Scarlett stepped back slightly, clutching her sketchbook as her heart continued its frantic rhythm. The café felt suddenly smaller, the warm light too intimate, her breaths too loud. Nicolas Volkov leaned against the counter with that unreadable expression, his dark eyes locked on her, unblinking, dangerous in their stillness.
"I—uh—" Scarlett started, but the words tangled in her throat. Every time she tried to speak, his gaze seemed to pull the sound away before it could escape.
"Miss Rose," Nicolas said slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. "You have a way of appearing exactly when one least expects it."
Her cheeks flamed. "I… I just wanted to thank you. That's all."
"Hmm," he murmured, tilting his head, studying her like a puzzle he hadn't yet solved. "You have a very… interesting way of thanking someone."
Scarlett blinked. His tone — teasing, calm, almost dangerous — made her chest tighten in a way that made her pulse thunder. She wanted to step closer, wanted to bridge the invisible gap, but she held herself back. Somehow, maintaining composure felt like the only control she had left.
Before she could gather herself, a shadow fell over the doorway. Scarlett's stomach twisted. Alisa Meng. Dressed in sleek black, perfectly poised, she glided in as if the café belonged to her. Her green eyes scanned the room sharply, and then they landed on Scarlett and Nicolas.
Her lips curved into that perfect, deadly smile. "Well, well," she said softly, almost to herself. "How… convenient."
Scarlett's heart jumped. Alisa's presence always carried the weight of a storm waiting to explode, and now it seemed that storm was looming just a few feet away. Nicolas stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening, but he didn't look away from Scarlett.
"Alisa," he said, voice controlled but low, sharp enough to cut through the tension. "To what do I owe the… pleasure?"
Alisa's smile didn't falter. "I was simply passing by," she said sweetly, though her eyes glimmered with jealousy. "And it seems I've stumbled upon a private conversation. How… charming."
Scarlett's heart was hammering so fast, she could feel it in her throat. Yet, she refused to step back. If Nicolas was going to stand with her, she would stand her ground too. "We were just… talking," she said evenly, forcing calm into her voice.
"Oh?" Alisa's tone dropped to a silky edge, her gaze lingering on Nicolas before shifting back to Scarlett. "And what exactly do you talk about, Miss Rose? Art? Architecture? Or is it perhaps…" She leaned slightly closer, voice lowering, "admiration for someone who may not even remember you?"
Scarlett's pulse stuttered. Nicolas's eyes darkened — a sharp, dangerous glint flashing briefly. His hand, which had been resting casually on the counter, flexed ever so slightly.
"Miss Meng," he said slowly, deliberately, "I believe you've overstepped."
Alisa's smile tightened. "Overstepped? Oh, Nicolas, I think I'm exactly where I need to be."
Scarlett felt the heat rise in her chest, but she refused to look away from Alisa. "I don't need anyone to protect me," she said clearly, her voice firm despite the adrenaline coursing through her. "I can handle myself."
Nicolas's gaze shifted from Alisa to Scarlett, his eyes softening just a fraction. "I know," he said quietly, just loud enough for her to hear. That single word — calm, confident, unflinching — made her chest ache and pulse race in ways she couldn't explain.
Alisa's eyes flicked between them, her smile now sharper, more dangerous. "Interesting," she murmured. "Very… interesting indeed. It seems my plans are… more complicated than I thought."
Scarlett's chest heaved with adrenaline, yet she stood taller, defiant. Nicolas, for all his cold control, remained by her side, silent but unmistakably present. The tension between them — unspoken, electric, and dangerously close — left the café charged with a heat neither Alisa nor Scarlett could ignore.
And in that small, quiet corner of Bologna, one truth became clear: the war wasn't just about power, influence, or reputation. It was personal, magnetic, and far more explosive than anyone had anticipated.