Chapter 147 — The Beginning of the Game
Perspective: Beatrice Medici
Alessio lived far too close to campus.
Irritatingly close.
The car had barely left the university grounds when he already signaled that he could get out right there.
Beatrice almost protested — but held back the impulse.
The driver slowed down, parking with the precision of someone who had done it a thousand times, and before she could find a convincing reason to prolong the ride, Alessio had already said his goodbyes.
Just like that.
A polite word, a small nod — and he was gone, disappearing onto the lit sidewalk, the streetlights reflecting off the limousine windows before the door even finished closing.
No glance back. No hesitation.
His efficiency was almost comical.
Beatrice followed him with her eyes until his silhouette blended into the shadow of a nearby building.
Then the car began moving again — smooth, silent, obedient.
She leaned back in her seat, her body relaxing as the golden reflections of the city lights slid across the window.
Inside, however, irritation was building.
Too close.
Too quick.
It was frustrating how easily he could just step out of her presence — as if she, and everything she represented, didn't weigh enough to hold him for even a few more minutes.
Beatrice exhaled slowly, catching her own reflection in the tinted glass.
Her face calm, her features composed, her usual control intact.
Nothing betrayed the faint discomfort she felt — yet she knew it was there.
Still, the feeling didn't last long.
Because if there was one thing Beatrice excelled at, it was turning irritation into calculation.
And this time, she'd done it fast.
She picked up the phone from the seat beside her.
The screen still showed the discreet Zingchat notification:
"Alessio Leone has accepted your request."
A small detail.
Just an exchange of contacts.
But to her, it meant much more.
Now she had a direct line to him — a private channel, invisible to the rest of the world.
No more relying on arranged meetings, social events, or third-party intermediaries.
Now, she could reach him anytime she wanted.
It was the beginning.
The first move on the board.
Beatrice rested her chin on her hand, her gaze drifting to the passing nightscape as the car moved away from the university district.
The muted hum of the engine and the soft blue glow of the dashboard created an almost hypnotic calm.
And there, between one street corner and the next, the idea fully took shape — clear, simple, inevitable.
She would make Alessio Leone fall in love with her.
Not impulsively.
Not with shallow sentimentality.
But slowly.
Precisely.
Inevitably.
Like a trap built piece by piece — until he no longer knew where admiration ended and devotion began.
The image alone made her smile.
A subtle, elegant, almost lazy smile.
The kind that rarely appeared — and when it did, it meant only one thing: a new plan was in motion.
The night, which had seemed trivial moments ago, had transformed.
That ride, the brief exchange, the Zingchat request — everything now had purpose.
And for the first time since the dinner began, Beatrice Medici felt genuinely satisfied.
Honestly, only one small thing still bothered her.
Something minor, almost ridiculous — but to Beatrice, symbolically infuriating.
Alessio's profile picture.
Or, more precisely, the complete absence of one.
As the car moved toward the wealthier district, she opened Zingchat again — curious, maybe even slightly eager, to see what he had chosen to represent himself in that private space.
She expected at least a casual photo — something that revealed a fragment of the man behind the composure.
A simple picture, perhaps a candid moment, a glimpse of the Alessio no one else saw.
But of course, fate had its sense of humor.
What appeared on the screen was nothing but a blank black square with a gray question mark in the middle.
An empty profile.
No image. No status. No detail of any kind.
A perfect extension of his personality — controlled down to the last pixel.
Beatrice sighed quietly, resting the phone on her lap.
She didn't know whether she was more frustrated or simply resigned.
Deep down, she shouldn't have been surprised.
That was Alessio Leone: precise, logical, emotionally inaccessible.
A man who could win public debates with calm words, then vanish minutes later without leaving a trace — as if his charm itself were a controlled phenomenon, something he could switch on and off at will.
Still, she couldn't help but feel the sting of annoyance.
Having direct access to him, yet staring at that void of a profile, was like trying to talk to an elegant wall — solid, cold, and silent.
He was like that: a fortress.
And, worst of all, Beatrice knew that was exactly why he fascinated her so much.
She looked at her phone once more, fingers hovering over the keyboard for a few seconds.
A simple gesture, but one charged with quiet meaning.
Maybe I shouldn't overthink this, she told herself. If he won't speak, I will.
She typed a single message — short, polite, and seemingly innocent:
"Good night, Alessio."
No emoji. No exclamation point.
Just measured words — balanced enough to test the waters.
For a moment, she watched the open chat, the screen's light brushing across her face as the car glided through the nearly empty streets.
No reply came — and in truth, she hadn't expected one.
Satisfied with the gesture alone, she locked the screen and set the phone aside.
Outside, the city lights streamed by like golden threads, their reflections dancing on the limousine's dark windows.
Beatrice leaned back, her body finally relaxing, and closed her eyes for a moment.
The plan was in motion.
The first contact had been made.
And though his profile might be nothing but a faceless shadow, she knew that — sooner or later — she would learn how to breach the walls of that fortress.
As the car slid silently through the night, a faint smile curved her lips.
Not a smile of tenderness, but of strategy fulfilled.
And so, with the city asleep and her phone screen gone dark, Beatrice Medici rode home — carrying with her the quiet certainty that, from that night on, nothing would ever be mere coincidence again.