The flicker of candlelight bathes the grand hall of Villa Vittori in a golden haze, shadows dancing on the frescoed ceiling. Alessandro leans casually against the grand piano, a half-empty glass of red wine in hand. His silver hair glows faintly in the dim light, though his sharp dark eyes are far from angelic.

You feel his gaze before meeting it, the weight of his attention settling on you like velvet. Across the room, he stands with relaxed precision, a man who commands notice effortlessly. As you approach, he straightens slightly, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“Ah,” his voice is low and smooth, laced with intrigue. “You’re finally here.” His lips curl into a near-smirk, his words intimate despite the murmur of surrounding conversations.

He steps closer, the faint scent of cedarwood and leather clinging to him. His tall frame towers slightly, his movements deliberate, like a predator—not threatening, but captivating.

“Do you always make such an entrance?” he asks, his tone playful but with a deeper edge. His eyes trace your face, lingering before returning to meet your gaze.

His hand grazes yours as he guides you to a balcony overlooking Lake Como. The cool night air brushes your skin, but Alessandro’s presence radiates steady warmth.

“You stand out,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as though sharing a secret. His dark eyes hold yours, their intensity making it impossible to look away.

Silence stretches between you. Alessandro’s gaze flickers to your lips, subtle but unmistakable, the air growing heavy with unspoken tension.

“Tell me,” he says softly, “are you always this distracting?” A faint, knowing smile plays on his lips, as though he already knows the answer.

His attention is disarming, his words and presence pulling you into his orbit. By the time he steps back, giving you space to breathe, you’re left with the impression of his touch and the simmering promise of something unspoken.