Chapter 2: The Man Who Doesn’t Accept Refusal
The phone on her coffee table buzzed.
Another message.
I’m coming over. We’ll discuss this in person.
Her heart rate doubled.
She grabbed the phone, typing frantically. *There’s nothing to discuss. Please respect my decision.*
The response was immediate.
*You made a decision based on incomplete information. Open your door in twenty minutes.*
Ellie threw the phone down as if it had burned her.
Twenty minutes. That’s how long it would take his driver to bring him from his downtown penthouse to her modest apartment in the arts district.
She stood up, pacing the small living room, her sock-covered feet silent against the hardwood floors.
What had she been thinking?
You don’t just break up with Allesio Moretti via text.
You don’t just break up with him at all.
She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. Pale face. Dark blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. Eyes wide with panic.
She barely recognized herself.
Three months with Allesio had changed her in subtle ways. The designer clothes hanging in her closet next to her thrift store finds. The expensive perfume on her dresser. The way she now automatically scanned rooms for exits. Cataloged faces. Watched for threats.
Habits she’d picked up from him.
Her phone began to ring.
His ringtone. Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat major. He’d programmed it himself, saying the piece reminded him of her.
Delicate but with unexpected depth.
She let it ring out.
It started again immediately.
She silenced it, watching as “Allesio” flashed on the screen before fading to black.
Then again.
And again.
By the time she heard the distinctive purr of a luxury car engine outside her building, she had twenty missed calls and her resolve was crumbling.
She peered through the blinds.
His black Mercedes idled at the curb.
The driver opened the rear door. That driver was Marco – a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered with a shaved head and a face that showed no emotion. She’d seen him handle threats with brutal efficiency, yet he always treated her with quiet respect.
Allesio emerged, straightening his suit jacket. Navy tonight, paired with a light blue shirt. No tie. Casual for him.
He glanced up at her window.
Even from the third floor, she could feel the intensity of his gaze.
She stepped back quickly.
Her heart lodged in her throat.
Her doorbell rang three minutes later.
She stood frozen in the center of her living room, arms wrapped around herself.
The bell rang again.
Followed by a soft knock.
“Ellie.” His voice carried through the door, controlled and even. “Open the door.”
She remained rooted to the spot.
“Eleanora Rose Sullivan.”
The use of her full name made her flinch.
“I know you’re standing exactly twelve feet from this door. Open it, or Marco will.”
Marco. His driver. Bodyguard. The man she’d once seen break someone’s wrist for accidentally bumping into Allesio at a nightclub.
She moved toward the door on trembling legs.
Unfastened the chain with clumsy fingers.
Turned the deadbolt.
She opened the door just enough to see Allesio standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. No Marco in sight, though she knew he wouldn’t be far.
“May I come in?” Allesio asked, as if this were any normal visit.
As if she hadn’t just tried to end things between them.
She stepped back wordlessly, opening the door wider.
He entered her apartment with the same commanding presence he brought everywhere, immediately making her space feel smaller. She caught a hint of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, spicier.
He surveyed the room.
Taking in the half-packed box of art supplies in the corner.
The travel bag peeking out from her bedroom doorway.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Going somewhere?” His voice was dangerously soft.
“I was planning to stay with a friend for a few days,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I need space.”
“Space.” He repeated the word as if it were foreign to him.
He turned to face her fully. Dark eyes studying her with the same intensity he applied to everything that interested him.
“You think I’m suffocating you?”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.
“You had me followed, Allesio.”
“I had you protected.” He corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Not to me.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the apartment.
“Normal relationships don’t work that way.”
A small smile curved his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes.
“When have I ever given you the impression that what we have is normal, tesoro?”
He took a step toward her.
It took everything in her not to back away.
She needed to stand her ground. To be strong. Just this once.
“You don’t own me,” she said quietly, looking directly into his eyes.
Something darkened in his expression. A flash of something possessive and primal before his features smoothed once more.
“No?”
He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek.
“Then why does it feel like you’ve carved out a place inside me that belongs only to you? Why does the thought of you walking away feel like someone is cutting out a vital organ?”
His words hit her like a physical blow.
This was the danger of Allesio Moretti. Not his power or his connections, but the moments of raw vulnerability that made her forget who he was and what he was capable of.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, stepping back from his touch. “I can’t be watching over my shoulder, wondering if your men are following me. If my friends are being investigated. I can’t live like that.”
“You think leaving changes anything?”
His voice remained gentle despite the steel underneath.
“You think I’ll simply let you walk away? That I’ll forget you exist?”
He closed the distance between them again.
His hand came up to cradle her face.
“You became mine the moment you called that number, Eleanora. Perhaps even before that.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Do what? Fight for what’s mine?”
His thumb brushed across her lower lip.
“You knew who I was. What I am. You came to me with open eyes.”
“I didn’t know everything,” she countered, her voice barely audible.
“No.” Something like regret flashed across his features. “Not everything.”
The silence between them stretched, filled only by the sound of rain against the windows and her own uneven breathing.
Allesio’s hand dropped from her face.
But his eyes never left hers.
Dark. Intense. Searching for something she wasn’t sure she wanted him to find.
“Sit down,” he said finally, gesturing to her small couch. “Please.”
The word sounded foreign on his lips.
