Chapter 6.An entrance
1261 Words
The doors to the casino swung open with quiet elegance, but the effect was anything but subtle.
Alessandro De Luca walked in like a storm in silk, all power and cold confidence. And at his side—was Rose.
Every conversation in the grand casino stuttered to a halt.
Eyes turned. Some out of curiosity. Others out of hunger. But most lingered for one reason—her.
Rose red dress was like a woman who knew the power of fire. The gown clung to her generous curves, cut dangerously low at the back with that insane slit, her full chest pushing against the neckline with every breath. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was endowed. Really endowed. And the world noticed.
Her dirty blonde hair stood out in the crowd cascading in soft, seductive waves down her bare shoulders. Every movement shimmered. Every blink from her long lashes was deliberate, though she didn’t even try.
She didn’t need to.
Alessandro’s hand curled tighter around her waist. His grip wasn’t gentle, it was a silent command, a claim. Anyone who dared stare at her for too long earned a death glare from the cold blooded man beside her.
His jaw ticked as he scanned the room. One man’s eyes lingered on her backside too long. Another tried to hide the way he was staring at her chest.
Alessandro’s nostrils flared.
“Bastardi,” he muttered under his breath, tightening his hold on Rose like he was seconds from snapping. “One more look, and I’ll put a bullet in someone’s eye.”
Rose leaned into him, whispering, “You’re being obvious.”
“I want them to know,” he replied, voice rough. “You’re belong to me.”
Before she could answer, a voice cut in from the right.
“Alessandro,” came the greeting—smooth, full of fake warmth.
Leonardo.
His uncle.
The man who wore polished suits and always had blood under his fingernails no matter how clean he looked. He opened his arms slightly in a fake welcome.
“Uncle,” Alessandro replied, his tone sharp and cold as steel. No smile. No warmth. Just enough politeness to avoid disrespect.
Leonardo’s gaze slipped from Alessandro to Rose and lingered. “You brought quite the woman tonight.”
Alessandro’s stare turned lethal.
Before the air could thicken more, another figure joined them.
Matteo.
Leonardo’s son.
He was younger than Alessandro, leaner, but dangerous in the way a snake is dangerous, smiling with poison on his tongue. He had a glass of champagne in one hand and his eyes locked onto Rose in the other.
“Alessandro,” he greeted smoothly. “And bella, you must be the infamous wife we’ve heard so little about.”
Rose offered a nod and smiled sweetly, “Hello” she greeted but Alessandro stepped in just slightly—subtle, but possessive. Matteo noticed.
“Your husband doesn’t like to share,” he teased.
“No,” Alessandro said flatly, “I don’t.”
The tension between them crackled like an electric wire. Matteo’s eyes danced, as if entertained by how close Alessandro was to losing control.
“You’ve got good taste, cugino. If I’d seen her first—”
“You didn’t,” Alessandro snapped, his voice dropping lower.
Matteo’s smirk deepened, and Rose subtly touched Alessandro’s arm.
“Let’s get a drink,” she murmured.
Alessandro didn’t argue. He led her away without another word, his entire body thrumming with tightly leashed fury.
He paused to greet a few acquaintances, offering short, calculated nods, his arm never leaving Rose’s waist. Eventually, she leaned into him and whispered, “I’ll be right back. I need the restroom.”
His eyes flicked toward the hallway she’d disappear into, then back at her. “Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t let anyone near you.”
She rolled her eyes lightly. “I’ll be two minutes, boss.”
But the moment she stepped away, he watched her go like a predator tracking its prey.
Rose walked past the golden walls and velvet curtains into the quieter corridor that led to the private restrooms. The buzz of music and laughter faded behind her.
She didn’t see the man until it was too late.
A heavy hand slammed against the wall beside her head, stopping her.
“Where do you think you’re going, bella?” he slurred.
He was tall. Reeking of whiskey. Eyes full of filth. She didn’t recognize him, one of Leonardo’s men, maybe. Or worse.
“I’m Alessandro De Luca’s wife,” she said quickly, voice sharp.
He laughed. “And I’m the Pope. Come on... just a taste.”
He grabbed her arm.
She screamed.
He tried to yank her to him and caressed her, she bit into his hand and screamed louder.
It echoed through the hallway like a gunshot.
Then came the sound of two sets of footsteps—fast. Furious.
“Figlio di puttana!” Alessandro’s voice exploded as he came into view, Matteo right behind him.
The man barely had time to turn before Alessandro’s fist connected with his face. The impact sent him flying into the wall.
“Touch her?” Alessandro roared, throwing punch after punch, his knuckles splitting. “Touch her?”
The man tried to curl up, blo*d spilling from his nose, but Alessandro didn’t stop. He grabbed the man by the collar, slammed him against the marble, and hit him again and again until his face was almost unrecognizable.
“Alessandro!” Matteo barked, trying to pull him back. “You’ll kill him cazzo, stop!”
But Alessandro was blind with rage, his vision red, his breath ragged.
Rose stood back, trembling. Tears rimmed her lashes but not from fear. From shock. From the sight of a man willing to burn the world for her.
Finally, Matteo dragged Alessandro off. He shoved him against the wall and shouted something in Italian neither of them registered.
Two of Alessandro’s men rushed in. With a nod, they grabbed the barely conscious man and dragged him out of sight.
Blood painted Alessandro’s fists. His eyes were feral. Wild.
Leonardo appeared moments later, expression unreadable. “What the hell happened?”
Alessandro didn’t answer.
Leonardo tried again. “You’re not going to stay, have a drink, cool off?”
“No,” Alessandro snapped. “I’m done with tonight. Done with this place.”
He turned to Rose. “Let’s go.”
She nodded, silent, letting him wrap an arm around her again. This time, it wasn’t just possessive, it was protective. Fierce. As if the world might try again, and he’d burn it all down if it did.
They walked out in silence, the crowd parting again—this time not just in awe, but fear.
The ruthless Alessandro was leaving. And he was angry.
Back in the car, Alessandro didn’t speak. His jaw was clenched, body taut like he was still fighting the urge to go back and kill someone.
Rose kept stealing glances at him wondering what had changed in him, he had been so possessive tonight and kept glaring at the people who kept throwing glances at her. Even almost ending the man’s life.
He looked at her, eyes still blazing. “No one touches you,” he said, voice low. “Ever. I don’t care who they are.”
She whispered, “I know.”
His hand curled around hers.
And they drove into the night, his fury simmering, her heart racing, and something darker pulling them even closer.
- Writer
