Later at night, as I prepare for dinner with Ivan, I fabricate a story about needing to arrive separately and ask him to send over the address of the restaurant where we'll be dining. I don't mention Stefano joining us; I have an excuse to explain his presence once we meet. As I slip into the elegant dark green dress, its form-fitting silhouette gracefully accentuates my curves. The sparkling embellishments on the straps draw attention to my cleavage, adding a touch of allure. If that weren't enough, its above-the-knee length showcases my tan skin, further enhancing its appeal.

I step out of my room, the click of my heels echoing in the hallway. Stefano's eyes widen as he takes in my appearance.

"No! Not even a million years," he growls, his gaze smoldering with a possessive intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

"What?" I feign innocence, reveling in the way his jaw tightens.

"That outfit. You are not wearing that to meet him." His voice is low, laced with a warning that only fuels my defiance.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" I challenge, arching a brow.

"It screams fuck me, and for all we know, he might be a pervert and actually try." The raw edge to his words catches me off guard, igniting a fire in my belly.

"First of all, it doesn't scream that," I retort, my cheeks flushing. "And secondly, did you just say only perverts would want to fuck me?" The words tumble from my lips, equal parts indignant and thrilled by his possessive streak.

"No, what I meant is..." He closes the distance between us, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "He won't be able to resist, and when you say no because you will fucking say no, he would try to force himself on you. And we don't want your poor friend to die, do we?" He arches a brow, his lips curling into a smirk that sends my heart racing.

I'm rendered speechless, caught between the thrill of his indirect compliment and the possessive promise lurking beneath his words. The idea of him protecting me, even from imagined threats, sparks a dangerous longing within me.

"Andrea," he prompts, his gaze unwavering.

"I'm not changing," I declare, my voice steadier than I feel, unwilling to surrender to his demands.

"Really, you're not? So you want me to empty a round in someone's head tonight?" The casual threat should alarm me, but instead, it ignites a reckless spark of excitement.

"Yes," I smirk, holding his gaze in a daring challenge.

"Alright, let's have it your way then." He returns my smirk, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he leads the way to the door, and I follow, my pulse thrumming with anticipation.

We arrive at the restaurant, and I step out of the car, acutely aware of Stefano's presence at my back. A shiver of awareness trails down my spine as I make my way inside, easily spotting Ivan's handsome features amidst the crowd.

"Hello Ivan, I am sorry I am late," I offer with an apologetic smile, approaching his table.

"No, it's fine, you are here now," he reassures, rising to pull out my chair in a gentlemanly gesture.

"Thank you," I murmur, moving to take my seat, but Stefano beats me to it.

"Hi, I'm the motherfucker that will make you see your forefather if you dared look at her the wrong way," he declares, his tone a lethal caress as he claims my chair.

I bite back a smile, equal parts exasperated and thrilled by his audacity. Ivan turns to me, brow lifted in silent question, and I offer a placating smile.

"He's my bodyguard. I hope you don't mind him tagging along," I lie smoothly, taking the seat across from Ivan's. This was my plan all along.

Stefano chuckles in response. "I'll let it slide this time," he says.

"Sure, it's fine," Ivan replies with a good-natured smile. "So tell me, how have you been these last few days?" he prompts, and before I can respond, Stefano interjects.

"She's been fine. I have made sure of it." The possessive edge to his words sends a delicious shiver through me.

I close my eyes, cursing him in Spanish while reveling in the way he riles me up. "Deja de intentar que me retire de mi cena.," Stop trying to get me to back out of my dinner. I hiss, switching to Spanish in the hopes Ivan won't understand.

" Eso no es lo que estoy tratando de hacer. Sólo le estoy diciendo a tu amigo la verdad." That's not what I'm trying to do. I'm just telling your friend the truth. He counters, his voice a low rumble that sets my nerves ablaze.

" No necesito tu ayuda, así que cállate." I don't need your help, so shut up. I snap, turning back to Ivan with a forced smile. Stefano is relentless in his mission tonight, and I can't help but revel in the delicious tension he creates.

"I'm great, what about you?"

