Dress Like Me

Marco sat on the edge of the bed, arms tightly crossed over his chest. His eyes stayed locked on Alessandro, who paced back and forth in front of him, holding up two nearly identical suits.

“This one,” Alessandro said, tilting his head as he examined the deep charcoal fabric.

“Or this one?” He held up the second suit, just a shade darker, equally expensive. Both screamed power.

Marco barely spared them a glance. “They look the same.”

Alessandro’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

“Good. That’s the point.”

Marco frowned. “Why does it matter? Are you planning some new scheme?”

“Because we’re going to a party,” Alessandro replied casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Marco grabbed the glass jug on the nightstand and poured himself a cup of water. He drank it all in one go, his chest rising with anger and frustration.

“I’ve been locked in this room for almost a week—no phone, no word from my family. When are you going to let me out?”

“Come here,” Alessandro said, ignoring the question.

Marco stayed put.

“Don’t waste my time,” Alessandro said, tilting his head slightly—his tone edged with danger, like someone seconds away from losing control.

Marco sighed and stood up, moving a few reluctant steps toward him.

Alessandro draped one suit over a nearby chair and stepped closer, holding the other up to Marco’s chest with a possessive ease. Like he was dressing something he already owned.

“You want to know when I’ll let you out?” Alessandro asked, his voice low. “When I’m satisfied.”

A wicked smile curled on his lips.

Marco let out a cold laugh. “When you’ve killed my entire family, right?”

“There’s a party,” Alessandro said, brushing off the comment. “My father wants me to represent him… and I want you to match me.”

Marco’s stomach twisted. “What party?”

“The kind where powerful men pretend to be civilized,” Alessandro said with a mocking glint in his eyes.

He adjusted the lapel of the suit against Marco’s chest. His fingers lingered a moment too long.

“Your family will be there,” he added, eyes fixed on Marco.

Marco’s breath hitched. His heart jumped, hope crashing through his chest.

“Leo? My father?” he asked quickly, his voice breaking.

But instead of an answer, Alessandro tilted his head, observing Marco’s expression. That familiar, infuriating smile returned.

“But you won’t be speaking to them,” he said coldly. “Or going anywhere near them.”

The hope shattered instantly. Marco’s eyes darkened. His jaw clenched.

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Alessandro replied, his tone calm but his eyes burning. “You’ll see them. That should be enough.”

Marco’s chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Anger, pain, and helplessness collided inside him. He wanted to scream, to destroy something—most of all, to erase the smugness from Alessandro’s face.

“I really enjoy parading my trophy for the world to see” Alessandro taunted.

“Then I’m not going,” Marco snapped, shoving the suit off his shoulder and letting it fall to the floor.

Alessandro’s smile disappeared.

“You’re a bastard,” Marco muttered.

“I never said I wasn’t,” Alessandro replied, his voice flat—his expression sharp enough to cut.

“Pick it up,” he ordered.

“I won’t.”

“Don’t provoke—”

Before he could finish, Marco spat—right on his face.

Alessandro froze.

“That’s what you are,” Marco said, his voice shaking with fury. “A bastard, an asshole, a piece of trash. You deserve to be spat on.”

The words cut deeper than Marco could have imagined.

Alessandro didn’t wipe the spit right away. He slowly brought the back of his hand across his cheek, his face blank—too blank. A terrifying stillness hung in the air.

Then something shifted in his eyes.

Marco’s heart dropped.

He recognized that look—fire blooming in Alessandro’s eyes, that flicker of something wild beneath his skin. The same look he had seen before he was bitten.

“Alessandro—”

Before Marco could react, Alessandro grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the wall.

Marco’s breath caught in his throat.

The grip tightened.

Alessandro leaned in, his nose brushing against Marco’s neck as he inhaled deeply. His body trembled.

He was losing control.

“Ah—!” Marco gasped, struggling to breathe.

He grabbed Alessandro’s shoulders, trying to push him away, panic building fast.

But then—Alessandro stopped.

His eyes slowly faded back to normal. The fire dimmed, replaced by heavy, ragged breaths.

He loosened his grip, just slightly, but kept Marco pinned.

Their eyes locked.

The fury hadn’t left—it only simmered.

And then, Alessandro spoke. His voice was low, calm… too calm.

“I could have killed you... And if I did, I wouldn’t regret it. Don’t provoke me, Marco.”