Something warm shifted against me.I turned and my stomach dropped.
A blonde was curled up on my side, half-buried in the sheets.She blinked, stretched, and smiled at me like last night had been a bedtime fairytale.My nostrils flared.Danger in the shape of a grin.
“Good morning, handsome.”Her voice was croaky and lazy, like she’d just woken from someone else’s dream.
Last night.The boys.Drinks.Blackouts.Pieces surfaced — too many to trust, not enough to mean anything.I’d been careful for years; one night I’d let my guard down and now there was a stranger in my bed.Perfect.
I pushed up too fast and the room tilted.“Fuck,” I groaned.
She tightened an arm around me; I flinched and shoved her away.The booze still rode my blood like a bad passenger.A cold suspicion crawled up my spine — had she slipped me something?I hated that I even thought it.
“How good was last night?”I asked, flat and hard.
“Pretty good.”She smirked, batting her lashes like I was supposed to be impressed.Then she said it, like it was a fucking trophy: “You dragged me to your room so you could fuck me as hard as you can.”
My jaw tightened until it hurt.“Get out.”Short.Hard.
She shrugged out from under the sheets, unbothered.“Not a single fucking thing?”she mocked.The audacity.My hands curled before I could stop them.
“What’s your name, puttana?”I said, each word a razor.
“Lucy,” she answered, sliding off the bed like it was hers.
Lucy.The name stuck like a splinter.I’d never met her, never seen her, and yet she lounged in my place like she’d paid rent.My teeth ground together; the anger in me swelled hot and animal.
I nearly fell standing up, dizziness nipping at my balance.I dressed fast — practiced movements, the kind of motions a man who runs an empire does without thinking — then stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door.I scrubbed my face raw, threw the dirty clothes in the basket, brushed my teeth with a viciousness that felt good, and tried to stitch myself back together.
Through the mirror I watched my reflection harden into something I recognized: control.Discipline.No excuses.
I opened the door and there she was — still wrapped in the sheet like an insult to my housekeepers.I stopped in the doorway and looked at her the way you look at a loose thread on a suit you paid for.
Stavo seriamente per uccidere questa cagna.
“You can go,” I said, flat as a blade.“Leave.Now.”
She raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed, but she got up — slow, like she had time to waste.I watched her go, the room reclaiming its silence as she left.
What the fuck had I gotten myself into?
I didn’t want that bitch thinking she’d rattled me, so I walked over to the closet like I give a damn and started pulling clothes out for the day.
“Are you dense?”I asked without looking at her.“I’ve told you a dozen times—fuck off.”
She rolled on the bed and laughed, all lazy and smug.“You’re such a gentleman.Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here soon.But I need closure.”Her voice was a tiny provocation and my fists curled before I could stop them.
She flashed a grin up at me.“Me and you.Alessandro?”She smirked, slow as if the name itself was some kind of weapon.“Alessandro, right?”
I ignored her.I didn’t answer.I focused on my clothes, picking the tie I’d wear the men to respect and the people to fear.
“Well, Alessandro...”she crooned, pushing the name like it would do something to me.It didn’t.If anything it pissed me off more — this puttana was sprawled on my bed like she’d paid rent.If I’d known she was clingy, I wouldn’t have fucked her at all.
“I want to make a deal with you,” she said, leaning forward, suddenly serious.“I want to work for you.Let me work for you.”
I scoffed.I grabbed the shirt I’d picked and shut the closet door, laid it on the chair, then crouched down until my face was level with hers.
“You don’t want to work for me,” I said.“You want to get back in my bed.Don’t take me for a fool — puttane like you are all the same.”
She straightened up like she believed it.“I’m serious, Alessandro.I want to work for you.”
