In which I fall in love with my bodyguard. "Jealous?" Alessio's laugh was low, dry, and edged with something darker. Before I could even process it, his rough hand wrapped firmly around my throat, his grip just enough to make my breath hitch. His gaze burned into mine, unrelenting, daring me to look away. His other hand trailed down, deliberate and slow, until his cold silver rings pressed against the heat between my thighs. I flinched at the contrast, my body betraying me as a shiver rolled down my spine. Every nerve screamed at me to pull away, but his touch awakened memories I had buried, memories I'd spent years trying to erase. "Let go, Alessio," I bit out, my voice trembling. I forced my hand between us, shoving him back just enough to break his hold. The moment I was free, I straightened and walked past him, my legs shaking but my steps purposeful. "You know," I started, casting a glance over my shoulder, "My father wouldn't appreciate you to ng me like that." My tone was cutting, sharp, yet the way his jaw clenched told me I'd struck a nerve. The corner of my mouth curled in satisfaction. I always did love provoking Alessio Rossi-it was a twisted game we'd perfected over the years. But my victory was short-lived. In a flash, his hand gripped my wrist, yanking me back and slamming me against the wall. The air left my lungs in a rush, and before I could speak, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "He wouldn't appreciate the things I think about doing to you either," he growled, his voice rough and dripping with heat. "The way I imagine fucking you right here, against this wall." "Is that what you want, bambina?" His lips barely grazed my skin, his voice a low snarl. "For me to ruin you, turn you into a writhing, begging mess? My little fuck doll?" The tension crackled between us like fire, his grip unyielding, his eyes burning with a hunger I couldn't escape-and maybe didn't want to.