Dinner Tensions
1494 Words
The next evening, the Virelli mansion was alive again.
A celebratory dinner had been arranged in Sofia’s honor. The long dining table shimmered under warm lighting, set with polished silverware and crystal glasses. Everyone was present—Romano Vittorio at the head, his wife Elena beside him, Valentina chatting softly, and the brothers exchanging low, amused comments.
Sofia sat quietly, trying to focus on the conversation, on the comfort of familiarity. Trying hard not to think about the incident earlier but totally failing because her cheeks were still peach red. And she remembered bumping into Victor while running away from Luca and he asked her if she was okay to which she quickly nodded and fled to her room.
Then the doors opened.
And the room shifted.
Luca walked in last.
Dressed in black, composed, and unreadable—he didn’t rush, didn’t acknowledge the room immediately. His presence alone was enough. Conversations faltered, tension creeping into the air like something unseen but undeniable.
Everyone felt it.
Because everyone knew.
Luca and Sofia had never gotten along. So they were all surprised he actually came to the dinner.
Sofia lowered her gaze instinctively as he took his seat. She told herself to breathe, to act normal—but the moment dinner began, she felt it.
His eyes.
On her.
Not briefly. Not casually.
Lingering.
Her delicate fingers were at the edge of her dress, as if it could shield her from his predatory gaze. Her chest rose and fell unevenly betraying the turmoil raging inside her. She refused to meet his eyes and that made a smirk to curl at the edge of his lips.
For the first time in Luca’s life, he found himself mesmerized by a woman who wasn't even trying to tempt him.
“She has no idea how breathtaking she is, does she?” he thought.
He leaned back on his chair swirling the glass of whiskey and ice in his hands still watching her with the heat of the kiss still lingering on his lips. He wondered if she still felt his lips on her. And even though he knew it was a mistake he couldn't bring himself to regret it even if he wanted to.
Across the dining table, Sofia couldn't stay any longer because of how uncomfortable she was after the incident the previous day so she quickly excused herself “I—excuse me,” she said softly, standing before anyone could question her.
No one stopped her.
Sofia didn’t run—but she didn’t slow down either.
She made her way through the halls, her heartbeat loud in her ears, her thoughts scattered. The moment she reached her room, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
“What is wrong with me…” she whispered.
But she already knew.
It wasn’t her.
It was him.
Back in the dining room, Luca remained seated.
Calm. Unbothered.
As if nothing had happened.
But his gaze had shifted—no longer on the table, no longer on the conversation.
Gone distant. Calculating.
He waited.
Minutes passed.
Then, without drawing attention, he rose quietly from his seat.
No one questioned him.
No one ever did.
Sofia needed space.
Needed air.
Needed to get him out of her head.
So she did the only thing she could think of—she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the sound of running water fill the silence.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the zipper of her dress, her thoughts still tangled, her pulse still unsteady.
She hadn’t heard the door.
Hadn’t sensed it.
Until—
A presence.
Heavy. Silent.
Familiar.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she turned.
And there he was.
Luca stood just inside the room, the door already closed behind him. His expression was unreadable. His gaze was fixed entirely on her.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Something darker.
Something far more dangerous.
The air shifted instantly—tight, charged, suffocating.
Sofia’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“Luca…” she whispered, barely finding her voice.
He didn’t respond immediately.
He simply looked at her.
As if seeing her for the first time.
As if deciding something.
And whatever it was…
It made it impossible for her to breathe.
The air felt… wrong.
Heavy.
Like the room had shrunk around them.
Sofia didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Luca stood near the door, unmoving, his presence filling every corner of the space as if he owned even the air she breathed. His gaze was fixed on her—steady, unapologetic, and far too intense.
It made her skin prickle.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly, her voice betraying just a hint of unease.
Silence.
Then—
“I know,” Luca replied.
His voice was low. Controlled.
Too controlled.
Sofia swallowed, her fingers instinctively gripping the fabric of her dress. “This is my room.”
A pause.
Then he took a step forward.
Slow. Measured.
Dangerous.
“I know,” he said again.
Her breath caught.
The distance between them shortened—not enough to touch, but enough that she could feel him. His presence. His heat. His attention.
It was suffocating.
“I didn’t realize I needed permission to exist in this house,” she said, trying to steady her voice, trying to reclaim something—anything—of herself.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Not anger.
Something sharper.
“You don’t,” he said. “But you should know where you stand.”
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Sophia lifted her chin slightly. “And where exactly is that?”
Another step.
Now he was close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
“You’re asking questions you don’t want answers to.”
Her pulse quickened.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m asking because I deserve to know.”
That did something.
Something subtle—but real.
Luca’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second—then returned to her face, darker this time.
“You’ve changed,” he said.
It wasn’t a compliment.
It wasn’t criticism either.
It was… an observation.
Sofia frowned slightly. “Change is a constant. Besides, it's been years”
“I see.”
His voice dropped lower.
Her breath hitched.
There was something in the way he said it—something that made heat creep up her neck, something that made her suddenly aware of everything: the closeness, the silence, the way his eyes weren’t leaving her.
It wasn’t how he used to look at her.
Before… he barely looked at her at all.
Now?
It felt like he saw too much.
“You haven’t changed,” she said quickly, trying to push the tension away. “You’re still…”
She hesitated.
His brow lifted slightly. “Still what?”
Her lips parted before she could stop herself.
“Cold.”
Silence.
A dangerous kind of silence.
Then—
A faint exhale left him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite irritation.
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I remember.”
Another step.
Now there was nowhere for her to go. The edge of the bed pressed lightly behind her legs.
“You remember very little,” Luca said quietly.
Her heart was racing now. Loud. Unsteady.
“Then remind me,” she shot back, surprising even herself.
That did it.
Something shifted in his expression—subtle, but unmistakable.
Interest.
Real, dangerous interest.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Luca leaned in—just enough to blur the line between space and proximity. Not touching. .
But close enough that she felt it.
“Be careful what you ask for, Sofia. Or do you want me to remind you what happens to bad girls?”
Her name rolled off his tongue slowly, deliberately—like he was testing it.
Or claiming it.
Her breath caught.
“That was a mistake and you know it, you're my brother and I'm your little sister ” she whispered reminding him.
His eyes darkened.
“Really now.”
Two words.
But they carried weight.
Too much weight.
Sofia stepped back instinctively, breaking the tension just enough to breathe again.
“You should go,” she said, softer this time—not defensive, not sharp. Just… overwhelmed.
Luca didn’t move immediately.
He studied her for a long second, his gaze lingering in a way that made her chest tighten all over again.
Like he was memorizing her.
Or deciding something.
Then, finally, he straightened.
The distance returned.
The air shifted back.
But not completely.
“Lock your door,” he said calmly.
Her brows furrowed slightly. “Why?”
A pause.
Then—
“Because not everything in this house is as safe as you think.”
And with that, he turned and walked out.
Leaving behind silence.
And a storm she didn’t understand.
- Writer
