Chapter-3

THE DEAL OF LIFETIME

It was 12:50 PM when my assistant knocked and entered, his voice soft but alert." Ma'am, 10 minutes to the meeting Mr. Alessio Mastroiani could arrive any moment." I nodded, signaling him to leave. The second the door clicked shut behind his, the silence become heavy.

ALESSIO MASTROIANNI.

The name itself was enough to make anyone sit up straight. Italian mafia. Head of the Mastroianni empire.

 Ruthless. 

Calculated.

Feared.

Powerful beyond comprehension. A man who wouldn't blink before putting a bullet in someone's skull if they wasted his time.

He wasn't just handsome- he was dangerously divine. He had the kind of beauty that didn't belong to this world. it was sculpted, calculated, crafted- like God carved him out of black marble and set him loose with a warning:

 do not touch unless you're ready to burn.

 He wasn't the kind of man girls dreamt of. He was the nightmare they woke up wanting.

Alessio was beauty, yes.

but beauty wrapped in danger.

and when you looked at him - really

looked at him - you realized:

This man wasn't born.

He was built to ruin.

And now, he wanted me - Yasmine Sharma - to handle his old mansion work.

This wasn't just a deal. It was the deal. If I could pull it off, it would place my firm on the map like never before. The kind of money and reputation this project could bring.... it would change everything. I exhaled slowly and reminded myself" Be professional. Don not show fear. Do not stutter. Do not mess this up".

At 12:57,

 I collected my tablet, my notepad, and walked towards the meeting room. But when I turned the corner and saw five massive bodyguards dressed in full black, guns strapped to their sides, earpieces in, standing like statues outside the door - I felt it. The temperature dropped. like the air itself was warning me. I swallowed and pushed the door open.

my eyes met his.

Sitting at the far end of the table, wearing a jet-black suit that molded to his broad frame like armor, was Alessio Mastroianni. His presence filled the room so completely, the walls might as well have bent to him. And his eyes. Sharp, Cold, Pitch black. They didn't just look at me - they looked through me. I forced myself to breathe normally, walked towards my seat with steady heels, and extended my hand.

"Hello, Mr. Alessio Mastroianni," I said, my voice even, only slightly clipped at the edge by nerves.

He looked at my face first, then at my hand. For a second, I though he wouldn't take it. But he did. His fingers brushed against mine - firm, cold, powerful - and a shiver ran down my spine like electricity. "Hello, Miss Yasmine Sharma," he said. His voice was deep. Dangerous. Velvet laced with threat. I gave a small, polite smile and sat down, keeping my back straight.

"I've reviewed the documents regarding your mansion," I began, opening my tablet. "I'm ready to handle the full design, as per your specifications".

"I want every single thing done by you," he said immediately, voice razor-sharp. "No delegation. No mistakes. I don't give second chances."

My throat dries a bit, but I nodded. "understood." I clicked into my notes. "May I know the exact address? I'd like to visit the property and analyze the space personally. It'll help in making the design flawless." He didn't reply. But his assistant, standing beside him in a tight-fitted suit, took a step forward and told me the address.

Still, I could feel Alessio's gaze on me.

Heavy. Intense.

Like a lion watching prey but unsure if he wants to kill it or just toy with it for now.

 I kept my eyes on the screen, pretending I didn't notice, even though my legs were already shivering under the table. Then, Alessio pulled out a leather folder, dropped it on the table, and slid it towards me.

"Your advance. And the contract. Everything is signed," he said flatly. "You have ten days to deliver the designs. I expect the presentation on the morning of the eleventh. No delays. I hate people who waste my time."

He stood up.

Like the entire room rose with him.

So did I. "Thank you, Mr. Mastroianni. I'll give it my best."

We shook hands again. That same shiver.

And then he walked out, surrounded by his guards, his presence leaving a vacuum behind.

I stood there for moment, trying to process the air I hadn't realized I'd been holding in my lungs.

She thought it was just a deal. He made it a vow.

God

I returned to my office, still feeling the weight of the handshake. But I couldn't afford distractions. Not now.

First, I have to deal with the nightmare client from my last project - a creep who insisted on meeting alone in his penthouse. I just had to check if the work was complete and get out of there. No way was I going alone. I grabbed my phone and called my assistant. "You're coming with me," I told him. "I don't trust that man."

Soon, we were in my car, headed towards that awful penthouse. But in the back of my mind, one thought looped endlessly:

His touch. His eyes. That look. That shiver.

I could still feel it.