CHAPTER FIVE - Flickering Heart
1179 Words
The echo of Alessandro De Luca's footsteps reverberated down the dimly lit hallway, each step measured, each breath slow and heavy. The air carried the faint scent of polished wood and the underlying tension that never truly left the De Luca mansion.
As he rounded the corner, his gaze caught sight of a maid struggling with a tray of food. Her hands trembled as she attempted to balance the plate, the clink of cutlery betraying her nerves.
"Where are you going?" Alessandro's voice sliced through the silence.
The maid flinched, eyes widening. "T-To Mr. Rossi’s room, sir."
He exhaled, long and slow. Without another word, he reached out and took the tray from her hands. She stared for a second too long before hastily bowing and retreating.
With the tray in hand, Alessandro made his way to the room. He didn't bother to knock.
Marco was sitting upright on the bed, pale but defiant, dark hair slightly damp with sweat. The blankets pooled around his waist, his breathing steady but tense. The moment Alessandro entered, his expression hardened.
"You again?" Marco’s voice was sharp. "I’m not staying here. I need to go home. I have school, I have things to do. I’m not part of this war between our families. If you think holding me here will make my father bend, you’re wasting your time. He doesn’t care about me, and I sure as hell don’t care about him."
Alessandro placed the tray on the bedside table with a calmness that only made his presence more imposing. His eyes, cold as winter, flicked to Marco. "Stop talking and eat your food."
"No."
A muscle ticked in Alessandro’s jaw. His voice dropped to a dark murmur. "If you don’t eat, you can’t take your medicine. And if you don’t… I’ll feed you myself."
Marco's eyes narrowed, lips curling in disdain. "I’d like to see you try."
The challenge hung heavy in the air.
Without hesitation, Alessandro picked up a sausage from the plate. His gaze didn’t waver as he moved closer to the bed, the warmth of his body cutting through the space between them.
"Open your mouth."
Marco’s glare deepened. He clenched his jaw and turned his head to the side, refusing to give in.
Alessandro's lips pressed into a thin line. And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he brought the food to his own mouth, biting down just enough to hold it between his teeth.
Before Marco could react, Alessandro leaned in.
The world narrowed to a heartbeat.
Their lips collided — rough, heated. Marco gasped in shock, but Alessandro didn’t pull back. He pressed forward, forcing the food between their mouths. His fingers curled around Marco’s jaw, keeping him there. The warmth of breath, the press of lips, the taste of salt and heat... it was intoxicating.
But it wasn’t just the food anymore.
Alessandro's grip softened, his hand sliding down to Marco’s neck, thumb brushing against his racing pulse. His lips lingered, tasting more than just defiance. He didn’t mean to... but he couldn’t help it.
For a breathless moment, the room was filled with nothing but the quiet hum of tension.
Then Marco shoved him back.
"Ahhh!" Marco wiped his mouth furiously, eyes wide with both anger and disbelief. "You’re really a beast! I should’ve listened to my father."
Alessandro staggered back a step, his breathing rough. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the heat that still lingered. For a second, there was silence — thick and heavy, broken only by the uneven rhythm of their breaths.
"You talk too much," Alessandro finally said, voice rougher than he intended.
Marco let out a bitter laugh. "And you’re insane. What the hell was that?"
Alessandro’s eyes darkened. "That was me reminding you who’s in control."
"Control?" Marco threw the blankets off his lap and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "You call that control? You can’t even control yourself."
Alessandro’s jaw clenched. He took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing. "Careful."
"Or what?" Marco spat. "You’ll kiss me again? Shove food down my throat and pretend it’s about power?"
The words hit harder than they should have. Alessandro's breathing hitched, but he masked it with a slow, dangerous smile. "You think I care how you feel?"
"Maybe you should," Marco shot back. His chest was still heaving, his lips still burning with the memory of Alessandro's kiss — and it infuriated him. "Or is that why you’re so angry? Because you do?"
The room pulsed with tension. Alessandro’s hands flexed at his sides as if he wanted to grab something — or someone. He took another step forward, but this time, Marco didn’t move back.
They stood there, breath mingling in the charged space between them.
Marco’s voice dropped, softer now. "You don’t know what you want, do you?"
Alessandro’s lips parted, but no words came. His heart was pounding too loudly in his chest. He wanted to say something — to snap, to threaten, to do anything that would wipe that knowing look off Marco’s face.
But he couldn’t.
Because Marco was right.
And that terrified him.
Augustus De Luca's Office
The scent of rich leather and aged whiskey hung in the air, the room dimly lit by the golden glow of a desk lamp. Augustus sat back in his high-backed chair, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes sharp with satisfaction. Across from him, Alessandro lounged lazily in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, exuding the kind of arrogance that only came with power — and the thrill of victory.
"You did well," Augustus said, his voice low and approving. "Taking Marco was the right move. Bold. The kind of move that makes men bend... or break."
Alessandro’s lips curled into a cold smirk. "Diego Rossi won't bend. Not easily."
"No," Augustus chuckled darkly. "But I wonder how long he’ll hold out. A man’s pride is only as strong as the thing he values most."
Alessandro leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "He'll break eventually. And Marco?" He scoffed softly. "I’ll play with him until he begs me to stop. By the time I’m done, he’ll regret being born a Rossi."
There was a glint in Augustus' eyes — approval, pride. "That’s my son." He rose from his chair and walked to the window, gazing out at the city lights. "A party is coming up. One of those pretentious gatherings where every family likes to show their teeth. I won’t be here. Business in Warsaw."
Alessandro straightened slightly. "You want me to represent you."
"You’re my heir," Augustus said simply. "Act like it."
Before Alessandro could respond, a knock echoed from the door. It creaked open, and Luca stepped inside, his posture respectful. "Pardon the interruption, sir. Your attention is needed at the rotunda."
Augustus exhaled, glancing briefly at Alessandro. "We’ll talk more later."
Alessandro nodded, watching as his father left with Luca. He leaned back again, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Marco Rossi... the game was just beginning.
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