Elena woke to the feeling of warmth and muscle beneath her fingertips.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The sheets were soft, the room cool, the air thick with the scent of sex, cologne, and something undeniably him.
And then it hit her.
What she had done.
Her eyes flew open.
The penthouse was bathed in soft morning light, spilling in from the massive windows.
And beside her—Alessio.
Bare-chested, sprawled across the bed, his silver-gray eyes closed in sleep.
Even now, he looked dangerous, like a predator merely resting, waiting to strike.
Her stomach twisted.
What the hell had she done?
She had never—never—done anything like this before.
A one-night stand with a man like him?
A man who radiated power and control, who had owned her body last night like she belonged to him?
She needed to leave. Now.
Holding her breath, Elena moved slowly, carefully slipping from beneath the sheets.
Her legs ached.
A blush crept up her neck at the memory of why.
She ignored it.
Her dress was in a heap on the floor, along with her heels. She snatched them up, fingers shaking as she reached for her purse.
Almost there.
She had made it to the door when—
"You're not going anywhere, piccola."
Her heart stopped.
The voice was low, deep, commanding.
She turned slowly.
Alessio was awake.
And he was watching her.
Propped up on one elbow, the sheets hanging dangerously low on his hips, his silver eyes were unreadable—sharp, assessing.
Like he already knew what she was thinking.
"I—I should go," she said, forcing the words out.
A slow, predatory smile curled his lips.
"Why?"
Elena gripped the doorknob. "Because… because last night was a mistake."
His expression didn't change.
But something in the air shifted.
The tension thickened.
Alessio sat up fully, the muscles in his arms flexing, the scar on his collarbone stark against his skin.
"A mistake?" he repeated, as if tasting the word.
Elena's pulse hammered.
This was a bad idea.
Being here was a bad idea.
Sleeping with him was a bad idea.
She needed to go.
She turned the handle—
"Elena."
She froze.
The way he said her name—low, quiet, full of warning—sent a shiver down her spine.
And then—
"Walk out that door, and you'll regret it."
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she turned to face him.
"What does that mean?" she whispered.
Alessio's gaze darkened.
"It means, piccola…" He stood, completely unbothered by his state of undress, and stalked toward her. Every step deliberate, controlled, inescapable.
Until he was so close, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
Until the heat of his body wrapped around her like a cage.
"It means you're already mine."
Her stomach dropped.
"No," she breathed. "This was one night. That's it."
Alessio lifted a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
His fingers lingered.
"You think it's that simple?"
Her throat went dry.
Yes. It had to be that simple.
But the look in his eyes said otherwise.
The way he touched her—possessive, unyielding— said otherwise.
A sudden, horrifying thought struck her.
"What… what do you mean, I'll regret it?" she asked hesitantly.
A pause.
Then—
Alessio's lips curved into something dangerous.
"You don't know who I am, do you?"
A chill ran down her spine.
No.
She didn't.
And something told her…
That was her biggest mistake of all.