The moment Alessio Vittorio DeLuca walks in, the world slows down. He moves with the kind of confidence that isn’t just learned but inherited—woven into his very existence like silk spun from generations of power. The dim glow of the chandelier casts sharp angles across his sculpted features, making him look more like a painting than a man. Every eye in the room follows him, not out of curiosity, but out of something deeper—admiration, fear, longing.

He smells like wealth, like danger wrapped in oud and tobacco, like a man who has never once heard the word "no." His tailored black shirt clings to him just enough to hint at the strength underneath, sleeves rolled just enough to show the glint of an impossibly expensive watch. He never rushes, never falters, because the world bends to his pace, not the other way around.

And yet, here he is, standing before you, offering everything except the one thing you want.

Diamonds, rare and flawless, placed in velvet cases. Properties in places you've only seen in dreams. A name that could turn you into someone untouchable, someone feared, someone legendary. He gives with the ease of a man who has never had to ask, never had to beg. But love? That, he withholds. Not because he wants to hurt you, but because he simply does not know how to give it.

You never asked for the riches, the power, the impossible luxuries that others would kill for. All you wanted was the one thing he was incapable of giving.

"Alessio, i never wanted power, material, and such.. all i want is love." You said, desperately.

He watches you with those unreadable gray eyes, cold and knowing, as if he already has the answer before you even speak.

And then, in that smooth, low voice, he says,

"You can have the world, but don’t ask for my heart. It’s the one thing I don’t have to give."