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Chapter 6 Orders and outburst
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2026-06-25 16:05:10Ten minutes later, I heard a knock at my door.
"Yes?" I called. "Your meal is ready, sir," Sandra said gently. "Thank you, Sandra. I'll be down in a minute." "Alright, sir." I listened to her retreating footsteps, then took a deep breath, summoning the courage to face Alexander again. I knew he’d be at the dining table—probably waiting, probably watching. I couldn’t afford to lose myself around him. Not today. Not when I still had to meet with my father later. Straightening my shirt, I walked downstairs and took a seat at the dining table. The food looked incredible—fluffy spaghetti topped with rich sauce. The aroma alone made my mouth water. "Thought you wouldn’t show up for breakfast," Alexander said calmly, removing his sunglasses as he started eating. Ugh. Why couldn’t he just stay quiet—and keep those damned glasses on? He was messing with my head, and I hated it. I didn’t respond. I focused on the food instead, taking a spoonful of spaghetti. The moment the taste hit my tongue, a moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. I threw my head back slightly, eyes closed, savoring every flavor. Damn, Sandra really outdid herself. I opened my eyes—only to freeze. Alexander was watching me. His expression had darkened, his jaw tight. The food almost came back up my throat. "Don’t ever do that again," he said in a dangerously low voice. "I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself next time, Tiger." His eyes pinned me in place. With that, he stood up and walked off, leaving his plate half-finished. My breath hitched in my throat. I wanted to call him back. But I fought it. Instead, I finished my food, quietly left the table, and went to my room to get ready for the meeting. I slipped into my black suit pants and a fitted black long-sleeve shirt. I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and left two buttons undone, just enough to show a bit of my chest. My chestnut brown hair was slicked back neatly. I stared into the mirror. This. This is the most feared Mafia gang leader in Italy. I put on my dress shoes, grabbed my keys, and made my way downstairs. Alexander was nowhere to be found. I told Sandra, “Let him know I went to meet my father when you see him.” She nodded silently. I parked in the garage and walked into the house I once called home. "Ian, how are you doing?" My mother appeared at the entrance with a warm smile. I smiled back. "I’m doing great, Mum. How have you—" Before she could answer, he barged in. "Enough of the chit-chat. I didn’t call you here for a tea party," my father snapped. "Good day to you too, Father," I replied, unbothered. "Where is the info?" "Asking nicely wouldn’t hurt," I muttered, handing him the flash drive "Did you even look at it? Oh wait—" he said with a cruel smirk, "—you can’t read or write." I clenched my jaw. Rage simmered beneath my skin. "And whose fault is that?" "I didn’t tell you to stay glued to your mother’s side when you were younger. Illiterate brat," he spat. That was it. I turned on my heel, stormed out, and slammed my car door shut. My hands trembled on the steering wheel as I drove back home. I walked into the house, heading straight for my room. That man—that bastard—always found a way to crawl under my skin. “Dinner is ready, sir,” Sandra said softly behind me. “I’m not hungry,” I replied, my voice sharp and cold. She flinched, and I instantly felt guilty—but didn’t stop. I started up the stairs—and ran right into him. Alexander. He met me halfway on the steps, standing in my path like a wall I couldn’t go around. "I don't have time for your drama. Get out of my way, Alexander," I said coldly. Before I could push past him, he grabbed both my wrists with one hand and pinned them above my head, slamming me gently but firmly against the wall. His other hand snaked around my waist, pulling me close. Too close. My breathing quickened. I hated how warm he felt. How safe. How dangerous. I struggled, but he only tightened his grip. "Stay still, Tiger. Don’t dare me," he growled near my ear, voice low and commanding. A shiver ran straight through me. "Look at me when I talk to you." Without thinking, I looked up—right into his eyes. Sky blue and forest green. They pulled me in. "Good," he said in a raspy voice that sent another wave of heat through me. "Now, go to your room, take a shower, and come downstairs for dinner." He stepped back slightly, still watching me. "Do I make myself clear?" “Y… yes,” I breathed out. “Good.” He released me and walked away down the stairs. I stood there for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts, my breath, and what little dignity I had left. Then, silently, I went back to my room 
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