The Challenge

“How’s he doing?” Alessandro’s voice cut through the room as he stepped inside.

“He’s stable… for now,” Dr. Silvano Greco replied without looking up. The old man’s hands moved with precision as he shone a small flashlight into Marco’s eyes.

Dr. Silvano had been the De Luca family doctor for decades. Now in his early seventies, he carried his age with quiet dignity. His back was still straight, his mind still sharp, and his loyalty unwavering.

“Stable doesn’t sound reassuring, Dr. Silvano,” Alessandro muttered.

“He has a high-grade fever. Likely from exposure—cold, rain, stress. He was out there too long,” Silvano said, clicking the flashlight off.

Alessandro’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“Kidnapping tends to be messy. You ever think of sending flowers next time?” the doctor said dryly.

Alessandro ignored the sarcasm. “Is he going to make it?”

“If the fever breaks in the next twelve hours, yes. If not… his organs could start shutting down. He’s young, but…” Silvano paused, frowning. “Something about his energy feels… off.”

Alessandro stepped closer. “What’s off?”

“I can usually sense whether someone is an Alpha or an Omega when I’m near them. With him… I feel nothing. No Alpha energy, no Omega energy. Nothing at all.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m in the room,” Alessandro said. “He’s Diego Rossi’s son. How can you not feel his energy?”

Something flickered in Silvano’s expression — a subtle shift, a realization. He suddenly remembered something: he hadn’t been able to feel Alessandro’s energy either since stepping into the room.

“You’ve got something to say?” Alessandro asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Ah… nothing,” Silvano lied quickly, though the thought gnawed at him. Alessandro’s Alpha presence was usually overwhelming — impossible to ignore. But here, in this room, it was… muted.

Alessandro walked to the window, gazing out at the city. Silvano noticed a deep scratch on Alessandro’s palm as he began packing his medical tools.

“You’ve got a wound,” Silvano said.

“Oh, that? A mark of rage. I broke a glass in anger,” Alessandro said with a smirk.

“Catch,” Silvano said, tossing him a bandage. Alessandro caught it and wrapped his hand.

“I hope your decision doesn’t start a war,” Silvano said, his gaze drifting to Marco.

“I’m always ready for one,” Alessandro replied without turning.

Silvano left quietly, and the room fell into silence.

Alessandro sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on the armrests, head bowed slightly. His bandaged hand lay on his thigh, the white gauze tight around bruised knuckles — an injury he barely felt. But the anger still burned in him.

His gaze shifted to the bed. Marco lay still beneath the sheets, dark hair damp against his forehead, lips slightly parted as he slept. In sleep, there was a softness to him… something fragile that Alessandro hated to notice.

Marco stirred. His breathing deepened, and a faint furrow appeared between his brows before his eyes slowly fluttered open.

Alessandro leaned forward. “How are you feeling?”

Marco blinked at him, adjusting to the light, then his gaze hardened. He said nothing.

The silence dragged on.

“I asked you a question,” Alessandro said, his tone sharper now.

“I heard you,” Marco muttered, his voice hoarse. He shifted, wincing slightly. “I just don’t feel like answering.”

Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. “Still stubborn. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I want to go home,” Marco said, the words cold and clear.

Alessandro let out a humorless laugh. “Home? You’re not going anywhere.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Marco shot back. “I don’t belong here.”

Something in Alessandro snapped.

In a blur, he was out of the chair and on the bed, pinning Marco down. His injured hand pressed firmly against Marco’s throat.

“This hand,” Alessandro growled, leaning in close, his breath hot against Marco’s skin, “I injured it because of you.” His grip tightened slightly. “If I can do this to myself, imagine what I could do to you.”

Marco’s breathing hitched, but he didn’t look away.

“Don’t test my patience,” Alessandro warned, voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “I can do whatever I want with you. Your body… your soul… they’re all mine.”

But Marco didn’t flinch.

His eyes were steady, unyielding — as if Alessandro’s fury was nothing more than background noise. The defiance in them burned slow and deep.

What the hell was this? He has never threatened a man and they dare glare at him, they fall to their feet and beg for mercy but, Marco was just glaring at him without an atom of fear.

“What’s the matter?” Marco rasped, lips curling into a faint, bitter smile. “Not as scary as you think you are?”

Alessandro’s jaw clenched. Pain flared in his injured hand, but he pressed harder, almost welcoming it.

“I could break you,” Alessandro murmured softly — too softly, the kind of tone that made the threat more chilling. “Right here. Right now.”

Marco’s smile didn’t fade. “Then do it.”

The words landed like a challenge.

Alessandro’s breath caught — just for a second — but Marco noticed. The crack in the armor was small, but it was there.

Infuriated, Alessandro shoved him back against the pillows and stepped away. Marco coughed once, but his gaze remained locked on Alessandro, calm and unshaken.

Alessandro raked a hand through his hair, pacing to the edge of the room. His pulse thundered, rage twisting with something unfamiliar — something he didn’t want to name. He turned back, eyes cold.

“I hate you,” he said quietly, “and I will ruin you.”

Marco tilted his head, his lips curling into the smallest of smiles. “No, you can’t.”

The words hit harder than Alessandro expected. His fists clenched, but he didn’t respond.

For the first time… he felt truly challenged.