CHAPTER 5 -HUNGER WITHOUT REST

The Moretti penthouse overlooked Manhattan as if it owned the city.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline in cold silver light while rain slid slowly down the glass. The apartment was modern, expensive, and painfully clean. Everything inside it reflected power without needing to announce it.

Alessandro stood near the windows with a glass of bourbon in his hand, listening to his father’s voice from across the dining room.

“You’re the future of this family.”

Vincent Moretti never raised his voice. Men listened anyway.

At the head of the table, he looked every inch the empire builder people feared him to be. Expensive suit. Gray at his temples. Calm eyes sharp enough to cut through lies before they were spoken.

Beside him, Evelyn Moretti sighed softly. “Can we please have one dinner without turning it into a board meeting?”

“This is important.”

“It’s always important.”

Alessandro remained quiet.

Across from him, Isabella sat elegantly beside untouched wine, posture perfect even after an hour of exhausting conversation. She wore soft cream silk tonight, her dark hair falling over one shoulder while she listened politely to the same discussion she had endured for years.

Children.

Legacy.

Inheritance.

The future of the Moretti empire.

Vincent leaned back slightly in his chair. “You’ve been married for five years, Alessandro.”

Here it comes.

“You should already have heirs.”

Isabella lowered her eyes for half a second.

Small movement.

Easy to miss.

Alessandro noticed anyway.

Evelyn spoke more gently. “Your father just wants to see this family continue.”

“This family isn’t disappearing,” Alessandro answered calmly.

“That’s not the point.”

Vincent’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Everything we built needs stability. Bloodline matters in this world. People trust dynasties.”

Alessandro took a slow sip of bourbon.

Normally conversations like this barely affected him.

Tonight everything irritated him.

The lights.

The rain.

His father’s voice.

Even himself.

Especially himself.

Because while his wife sat beside him hoping for a child, Alessandro could not stop thinking about another man’s wife.

The thought followed him constantly now.

Like addiction settling into the blood.

He hated it.

And still wanted more.

Isabella finally spoke quietly. “We’re trying.”

The lie sounded beautiful coming from her.

Soft enough to protect his pride.

Alessandro looked at her briefly.

She meant well.

She always meant well.

Dinner ended an hour later with business calls and political conversations replacing family tension. Vincent disappeared into his office while Evelyn kissed Isabella’s cheek before leaving for a charity event downtown.

Soon the penthouse became quiet again.

“You barely touched your food,” she said gently.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You haven’t been sleeping either.”

He didn’t answer.

Because she was right.

For days now sleep came in broken pieces. Every night ended the same way.

The memory of her face in the club, restaurant, and the sound of her voice.

Jesus Christ.

Isabella walked toward him slowly. “Are you stressed?”

“No.”

“You always say no.”

Because explaining the truth was impossible.

How could he tell his wife that another woman had somehow crawled beneath his skin without permission?

That he wanted Dante Russo’s wife with a level of intensity that genuinely disturbed him?

Not just sexually.

Possessively.

Alessandro wanted her attention.

Wanted her thoughts.

Wanted her looking for him in rooms full of people.

And the worst part?

Sometimes he thought she felt it too.

Isabella stopped directly in front of him. “You’ve been distant lately.”

Lately.

As if he had ever truly been close.

Guilt settled heavily inside his chest.

Not because he loved Isabella passionately.

Maybe that was the tragedy.

He respected her.

Cared about her.

But love?

Real devastating love?

No.

And now for the first time in his life, he was terrified he might be capable of it after all.

Just with the wrong woman.

Isabella touched his jaw softly. “Maybe we should get away for a few days. Just us.”

Alessandro looked down at her beautiful hopeful face.

She deserved honesty.

Instead, he gave her another lie.

“I’m just tired.”

Disappointment flickered through her eyes before she covered it with another graceful smile.

“Then let me help.”

The invitation lingered carefully between them.

A wife trying to save distance before it became permanent.

Alessandro closed his eyes briefly.

He should want this.

Should want her.

Should want the child that his parents kept asking for.

Instead, his mind betrayed him instantly.

