Twisted desires

Chapter 1: The Ice and Fire Encounter

The air in the ballroom was thick with the scent of wealth—crisp champagne, expensive perfume, and the faint aroma of cigars clinging to the tailored suits of men who thought money made them untouchable. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen rain, casting fractured light over silk gowns and diamond-studded necks. It was the kind of event where a single misplaced glance could spark a scandal—and where secrets were traded more freely than stocks.

Sienna Reyes didn’t belong here.

She knew it the moment she stepped past the velvet ropes, her five-inch heels clicking against marble floors that probably cost more than her rent. The borrowed emerald-green gown hugged her curves a little too perfectly, its slit teasing dangerously high up her thigh. She felt the weight of a thousand stares—some intrigued, most judgmental.

“Smile,” she muttered to herself, “or they’ll smell the broke on you.”

Sienna had no business attending the Moretti Foundation’s annual charity gala—not as a guest, anyway. She was here for one reason: to corner a client who owed her six months’ worth of legal fees. Apparently, the only way to catch a slippery millionaire was to blend into his natural habitat.

And blend she did, if only because no one suspected the woman nursing a glass of overpriced champagne was, in fact, a barely-scraping-by lawyer from the south side of the city.

Then she saw him.

Alessandro Moretti.

He stood at the far end of the room, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his other hand resting casually in his pocket. The air around him seemed heavier, charged—as if the very atoms rearranged themselves to accommodate his presence.

Tall. Dark. Dangerous.

His black suit was tailored so sharply it could have cut glass, the crisp white shirt underneath open at the collar—just enough to suggest a man who played by his own rules. His midnight hair was swept back in a way that looked effortless, though Sienna would bet her last dime it was anything but.

And his face—God help her—was the kind that made women forget how to breathe. A strong jaw, high cheekbones, and lips that looked like they belonged in a sinfully expensive ad for cologne. But it was his eyes that struck her—cold, gray, and calculating. Like a storm brewing behind an unbreakable wall of glass.

Alessandro Moretti wasn’t just a billionaire. He was the billionaire. The mafia prince whispered about in dark corners—the man who built an empire on blood and business.

And now he was looking directly at her.

Sienna’s heart thudded against her ribs. She glanced over her shoulder, certain he was staring at someone else—maybe a supermodel or a duchess. But no. His gaze was locked onto her, a flicker of something unreadable in those steely eyes.

Play it cool, she told herself. He’s just a man.

A man who could ruin lives with a word, but still—a man.

She lifted her chin, offering a polite smile. It was supposed to be a subtle acknowledgment, a simple I’m-not-impressed-by-you expression. Instead, Alessandro’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more like the ghost of one.

And then, he started walking toward her.

Each step was unhurried, predatory. The crowd seemed to part for him without a word, as though the sheer force of his presence pushed them aside.

By the time he reached her, Sienna’s pulse was a drumline.

“You’ve been standing here for ten minutes,” he said, his voice a low, velvety growl. “Are you waiting for someone, dolcezza, or just admiring the view?”

Her brain short-circuited.

Dolcezza. Sweetness.

Of course, the mafia kingpin spoke like sin wrapped in silk.

Sienna cleared her throat, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Actually, I was just wondering how many zeroes it takes to get everyone to pretend they enjoy being here.”

For a split second, there was silence.

Then—he chuckled.

It was a dark, rich sound—not quite warm, but not cold either. Like he was amused despite himself.

“More than you can count,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Sienna arched a brow. “Try me.”

Alessandro’s gaze dragged over her slowly—taking in the borrowed gown, the too-proud posture, the fire in her eyes. Most women melted under his stare. She didn’t.

Interesting.

“Who are you?” he finally asked.

Sienna opened her mouth—then froze.

Because behind Alessandro, a familiar figure appeared—Robert Callahan—the client who’d been avoiding her for weeks. The man she’d chased here tonight.

And, of course, he looked absolutely terrified when he realized who Sienna had been talking to.

Alessandro noticed the shift instantly. His hand—a strong, veined hand with a watch that probably cost more than her car—grazed Sienna’s waist as he leaned in closer.

“Are you here for him?” His voice dropped lower, a thread of danger woven through the silk.

Sienna blinked. “What? No—”

Too late.

Robert Callahan was already stumbling backward, muttering something about “forgotten business” and “another time,” practically sprinting for the exit.

Alessandro watched him go, his expression calm—but his grip on Sienna’s waist remained.

“Care to explain?” he murmured.

Sienna swallowed hard, caught between a billionaire mafia king and the mess she’d just made.

“Well,” she said, her voice only slightly shaky, “this is awkward.”

Alessandro’s gaze burned into hers—amused, intrigued, and just a little dangerous.

“Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”