Chapter 20 –The Night Of Silk And Shadows

• Dinner. My private lounge. Wear what’s inside the box.
• —L
• Alina stared at the folded card the whole day, then at the long, flat black box resting on her bed. She approached it with measured steps, wary as always, but unable to suppress the curious flutter that stirred in her chest.
• She lifted the lid.
• Inside lay a black silk dress—delicate, sleeveless, with a low back and a slit up one thigh. Soft as breath. Dangerous as night.
• Her fingers grazed the fabric. It wasn’t the dress that unsettled her—it was what it meant. An invitation. Not to power games, not to war, but to something more intimate. Personal.
• She should burn it. Or send it back in pieces.
• Instead, Alina found herself slipping into it.
• The hallway to his private lounge was quiet. No guards. No sounds except the distant hush of the wind. The door stood slightly open, golden light spilling out like honey.
• She stepped inside.
• The room was darker than she expected. Candles flickered along the walls, casting warm shadows across velvet furniture and polished floors. A soft jazz melody drifted from the vintage record player in the corner—slow, smoky, and smooth.
• Luciano stood at the far end, near a tall shelf of old liquor bottles. He wore a black shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. His tie hung loose at his neck.
• When he turned, his gaze swept over her—slowly, deliberately—but without the arrogant smirk she’d expected.
• Only silence.
• “You summoned me,” she said, folding her arms.
• “I invited you,” he replied. “You chose to come.”
• He walked to her with two glasses of wine, handed her one. She accepted it reluctantly, sipping it just to hide her unease.
• “I didn’t come here to drink with you,” she muttered.
• “No,” he said, voice low. “You came wearing silk.”
• Heat crept up her spine, but she didn’t look away.
• They moved to the couch, far apart at first. The silence settled, heavy but not hostile. He didn’t speak right away, just sat across from her, watching the way her fingers toyed with the stem of the wineglass.
• “You said you built all this to escape your father’s shadow,” she said at last. “But that’s not the whole truth, is it?”
• He tilted his head, studying her. “No. It’s not.”
• She waited. He didn’t make her ask again.
• “My mother died when I was sixteen,” Luciano said quietly. “Violent men came to collect a debt my father owed. He wasn’t home. She was.”
• Alina blinked.
• “I found her on the kitchen floor,” he continued, voice brittle. “Broken glass everywhere. Blood under her fingernails. She tried to fight them off.”
• The wine turned bitter in her mouth.
• “I built this empire,” he said, “because I never want to feel that helpless again.”
• Something shifted in her chest. Sympathy—dangerous, slippery—threatened to pull her closer.
• “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
• He gave a soft laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be.”
• “I know what it’s like,” she said. “To lose your mother. To keep losing her, every day after.”
• They sat in that quiet for a while. No lies. No masks.
• Just pain, quietly matching.
• Luciano stood and walked toward the record player. He changed the song—something older now, slower, a woman’s voice rich with sorrow. Then he turned to her, offered a hand.
• She stared at it. “You want to dance?”
• “I want to hold you,” he said, with frightening honesty.
• The words stunned her more than if he’d reached for a weapon.
• Still, her hand found his.
• He pulled her close—one hand on her back, the other gently catching her wrist. She didn’t protest when he moved them in slow circles near the fire. Their bodies didn’t quite touch, but the heat between them was unbearable.
• “Why are you doing this?” she asked, eyes fixed on his collarbone.
• “Because you hate me,” he said. “But tonight, maybe you don’t.”
• She hated that he was right.
• She hated that she liked the way his thumb brushed the edge of her spine. That her breathing synced with his. That her pulse pounded in her throat like it was trying to leap from her.
• “You’re dangerous,” she murmured.
• “So are you.”
• His voice was closer now. So was his mouth.
• She didn’t remember when her hand rose to his chest. She only noticed the way his heartbeat drummed under her palm.
• He leaned in slowly, slowly—giving her time to stop him.
• She didn’t.
• Their lips met—tentative at first. Not forceful. Not stolen.
• Luciano kissed her like she was a secret he wasn’t ready to speak aloud. One hand stayed firm at her waist; the other lifted, slow as breath, to brush the side of her neck. His fingers trembled, just barely.
• Alina didn’t pull away.
• She tasted wine, warmth, want. Her fists remained clenched at her sides for a heartbeat too long—then unfurled. One rose to his chest, then to the collar of his shirt, where she could anchor herself in something real.
• He didn’t push. Didn’t claim.
• He waited for her to give.
• And she did.
• The kiss deepened—soft, aching, devastating. She forgot what he’d done. Forgot who she was supposed to hate. In that moment, there was only heat and silence and the way his mouth shaped her name like it hurt to let go of it.
• Her fingers slid into his hair. His hand splayed at the curve of her back, drawing her in with the gentlest pull, as if afraid to break the spell.
• Alina broke it first.
• She pulled back just enough to breathe—foreheads pressed, mouths still brushing. Her chest heaved. His eyes searched hers, pupils blown wide, the world behind them dark and dangerous.
• “I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, but made no move to step away.
• His voice was gravel. “But you did.”
• Silence hummed between them.
• And then—she closed her eyes, leaned her forehead harder against his, and whispered:
• “Don’t make me fall for a monster.”
• Luciano didn’t respond. Didn’t promise he wouldn’t.
• He just cupped the back of her neck with a tenderness that gutted her—and let her go.
• Later that night, she stood by her window, back in her room, fingers grazing her lips like they still held his heat.
• The kiss hadn’t been violent. Hadn’t been cruel.
• That was what scared her most.