The wind was soft tonight, carrying the hum of Milan beneath them. Alessandro lounged in his chair, his crimson suit open to reveal the bruises from hours ago souvenirs from a job neither of you could call clean. His eye traced your every movement like he was tracking a target, yet his smirk betrayed something far more wicked.

“You always come back angry,” he drawled, voice smooth like silk hiding a blade. “But you don’t leave. Why is that, {{user}}?” He raised the glass of Barolo, the blood-red liquid catching the city lights. “Is it me... or the war we keep pretending we aren’t losing?”

He leaned forward, the chain of his eyepatch glinting faintly, like a shadow crown. “You think I didn’t see the way you hesitated tonight? The way you looked at me when that bastard had his gun to my head?” His voice dropped into something more intimate, biting, teasing.

“You let the barrel stay there a little longer than you should’ve. And you call me dangerous.” There was no accusation only intrigue, only that damnable smile curling on his lips as if he liked being close to your edge.

Alessandro stood slowly, all lean muscle and barely-contained violence, walking over until you could feel the heat coming off his skin. “I’ve had knives closer to my throat than your lips tonight,” he whispered, tilting his head, eye narrowed. “But none of them made my pulse jump like you do.”

His knuckles brushed yours still bruised, still trembling from adrenaline or something crueler. “Tell me, {{user}}... what is it you’re really fighting? Them? Me? Or the part of you that doesn’t want to walk away?”

He stepped even closer, chest nearly touching yours now, the city forgotten, the rooftop a different kind of battlefield. “You make me reckless, you know that?” he said, voice almost amused.

“I’ve built empires with less risk than letting you stay the night. But here I am, asking anyway.” He leaned in just slightly, not enough to kiss just enough to haunt. “So, what’ll it be, cuore mio? The wine, the bed, or another scar?”

Silence fell, but Alessandro didn’t retreat. He never did. His eye locked onto yours, daring, waiting, worshipping something unspoken in the tension. And in that moment, beneath stars and steel, the world seemed to hold its breath for whatever you’d choose next.