"I've been good too. How's work?" Ivan asks, oblivious to the charged undercurrents between Stefano and me.

"She is not..." Stefano starts, but I cut him off with a sharp pinch to his thigh, reveling in the way his eyes darken with challenge.

"Andrea," he drawls, turning to face me with a smirk that sets my pulse racing. His gaze bores into mine, igniting a reckless spark of defiance within me.

I meet his smoldering stare, arching a brow in silent provocation. "Yes?" I counter, twisting his skin in a daring act of defiance, my smile a silent dare.

"Nothing," he concedes, but the smirk playing on his lips promises so much more.

"I don't know what's going on, but I feel like the third wheel right now," Ivan says, chuckling.

"No, you're not. Please don't think such," I reassure him, but my attention diverts as Stefano's phone rings. He checks the caller ID, hangs up without answering, and begins typing away, focusing entirely on it.

"So, how's work?" Ivan asks, his voice a gentle anchor pulling me back to the present Moment.

Blinking, I shake off the residual distraction and refocus on Ivan. "Work's been good," I reply, the words feeling almost mechanical as I struggle to maintain the conversation. "How about yours?" I force my gaze away from Stefano, determined not to let his presence continue to disrupt our interaction.

"A bit hectic, but good," Ivan replies, his warm smile not quite reaching his eyes, a hint of fatigue evident in the way he runs a hand through his tousled hair.

"Sorry, but I forgot, what do you do for a living?" I say with an awkward laugh, attempting to lighten the mood and divert attention from my embarrassing question.

He perks up at the question, his shoulders squaring with a hint of pride. "I am a restauranteur, and this is one of my restaurants. I hope you like the food."

"I hope I do, too," I echo, picking up the menu. But my eyes betray me, drifting back to Stefano's imposing figure. He hasn't uttered a word since his last biting remark, his attention consumed by the phone cradled in his palm as his thumb dances across the screen. For some inexplicable reason, his disinterest needles at me, leaving me craving his undivided attention.

A prickle of awareness skitters down my spine, and I tear my gaze away, only to meet Ivan's questioning look. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I offer him a small, apologetic smile before forcing my eyes back to the menu, determined to focus.

But the words blur before me, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Part of me longs for Stefano's attention, craving the delicious tension that sparks between us with every heated exchange. And yet, another part of me is drawn to Ivan's easy charm, his gentle presence a stark contrast to Stefano's intensity.

We all order food, and I spend the entirety of dinner engaged in conversation with Ivan while Stefano remains glued to his phone. As the waiter clears our table a few minutes later, Ivan asks if I'm interested in watching a movie, and I say yes, expecting Stefano to bow out, given his preoccupation with his phone.

But to my surprise, he stands up, pocketing his phone. "We will follow behind you to the cinema," he tells Ivan before grabbing my hand and pulling me outside. A wide grin spreads across my face, my heart soaring with delight. He's back to his meddlesome ways, and I couldn't be happier. It's absurd, but his intrusive behavior brings me an inexplicable joy.

At the cinema, I choose the movie and pay for our tickets, as neither Ivan nor Stefano will allow the other to cover the cost. They bicker at the counter, and I simply hand my card to the cashier, rolling my eyes at their childish display.

As we make our way inside, Stefano drags me away from Ivan, positioning himself between us. That fluttering sensation in my chest grows, a warmth spreading through me at his possessive gesture. I don't understand what prompted this behavior, but I find myself reveling in it, especially when he insists on sitting between Ivan and me during the movie.

It's ironic, really. I was so furious when he insisted on tagging along, and now here I am, delighting in the way he's interfering and essentially ruining my night out with Ivan. There's just something about the way he's acting that sets my foolish heart aflutter, a giddy excitement bubbling up within me.

When the movie ends, I bid Ivan farewell with a broad smile on my face. Even though he should be the reason for my happiness, it's the man who went out of his way to sabotage my evening, who has made it the best night I've had in a long time. Stefano's disruptive presence, once a source of irritation, has become the highlight of my night, igniting a dangerous longing within me that I can no longer.