(Backstage, after the auction)
The backstage smelled of sweat, perfume, and fear. A corridor lined with steel doors and velvet ropes led to a dim holding area. Alessio stood there like a storm in a tailored suit—broad, still, and dangerous. His arms were folded, his black shirt open at the throat, the gleam of his silver watch catching the low light.
Enzo and Theo stood nearby, whispering in low tones.
"You sure you wanna keep him?" Enzo asked. "You don't even know if he's housebroken."
"Not the word I'd use," Theo muttered, stealing glances at Alessio's face. "He's too calm. I don't like it. He looks like a wolf watching the lamb walk into the den."
Alessio didn't say a word. His mind was still wrapped around those honey-colored eyes. Defiant. Unbroken. That boy was a fire trapped in fragile glass.
And he'd bought him.
Suddenly, the metal door groaned open. A massive guard appeared, dragging a slim figure behind him by the arm. Noah's wrists were still bound, and his pale skin looked even more luminous under the backstage lights. The same sheer gray gown clung to his figure, teasing glimpses of smooth thighs and soft curves.
Alessio's gaze dropped immediately to the hand gripping Noah's arm.
The bodyguard didn't even have time to blink.
"Let. Him. Go." Alessio's voice cut through the room like a blade dipped in venom.
Everyone froze.
The guard released Noah as if burned, stumbling back with a muttered apology. Theo and Enzo straightened, glancing nervously at each other.
Noah didn't stumble. He yanked his arm back with grace and pride, his jaw tight and eyes blazing.
Alessio's gaze locked with his again—and this time, it was even hotter.
Noah looked at him like he wanted to kill him.
And Alessio? He smiled.
He stepped forward, slow and controlled, like a predator who had all the time in the world. Noah didn't flinch, but his breathing hitched as Alessio came close—dangerously close.
"Repeat your name," Alessio murmured.
Noah didn't answer.
Alessio leaned closer, voice silk wrapped in steel. "I said… repeat your name."
"Noah," the boy snapped, fire in his tone.
Alessio let out a low, satisfied hum. "Pretty name," he said, gaze lingering on Noah's face. "But it'll look even prettier with my last name attached to it."
Before Noah could react, Alessio's fingers lifted—slow, deliberate—and brushed against the edge of his bottom lip. Barely a touch. A whisper of skin.
Noah's eyes widened.
Then he slapped Alessio's hand away and shoved him back, both palms on his broad chest.
"Don't you dare touch me."
The room went dead silent.
Enzo's mouth dropped open. "Oh. Shit."
Theo stepped forward, alarmed. "Alessio—"
Everyone in the mafia knew one thing: No one touched the king. No one disrespected the king. Anyone who did, didn't get a second chance.
Except—
Alessio didn't explode.
He didn't shout. Didn't raise a hand.
Instead, his expression shifted into something unreadable. Calm. Too calm.
His lips curled, just barely. "Feisty."
Theo paled. "Why are you smiling?"
"I think he likes it," Enzo muttered, stunned.
Alessio took a step forward again. This time slower, more calculated. But he didn't reach out. Instead, he shrugged off his long, jet-black coat—sleek and expensive—and draped it gently over Noah's exposed shoulders.
The soft material slid across Noah's skin like a kiss. The boy looked confused for a split second.
Then furious.
He grabbed the coat and tried to shrug it off—but before he could toss it, Alessio moved like lightning, seizing Noah's wrist and pulling him forward just enough that their bodies nearly touched.
"Don't," Alessio warned, his voice low and possessive, almost sensual. "Don't take off what I put on you."
Noah's heart hammered in his chest.
Alessio's breath ghosted across Noah's cheek. "You walk around half-naked in front of everyone," he whispered, "but now that you're mine, I don't want them seeing an inch of you."
Noah yanked his hand back, lips trembling with outrage. "I'm not yours."
"You will be."
"Never."
"You keep saying that," Alessio murmured, leaning in close again, "but your eyes keep screaming at me. I like that."
Noah swallowed. His throat was dry, and his knees felt weak, but he refused to show it. "If you think I'll act like your pet just because you paid for me—"
"I didn't buy a pet," Alessio cut in, voice like fire beneath ice. "I bought a storm."
Enzo turned to Theo, whispering under his breath. "I think he's completely lost it."
Theo nodded. "We might need to call his mother."
Alessio didn't care.
His hand brushed Noah's shoulder now—just the coat, nothing else—but his touch burned through the fabric like heat on glass.
"You'll wear my name," he whispered. "You'll sleep in my bed. And one day… you'll beg for my touch."
Noah scoffed, but something flickered in his eyes—rage, defiance… fear?
Alessio saw it all.
And he wanted more.
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