The Beast Inside

"How did you find him?" Alessandro’s voice sliced through the dimly lit hallway of the De Luca mansion. His steps were swift, controlled, yet radiating impatience. Luca and Nico shadowed him closely.

"The guards outside caught him just as he reached the gate," Luca reported.

Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. "Where is he now?"

"Inside the room," Nico replied, pointing toward a heavy wooden door.

Alessandro’s chest rose and fell slowly, but his sigh was sharp, filled with anger barely leashed. Without another word, he strode toward the door.

Luca reached for the handle.

"I’ll handle this," Alessandro said, his tone final.

"Alright, boss." Luca bowed his head slightly, stepping back with the others. The door shut behind him, leaving Alessandro in silence.

The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a few candles. Shadows played along the walls, stretching like silent witnesses. Marco sat tied to a chair, wrists bound behind him, ankles lashed together. Silver tape sealed his mouth. His hair was disheveled, his clothes rumpled, and there was a stubborn fire in his eyes.

Alessandro approached, hands in his pockets, the faintest smirk on his lips. Marco met his gaze head-on, unflinching.

"You’re not scared of anything, are you?" Alessandro’s voice was smooth, dangerous. "Attempting to escape… from the De Luca mansion, no less. I’d heard you were stubborn. Now I believe it—completely."

"Lower your gaze." The words came out low, cold, and commanding. Marco didn’t move.

Alessandro’s jaw tightened. He bent forward, gripping Marco’s face, his fingers digging into his jaw. "Don’t make me kill you with my own hands."

Marco just arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement glinting in his expression. That defiance… it made Alessandro’s pulse quicken, heat rushing through him in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He released his grip. "Should I take the tape off your mouth?" A humorless chuckle escaped him. "I shouldn’t—you’d only provoke me."

Marco lifted his brow again, a silent challenge. Alessandro’s irritation flared, but so did something else—something far more dangerous. With a swift tug, he ripped the tape away.

Marco exhaled through a grin. "You’re… interesting."

"Do I look like a joke to you?" Alessandro’s voice dropped lower, colder.

"The almighty Alessandro De Luca," Marco said, leaning forward as much as his restraints allowed. "Feared by men. Untouchable. Ruthless. Why can’t you destroy me the way you destroy everyone else?"

They were inches apart now, breaths mingling in the charged air.

"You ever seen a corpse?" Alessandro murmured. "It doesn’t feel pain. Doesn’t know agony. But a living man… oh, he feels every ounce of torture. Every scream. Every expression of fear. And you, Marco—I want you to feel it all."

He gave a slow, deliberate slap—more a taunt than a strike.

"You’re a fucking psychopath."

"I’ll take that as a compliment." Alessandro straightened, hands back in his pockets.

"My hands are sore," Marco muttered.

"I know," Alessandro said with a faint smile. "I plan to untie you… but not for the reason you think."

Marco’s eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Anticipate it," Alessandro said, turning toward the door. "You’ll learn how I play with my pawns."

"Hey! Asshole! Where the hell are you going?" Marco’s voice rose, but Alessandro didn’t turn back. The door slammed shut.

**********

Minutes later, the door creaked open again. Alessandro stepped inside, now wearing a dark silk kimono, loosely tied and revealing the breadth of his bare chest. He carried a large leather case in one hand.

Marco’s voice was sharp with suspicion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Shhh." Alessandro pressed a finger to his lips. "Don’t rush me."

He set the case on the low couch opposite Marco, sat down like a man who owned the world, and opened it. The gleam of crystal caught the candlelight—an expensive bottle of liquor and a single glass. Beside it, a long chain with leather cuffs. And then… a smaller velvet box.

Marco tensed. "Don’t you dare—"

Alessandro opened the smaller box and removed a vial and syringe. He began drawing the clear liquid into the needle with clinical precision.

"What the fuck is that?" Marco strained against the ropes, but they didn’t budge.

"You’re my guest tonight," Alessandro said softly. "You’ll find out."

"Don’t try shit with me!"

Alessandro ignored him, placed the vial on the table, and walked forward with the chain dangling in one hand, syringe in the other.

"Stay the hell away from me!" Marco snarled.

In a heartbeat, Alessandro was in front of him. His hand gripped Marco’s neck, tilting his head as his gaze roamed his skin with chilling calculation.

"Let the game begin," he whispered—and drove the needle into Marco’s neck.

Marco jerked with a groan. "What did you—"

Alessandro didn’t answer. He untied Marco’s wrists only to lock them into the leather cuffs, forcing his arms apart. He tore open Marco’s shirt with one decisive motion.

"Get off me!"

Alessandro’s gaze didn’t waver. "Trust me, you’ll regret keeping that shirt on when the heat starts." His voice was a promise laced with threat, then he tore the shirt, destroying it.

He anchored the chain to the far ends of the wall, forcing Marco to kneel, his arms spread.

Back on the couch, Alessandro poured himself a glass of the amber liquor, crossing one leg over the other with the lazy authority of a king.

"I keep most of my captives in the dungeon," he said conversationally. "But for you… I prefer to watch up close."

He took a slow sip. "One… two… three… snap."

"I hate you," Marco muttered, but his voice was already weakening. The drug hit like fire in his veins, making his breath ragged. His vision blurred. His skin burned, and his body trembled, the heat coiling in his stomach until it was unbearable.

He groaned, twisting against the restraints, the chain clinking sharply in the quiet room.

Alessandro’s smirk deepened. "The pain of a man denied pleasure… exquisite."

He waited, savoring every second, until Marco’s body shuddered and his head fell forward. Finally, Alessandro rose, uncuffed him. Marco collapsed to the floor, gasping.

Alessandro turned to leave, but Marco’s hand shot out, gripping the tail of his kimono.

"Do you have a death wish?" Alessandro crouched down, eyes narrowing.

But then—his own body betrayed him. A strange heat pulsed at the back of his neck, the beast inside him stirring. I want him. The voice in his head was a low, primal echo.

Before he could stop it, Marco yanked him forward. Their lips crashed together. Alessandro froze for half a second, then the hunger consumed him. His bare chest pressed against Marco’s, their heartbeats pounding in sync. Heat radiated between them.

Tongues met—clashing, tasting, claiming—until Alessandro finally pulled back, a thin line of saliva breaking between them.

Their breaths were ragged, filling the charged air. Marco slightly mourned and it made the butterflies inside Alessandro to fly.

Alessandro stared into Marco’s eyes, his own unreadable.

"Who the hell are you?"