Page 105 of Lord of the Dark

Lost in thought, I let my gaze roam the space once more. It wasn’t large, but everything felt harmonious—the raw stone walls, the solid fireplace at the center casting its warm glow, the light furniture contrasting pleasantly with the earthy tones. A small shelf of old books and a few minimalist decor pieces gave the room character without overwhelming it. It felt like a retreat, quiet and peaceful, and I could feel myself relaxing more by the second.

I walked to the fireplace and sank onto the plush sofa in front of it, tucking my legs beneath me. The firelight warmed my face, the soothing atmosphere wrapping around me like a blanket. It was a feeling I couldn’t quite put into words, but in that moment, I felt lighter, more at ease than I ever had before. "A Tuscan red," I finally said, still watching the flickering flames. "But properly tempered. Otherwise, it’s ruined." I let the words hang deliberately, though I couldn’t suppress a smirk.

Behind me, I heard him chuckle softly. "So you do remember,"he said, and I could practically feel his gaze boring into me even though I wasn’t looking at him. "It’s the little details that make the difference."

Alessandro returned with a bottle of red wine and two glasses held loosely in one hand. He dropped onto the sofa beside me, his movements so effortless that he seemed noticeably more relaxed than usual. This moment, the atmosphere between us—it was something special. I watched him closely as he took the bottle, inspected it briefly, then positioned the corkscrew with quiet, practiced ease. His hands caught my attention—strong yet elegant, with long, slender fingers moving with such confidence. It was the first time I’d seen him do something so mundane in private, and I was fascinated.

He noticed my stare, raised a brow, and met my eyes, faint amusement playing on his lips. "What?" he asked without pausing his motions.

„"Out of everything I imagined when you said you had something planned—this wasn’t it," I admitted.

He pulled the cork from the bottle and sniffed it, then held it out to me. "Here, take a whiff."

I frowned and reluctantly took the cork. "What’s the point of this?" I asked, eyeing it skeptically.

"To tell a bad wine from a good one," he said dryly, though his eyes glinted with amusement. I gave the cork a tentative sniff before shrugging and handing it back.

He poured us each a glass and passed me mine before finally responding to my earlier remark. "You know, Fiona," he began, his voice calm but laced with that trademark challenge, "I’d have thought you knew me well enough by now to assume I wouldn’t drag you on some generic tourist route. Did you really think we’d—what were your words?—stroll through the gardens and get stuck in crowds of tourists?"

I brought the glass to my nose, letting the aromas settle beforetaking a careful sip.

"Good." The taste was impressive—smooth, full-bodied, perfectly balanced. My gaze flicked to the bottle on the table beside him, and I caught the initials RV on the label. I stared at it for a beat before tossing my head back with a half-amused, half-impressed scoff.

"Oh, for God’s sake," I said flatly, setting the bottle down as I met his eyes, "is there anything you don’t own?"

Alessandro leaned back, glass in hand, watching me with a faint smirk. "You."

For a moment, I forgot what I’d meant to say and just stared. "Arrogant as ever." I shook my head slightly, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. "That’s not going to change."

He shrugged and took a sip before setting his glass down. With a deep exhale, he sank into the couch, long legs stretched out lazily. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his cheekbones and the subtle curve of his lips. His arms spread in an open, inviting gesture—simple, yet it hit me like a wave. He looked almost innocent—a stark contrast to the man usually brimming with control and ferocity.

His dark eyes held mine with a warmth that consumed me entirely, and the thought that this man—who carried so much darkness—was sitting here, giving me this moment, made my pulse quicken. He was beautiful in a way that felt almost impossible to grasp.

"Come here," he finally murmured, his voice soft in that rare way he seldom showed.

Hesitantly, I shifted closer, letting myself melt against his chest as his arms folded gently around me. His hand rested on my shoulder, holding me without restraint. My head settled against him, eyes closing. For that moment, nothing else existed—just the scent of wood, the soothing crackle of the fire, the enveloping warmth of his body.

His arms tightened around me, his chin resting briefly on my head before he drew a deep breath. "I'm afraid," he murmured, his voice low and weighted. The raw worry in his tone struck me like a blow, and my throat tightened. Alessandro—who never showed fear—spoke those words with a vulnerability that left me shaken.

I shifted slightly, tilting my head to look up at him. "Of what?" My voice was barely a whisper.

He buried his face in my hair, holding me so close I could feel his breath against my temple. "That something will go wrong at this meeting," he admitted, the pain in his voice unmistakable. "You and Carter—you're civilians. You don’t belong in this kind of mess. And if anything happens…" His words fractured, his grip turning almost desperate, as if he could shield me from the mere thought.

The genuine fear radiating from him, the weight he carried—it stole my breath. "Alessandro," I finally whispered, covering his hand where it still rested protectively on my shoulder. "We’ll handle it. You’ll handle it."

He stayed silent, his hold loosening just slightly, but I could feel the gravity of this moment pressing on him. This fierce, controlled man—who commanded every room, every situation—was letting me see him crack. And it shattered me. He kept me anchored against him, and gradually, the tension in his body ebbed. His breathing steadied; his fingers traced idle, soothing patterns down my back, as if calming us both.

I lifted my head to study him. Firelight softened his features, but the shadows in his eyes were unmistakable—the burden he carried, the fear he wasn’t hiding. This was a side of Alessandro no one else would ever see. Vulnerable. Human.

His arms cradled me like I might slip away. I raised a hand to his cheek, fingertips brushing the rough stubble there. His eyes—usually so guarded—searched mine, as if looking for ananchor.

Slowly, I closed the distance, letting my lips graze his before kissing him softly. His breath hitched; his grip tightened like he wanted to fuse us together. This kiss was different. Not a battle, not raw hunger—just surrender. Deep and tender, as if words had failed him. His hand slid to my neck, pulling me closer as our mouths met again and again, until the fire’s heat felt trivial compared to his touch. When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm on my skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me, Fiona," he rasped. "It’s like you’re saving me... and destroying me all at once."

He wasn’t faring much better than I was, so I just grinned and whispered back, "Welcome to the club."

My hands skimmed his chest, mapping the strength beneath, and I shifted closer. My body molded against his, and I felt his breath stutter. Fingers tugging at the hem of my shirt, I pulled it off and tossed it aside. His gaze tracked every movement—dark, intense—but his smile was uncharacteristically gentle. I leaned in, slowly lifting his shirt to reveal the sculpted planes of his torso, gilded by firelight. Every muscle looked carved, unreal.

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