Page 90 of Bound in Vengeance
Then I look at the bag, at his wrapped shoulder, at the way he is still training like pain means nothing to him. The memory of the warehouse rushes back into my mind. The bullets. The fear. The helplessness.
I never want to feel like that again.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my chin and look him dead in the eye.
“Alessandro, are you willing to teach me how to defend myself?”
He blinks, catching the sudden, dead-serious shift in my tone. Before he can even form an objection, I add, “If you don't want to, it's fine. I can just ask Valerio to do it.”
Alessandro’s entire posture stiffens instantly. His eyes narrow into dangerous, possessive slits.
“No,” he growls, his voice dropping into a dark, commanding register that sends a shiver straight down my spine. “You will not ask Valerio. No one else is going to teach you a goddamn thing. If you are learning how to protect yourself, Sienna, you are learning from me.”
I hide a smile, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. I know exactly how to work this man, whether he likes it or not. His possessive instincts do the heavy lifting for me every single time.
“Fine,” I say smoothly, stepping onto the mat. “Show me.”
He doesn’t waste any time. Alessandro circles me once, studying my stance with sharp, serious eyes.
“You’re not going to overpower most men,” he says. “So don’t try. You use balance, timing, and surprise.”
“Very encouraging.”
His mouth barely twitches. “You asked me to teach you, not flatter you.”
Before I can answer, he steps closer and catches my wrist. Not hard, but firm enough that the memory of last night flashes through me. For one awful second, I freeze.
Alessandro releases me immediately.
My cheeks burn. “Again.”
His eyes search my face. “Sienna?—”
“Again,” I repeat, stronger this time.
Something in his expression shifts. Approval, maybe. Pride.
This time, when he grabs my wrist, he shows me how to turn into the hold instead of pulling away. How to twist, step, and break free using his own grip against him. My first attempt is terrible. My second is much better.
Alessandro eyebrows shoot up. "Not bad,dolcezza."
But as the lesson continues, the atmosphere in the room completely shifts. It becomes incredibly tense, thick with an electric current that has nothing to do with firearms.
Alessandro stands close behind me, his chest pressed flush against my back. His large, warm hands wrap over mine, guiding my fingers, adjusting my grip, and shifting my wrists by fractions of an inch. Every time he breathes, his chest rises against my shoulder blades, and the heat radiating off his body makes it almost impossible to focus on the target.
The raw attraction builds rapidly beneath the practical nature of the lesson, a heavy, breathless pull dragging at both of us. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I can hear his breath hitch in his throat when his lips brush against the shell of my ear to whisper corrections. But neither of us gives in. We keep our eyes on the targets, letting the friction build without crossing the line.
We practice for a long while, until the sharp buzz of Alessandro's phone breaks the silence.
He pulls it out, his brow furrowing as he reads the screen. "Valerio has news," he muttered, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He looks down at me, his eyes dark and lingering on my lips. "We’ll continue this tomorrow."
"Okay," I agree, my voice a little breathless.
We pack up the gear, lock down, and return inside the main house, the unresolved tension from the basement trailing right behind us like a shadow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ALESSANDRO
