
He didn’t know she would come back into his life as something forbidden.
He didn’t know she carried a part of him inside her.
All he knew was the truth he refused to speak:
He had finally lost control.
And her name was Fiona.
- Writer