Dark eyes.

Soft lips.

Sofia.

His jaw tightened.

Then slowly he stepped back.

Not cruelly.

But enough.

“Get some rest, Isabella.”

The silence afterward hurt more because she tried not to show it.

“Okay,” she whispered.

And just like that, loneliness entered the room again.

Across Manhattan, Sofia stood inside the master bathroom covering bruises with makeup.

Not dramatic bruises.

Dante was too smart for that.

Just faint discoloration near her ribs where he shoved her against the bedroom wall earlier.

Enough to ache.

Not enough to expose him.

Behind her, Dante adjusted his watch calmly like the evening had been completely normal.

“You embarrassed me tonight,” he said.

Sofia kept her eyes on the mirror. “How?”

“You smiled at another man”.

Sofia couldn’t respond, she just kept quiet gazing at him,

“You know what your problem is?” he asked quietly.

Sofia stayed silent.

“You think silence hides things.”

Fear moved softly through her stomach.

Not explosive fear.

Familiar fear.

The kind that lived permanently beside women married to powerful men.

Dante’s hand slid around her waist possessively. “You belong to me, Sofia.”

The words sounded less like love every time he said them.

More like ownership papers.

He gripped her chin suddenly, forcing her eyes toward him through the mirror.

“When I speak to you, I expect your full attention.”

“You have it.”

“No,” Dante said coldly. “You pretend I do.”

For one tense second, Sofia thought he might hit her again.

Instead, he released her sharply.

“Fix your face,” he muttered. “Take some rest”.

Then he walked out.

Just like that.

Leaving silence behind like wreckage.

Sofia stared at herself in the mirror afterward.

At the expensive dress.

Perfect makeup.

Dead exhaustion inside her eyes.

Somewhere along the way her marriage had stopped feeling like love and started feeling like survival.

Sleep abandoned Alessandro entirely that night.

By three in the morning, he sat alone in his office overlooking the city with untouched bourbon beside him.

Rain hammered softly against the windows.

His thoughts remained unbearable.

God.

He wanted her.

Completely.

The realization no longer shocked him.

Now it terrified him.

Because Alessandro understood obsession better than most people.

Obsession ruined judgment.

Ruined empires.

Ruined men.

And every time he saw Sofia Russo, something inside him lost another piece of control.

His phone buzzed against the desk.

Matteo.

Bro let's grab some coffee at the bookstore today, you remember the unfinished business,

Alessandro stared at the message before replying.

Busy.

A second message arrived instantly.

You’re always busy lately.

Alessandro locked the phone without answering.

The next day, Sofia escaped into Manhattan under the excuse of shopping for an upcoming political fundraiser.

Really, she just needed space to breathe.

The bookstore downtown felt warm compared to the freezing rain outside. Jazz played softly overhead while the smell of coffee and paper settled around her nerves gently.

For the first time all week, she relaxed.

She sat there for 3 hours and when she decided to leave”.

She turned to the corner.

And froze.

Alessandro Moretti stood only feet away.

Neither moved immediately.

The air changed instantly between them.

Awareness.

Danger.

Something far too intimate for two people who barely knew each other.

“Sofia,” he said quietly before correcting himself. “Mrs. Russo.”

Her heartbeat stumbled.

“No,” she answered softly. “Sofia is fine.”

God help him.

He stepped closer slowly.

Not enough to draw attention.

Enough to destroy his self-control.

“You seem unhappy,” he said.

The honesty startled her.

Not because he noticed.

Because nobody else ever did.

Before she could answer, a book slipped unexpectedly from the shelf beside them.

Both reached instinctively.

Their hands touched.

And heaven opened quietly beneath skin.

Sofia inhaled sharply.

Alessandro went completely still.

Warmth spread through him instantly. Violent. Addictive. Wrong enough to feel dangerous.

His fingers closed slightly around hers before either realized it.

Neither pulled away.

For one impossible reckless moment, Manhattan disappeared around them.

No noise.

No marriages.

No consequences.

Only touch.

And the terrifying feeling that something irreversible had just begun.