Chapter 7- Tantrum Princess
Alessandro's POV
I’ve killed men for less than the bullshit I dealt with today.
The second the door to my room shut behind me, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My fists were clenched, jaw tight, every inch of my body screaming for release. Not the kind that ends in a therapist’s chair.
The kind that ends with blood.
That little hellcat downstairs—spoiled, venomous, and built like sin—had the audacity to threaten me. Me. Alessandro Vittorio. She thought her stilettos and spitfire mouth made her untouchable. Cute.
The only reason she was still breathing was because of who her father was.
I paced the length of the room, boots thudding against polished marble like gunshots in an empty alleyway. My blood still ran hot. Not from the fight earlier or the fact that I nearly had to rip a guy’s hand out just to keep her pretty little ass safe. No.
It was her.
Her mouth. Her fucking attitude. Her everything.
She was a goddamn storm in designer skin.
And she was under my protection.
Fucking perfect.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I yanked it out, half ready to throw it against the wall when I saw the name on the screen.
Marcus.
I hit accept, putting it to my ear.
“Don’t,” I growled before he could speak. “Just don’t.”
A deep chuckle rumbled through the line. “So… how’s your first day babysitting the Don’s little princess?”
I stopped pacing, dragging a hand over my face. “You ever hear the stories about her? About how she’s impossible to control, impossible to guard, impossible to tolerate?”
Marcus laughed louder this time. “Yeah. Plenty.”
“They didn’t do her justice,” I hissed. “She’s worse. A thousand times worse. Arrogant. Disrespectful. Spoiled beyond belief. I swear, the only thing keeping me from putting a bullet through that brat’s skull is the fact that she shares DNA with the Don.”
“Shit, man. Sounds like you’re having the time of your life.”
“Go to hell.”
He snorted. “You knew what this was when you signed up.”
“I thought it was a security detail, not glorified babysitting. I’m an assassin, Marcus. Not a fucking nanny.”
“Yeah, well… maybe you need to loosen up. You sound like you're two seconds from homicide.”
I dropped into the armchair near the window, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “Because I am.”
“I’ll send something to help,” he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“What kind of something?”
He didn’t answer.
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a second, then tossed it onto the side table and rubbed at the tension in my neck. I needed a release. A distraction. Something to cut through the poison that damn girl injected into my system with every smug smirk.
I didn’t have to wait long.
The door creaked open.
I looked up, instincts flaring—only to still completely.
A woman stepped into the room like a whisper, all curves and dark eyes, a smile that could melt steel. Her coat barely clung to her shoulders, and when she let it slide down, I felt my cock twitch to life instantly.
Black lace.
Bare skin.
A body built for sin and a walk that promised it.
“Marcus sent me,” she purred, lips curling like silk.
She didn’t wait for permission.
Didn’t ask.
She walked straight to me, hips swaying, heels clicking, and I just sat there—still, controlled—until she dropped to her knees between my legs and looked up at me with hunger in her eyes.
“This what you needed, baby?” she whispered.
I didn’t answer.
She already knew.
Her hands worked quickly, unbuckling my belt, dragging down the zipper, freeing me from the suffocating constraint of fabric. My cock sprang forward, thick, hard, aching.
She licked her lips.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
She leaned forward and kissed the tip, soft and slow, letting her breath tease the head. Her tongue flicked out, tasting, teasing, then her lips parted and took me in.
Heat. Wet. Pressure.
I groaned, head tipping back as her mouth closed around me.
She moaned as she sucked, her nails digging lightly into my thighs. I could see her dark hair bouncing as she bobbed, taking more of me with each movement. My hand slid into her hair, tightening slowly.
“Take it,” I said, voice like gravel.
She did.
All of it.
Eyes watering as I hit the back of her throat, but she didn’t stop. She moaned around me, sending vibrations straight through my spine. My muscles tensed, fire licking up my veins. I guided her, thrusting slowly at first, then harder.
Rougher.
My hips bucked. My grip tightened. Her hands clawed at my thighs as I fucked her mouth like it was the only thing keeping me from tearing the world apart.
She gagged. I didn’t stop.
Not until the pressure in my gut coiled to a breaking point and with a sharp, guttural groan, I came. Hard. Deep. My cock pulsed in her throat as she swallowed everything, moaning like she was the one getting off.
I leaned back, breath ragged, body trembling.
Relief.
But only for a second.
Because when I looked up—when the haze cleared and the blood started flowing back to my brain—I realized something.
I still wanted to kill her.
Not the girl on her knees, wiping her lips with the back of her hand and smiling like she’d just won a prize.
No.
Her.
The Don’s daughter.
The little hurricane in heels who thought the world revolved around her tantrums. Who looked at me like I was a fucking guard dog and not a man with blood on his hands and death in his eyes.
She didn’t know what I was capable of.
But she would.
Soon.
I stood and zipped up, ignoring the way the girl’s eyes tracked every movement like she was waiting for round two. I didn’t have the energy for it.
The anger was still there.
Coiled and vicious.
I growled under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.
“Thanks,” I said flatly to the girl. “Now get out.”
She pouted. “That’s it?”
“You did your job. Door’s there.”
She stood, rolled her eyes, and sauntered out, still half-naked. I didn’t care.
My mind was already elsewhere.
I walked to the window, looking out over the estate.
The moon hung low, casting silver shadows over the grounds. She was probably still throwing a fit. Maybe planning her next act of defiance.
Let her try.
Let her scream, push, poke, and test.
I’ve danced with demons bigger than her.
But something told me this wasn’t going to be like anything I’d dealt with before. She wasn’t just a spoiled brat. She was strategic. Dangerous in a different way.
She’d look you in the eye while stabbing you with a smile.
I couldn’t let my guard down.
Not for a second.
Because I’d either end up in her trap—or in her grave.
And I wasn’t sure which was worse.