Page 21 of Beneath the Shadows

Valentino

Alessia took the bag and disappeared into the en suite. That was over an hour ago, and my patience is wearing thin. Ten more minutes—that's all I'll give her before I insist she opens the door.

My phone buzzes with an email notification. Opening my inbox, I find the message I've been waiting for. While in Sicily, Giancarlo tipped me off about a rare 1969 Duncan Taylor Macallan single malt scotch whiskey. It's not the elusive 1926 bottle I truly desire, but it'll be a fine addition to my collection.

The current owner is asking for one hundred thousand dollars—a modest sum to secure such a prized bottle. I reply promptly, arranging the wire transfer. By the time we're back in the States, it'll be resting in my cellarette.

Sliding the phone back into my pocket, I stand up. Alessia has taken long enough. Irritated, I pound on the door. "What's taking you so long?".

“I’m finishing my makeup,” she replies.

“You’ve had more than enough time,” I snap, impatience marring my tone.

There's a long pause before she speaks again. This time, her voice trembles slightly. "I don't want to do this."

"Stop this nonsense, Alessia. Open the door or I’ll break it down."

The bathroom door creaks open, and she steps out slowly, her face flushed and eyes cast downward. The sheer white lingerie clings to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to cover up.

"This is ridiculous, " she mumbles.

"You're being dramatic," I remark, my eyes darkening with desire. Hooking my arm around Alessia’s waist, I pull her against me. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me?” I grind my erection against her.

“I feel,” she says, struggling to get out of my hold. “Let me go.”

“Stop,” I say, my grip tightening. “Drop your arms. I want to see what’s mine.”

My eyes rake over her exposed form, scrutinizing every detail. The sheer lingerie leaves nothing to the imagination—her curves and the way her breasts rise and fall with each breath.

Satisfied, I release her wrist. "That's better," I state plainly. She'll learn not to hide herself from me. If she doesn't comply willingly, there will be consequences. “Sit down, dinner’s getting cold.”

I take my seat across from her and uncover the dishes. The aroma of roasted lamb and truffle risotto fills the space.

"Eat," I command, lifting my fork.

She picks at her food, barely lifting her eyes. "While I was in Sicily, I made significant progress with the DeLucaFamiglia," I say, watching her closely. “We struck a deal that will allow them to move their product through Philadelphia.”

“Their product?” she asks.

“Humans,” I respond casually and take a bite of the roasted lamb, savoring the rich flavor.

Her fork clatters against her plate as she looks up at me, horrified. "You're letting them move trafficked people through our city? Are you insane?"

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed by her outburst. "It's a growing business. The profits are skyrocketing. This deal will secure our position, bring in wealth beyond measure, and solidify my power."

She shakes her head, her anger rising. "You're going to ruin lives. How can you be so heartless?"

I sigh, barely containing my annoyance. "Don't be naïve. I'm not the one rounding them up. People want this, and I’m just making sure it happens."

"You have the power to make things better, but you're choosing to make it worse,” she argues.

"Enough," I snap, my patience thinning. "This is happening, whether you like it or not. Now, be quiet and eat your dinner."

She shoots me a glare but keeps her mouth shut. I finish my meal in silence, watching as Alessia absently pushes the food around on her plate. Once I'm done, I set my glass down and make my way to her side of the table.

"It's time," I say, holding out my hand.

Her eyes widen, fear flashing in them. "Can't we just talk?"

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