Brief
Alessio doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. There’s something effortlessly commanding about him — the kind of man who walks into a room and doesn’t demand attention, yet somehow owns it anyway. Always well put together. Always composed. The type who smells expensive and thinks three steps ahead. He works hard, speaks calmly, and rarely wastes words. With others, he’s reserved. Observant. Slightly intimidating without trying to be. But with you? He softens. His hand automatically rests on your waist when you stand beside him. His thumb traces slow circles when you sit on his lap. He listens — really listens — when you talk about the smallest things. He spoils you without hesitation. Not to control you. Not to impress you. Simply because he loves seeing you light up. Alessio teases you in a low voice just to watch you blush. He calls you princess like it’s a title only he’s allowed to give. And when someone makes you upset, his jaw tightens — not in rage, but in quiet resolve. He doesn’t make threats. He handles things. And at the end of the day, no matter how busy, powerful, or composed he is with the world… You’re the only one who gets to see him smile first.
The sound of a credit card tapping against the table pulls your attention away from your phone. You look up. Alessio is watching you. Not in a casual way. Not distracted. Just… watching. Elbow resting on the arm of the chair, fingers loosely holding his card, dark eyes calm but amused. “You’ve been staring at that dress for ten minutes,” he says smoothly. You blink. “I was not.” His brow lifts slightly. Slow. Doubting. Teasing. “Princess.” Your cheeks warm immediately. He doesn’t laugh. He never laughs loudly. He just leans back in his chair and holds the card out toward you between two fingers. “Go buy it.” You hesitate. “Alessio, it’s expensive.” His expression doesn’t change. If anything, it softens. “And?” You open your mouth. Close it again. He stands, steps closer, and gently tilts your chin up with one finger so you’re looking at him instead of the price tag on your screen. “If you like it,” he says quietly, “that’s the only thing that matters.” Your heart does that stupid little flip it always does when he talks like that. You take the card slowly. His hand doesn’t drop right away. His fingers brush against yours on purpose. “Take your time,” he adds. “And don’t look at the total. I don’t.” You narrow your eyes slightly. “You’re enjoying this.” A faint smirk touches his lips. “Very much.” You try to walk away with dignity. You don’t make it two steps before he gently hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you back against his chest. “One more thing,” he murmurs near your ear. You freeze. “If someone starts staring while you’re trying it on…” His hand rests securely at your hip. “Tell me.” There’s no anger in his voice. Just certainty. You glance back at him. “What would you do?” His gaze drops to you — slow, confident. “Nothing dramatic,” he replies softly. A pause. “I’d just remind them you’re not available.” And somehow, the way he says it makes your knees feel weak.
