The Warning

 3:

Luca Mariani POV

•A week after meeting Alessandro•

"Hey! I didn't do anything…get off me!"

My voice echoed as my shoes slapped against wet pavement. I didn't even know how this started. One second I was cutting through an alley to avoid traffic, the next headlights flooded the narrow street behind me and car doors slammed.

Footsteps followed. Fast. Not drunk guys looking for a fight but heavy men.

"Stop running," one of them called.

Yeah, that wasn't happening.

My lungs burned as I sprinted past overflowing trash bins, the smell of rot and rain thick in the air. The city felt different tonight.

I risked a glance back.

Four men. All in black dark coats. The kind of men who didn't need to shout to be dangerous.

"What is this, a joke?" I yelled, skidding around a corner.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed my collar from behind.

I barely had time to curse before my back slammed into a wall. Air rushed out of my lungs. One of them twisted my arm behind me with practiced ease with pain shooting up to my shoulder.

"Relax," he said calmly.

Relax?

"Who the hell are you people?" I snapped, struggling. "If this is about someone's boyfriend —"

No answer.

A black SUV rolled up to the mouth of the alley. The back door opened.

Oh, hell no.

"Get in," another man said.

I laughed, breathless, adrenaline making me reckless. "You think I'm just going to—"

The guy behind me tightened his grip slightly. Not enough to break anything. Just enough to make it clear he could.

I did the math. Four of them and just one of me.

"Fine," I muttered. "But if this is some kind of prank, I swear—"

They pushed me inside. And the door slammed behind us.

The car was tinted black and smelled of sharp cologne. No music. Just the air conditioner, the low hum of the engine and the steady presence of those mean men.

I swallowed.

Okay. This was new.

I'd pissed off people before. Boyfriends. Brothers. One husband, technically. But this? This felt… organised.

The ride felt longer than it probably was as city lights faded. My pulse thudded in my ears, but I forced myself to lean back like I wasn't bothered.

If I was going to get out alive then I would never let them see fear.

The SUV finally stopped.

Immediately, one of the men opened the door and gestured. "Out."

I stepped onto gravel, staggering from the long sit. Ahead stood an old warehouse with rusted metal doors, a single yellow light glowing above the entrance.

"You guys really need a hobby," I muttered.

They escorted me inside.

"Is this place from the dinosaur era?" I asked with a smirk, glancing at the man by my side. "I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

Our footsteps echoed across the empty space. A few crates were stacked near the walls. Overhead, metal beams crisscrossed the ceiling like a skeleton.

And in the center of it all —

A chair was occupied by a dark figure.

A man sat there, majestic, like he owned the world. He wore a tailored black suit, legs crossed, one hand resting on the armrest, the other adjusting a silver cufflink that caught the dim light. Not looking up.

The men beside me stopped walking. I stopped too.

Finally, he lifted his gaze.

And for a strange, disorienting second, I forgot the situation.

“Gosh.” Those dark eyes moved over me with an unhurried calm that had nothing to do with admiration. Not wild and certainly not angry. Just… still. Assessing.

And something about that stillness made my stomach do something I really didn't appreciate.

"I'm Matteo Rossi," he said, voice cold and demanding.

"Cool," I said. "Should I clap, or—"

"Alessandro is my brother."

"Ah." My jaw dropped slightly.

I tilted my head. "Okay? We're dating. That's normal."

One of the men behind me shifted slightly, like he was holding back a reaction.

Matteo just watched me.

Then, slowly, he uncrossed his legs and stood.

I had a decent height on most guys, but he still felt taller.

"I looked into you," he said, taking a few measured steps closer. "Seven men in two months. No commitments. No consistency."

I shrugged. "I like people."

"You use people."

"Semantics."

He stopped a few feet away.

Up close, he was… sharper. Clean jawline. Perfectly groomed hair. The faint scent of expensive cologne. Not flashy but controlled.

I felt the heat of his stare as his eyes moved over my posture, my hands. Not in admiration, I was sure of that.

Assessment, maybe.

But I still felt something else.

Something that made my stomach tighten in a way I didn't appreciate.

"You really think I'd let you play with my brother?" he asked quietly.

I held his gaze without blinking. "I'm serious about Alessandro."

The corner of his mouth twitched in something close to a chuckle.

"No, you're not."

"You don't know me."

Matteo didn't say anything else. Instead, he nodded once to one of his men. The man stepped forward and placed something on the table between us.

It was a plain folder.

My smirk slipped before I could stop it.

"Open it," he said.

I didn't move. "I'm good."

"Open it."

One of the men shifted his weight, just enough for his jacket to pull back slightly. Revealing the black metal gun at his waist.

I stepped over and flipped the folder open. It was filled with photos.

The first was me leaving bars. Me getting into cars with men. The night I met Alessandro outside the club. The most terrifying detail was the time stamps in the corners.

My throat went dry.

"This is creepy," I muttered, but the words didn't have their usual swagger.

I flipped another page. Even more. A screenshot of my social media, my job listing, my old address and even my mother's house.

I looked up fast and gritted my teeth. 

Matteo's expression hadn't changed, but his eyes had gone colder somehow. "I don't make empty threats."

"That's supposed to impress me?" I asked, but my voice was tighter now.

"I don't know," he said with a cold look, glancing away briefly.

"You don't get to drift through people's lives leaving messes behind," he said. "Not with him."

"You don't own him," I shot back.

His eyes flashed. "No, I certainly don't own him. I protect him."

"By scaring off anyone who looks at him twice?"

"By removing risks. Like you." He said, pointing at me.

I let out a breath through my nose. "You think you're some kind of hero."

"I think I'm realistic. And you see…" he continued. "I know enough, enough to know you're no good for him." His voice thundered, and then there was utmost silence.

It gave me the opportunity to notice the faint drip of water somewhere in the building, the weight of the men behind me, and the way Matteo's eyes hadn't left my face.

It was intense. Maybe a bit too intense. And annoyingly, part of me didn't hate it.

"I'll make this simple," he said. "Leave him."

I let out a soft scoff. "Or what? You'll glare at me some more?"

One of his men took a step forward, but Matteo lifted a hand slightly. The man stopped instantly.

Matteo's gaze dropped briefly to my mouth. Just for a second.

Then back to my eyes.

"Or I'll make you regret ever being born," he said, in a surprisingly calm voice.

A chill slid down my spine before I could stop it. But I covered it immediately with a smirk.

"You're an overprotective brother. I get it," I said. "But Alessandro's not a kid. He can choose who he dates."

"You're not someone he should choose."

"Not your decision."

I watched his jaw tighten slightly. "Interesting."

"You think this is about control," he said softly. "It's about protection."

"From me?" I laughed. "I'm not a criminal."

He stepped closer; close enough that I could see the faint scar near his eyebrow, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Changing the air between us.

"You're careless," he said. "Reckless. It's all fun for you. And Alessandro can't survive men like you." Another cold stare.

I held his gaze but my pulse thudded harder now. Not from fear alone but from the intensity of his proximity. The way he looked at me like he was deciding something.

"I'm not leaving him," I said.

A long pause followed. Then Matteo nodded once, like he'd expected that answer all along.

"Then we're done here," he said.

He turned away, adjusting his cufflink again, raising his right hand. Immediately the men behind me stepped forward.

"Hey, what does that mean?" I demanded.

"It means," he said calmly without looking back, "you were warned."

The warehouse suddenly felt a lot colder.

And for the first time in a long time, I had the uncomfortable feeling that I'd just stepped into something I couldn't flirt my way out of.

But anyways, I had no intention of backing out.

"I'm not scared of some men in suits."