"Belle, darling!" The woman air-kissed near my cheeks. "That color is divine with your complexion."
I smiled, grateful for Alessandro's crash course in designer names. "Versache. Dario’s idea." Because, honestly, I was more of a thrift store kind of gal. I knew dick all about fashion.
I wasn’t going to say I knew dick all about fashion.
"Of course he did," her husband chuckled. "When Dario Luca wants something, he goes all out."
It was still surreal sometimes, this new life. Three months ago, I'd been mixing drinks behind that very bar, counting tips and worrying about making rent. Now I lived in a mansion filled with Christmas decorations I'd put up myself, wore dresses that cost more than a year's salary at my old jobs, and shared a bed with the most powerful man in the city. The transition hadn't been seamless. Vincent Rossi's kidnapping attempt had made sure to put a huge-ass crease in the transition. But each day at Villa Luca had strengthened something in me I hadn't known existed.
I felt his gaze before I saw him. A warmth spread across my skin, raising goosebumps despite the heat of the crowded room. I turned, finding Dario immediately across the sea of bodies. He stood near the raised VIP section, one hand in the pocket of his perfectly tailored tuxedo, the other holding a crystal tumbler of amber liquid. His gaze locked on mine, dark and possessive, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The look scorched through me, intimate despite the distance.
I excused myself from the conversation, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter as I made my way toward another group. Matteo caught my eye as I passed, giving me a quick wink before returning to his vigilant scan of the crowd. The youngest Luca had become something of an ally in the household, his irreverence a welcome break from the intensity of his brothers.
"...and then she transformed the entire place," I overheard as I approached a small gathering that included Gabriel and several associates I recognized. "Villa Luca looks like something from a Christmas movie. Even Vittorio was caught humming carols."
Gabriel's eyes lit up when he spotted me. "Belle! We were just talking about your Christmas miracle. These cynics don't believe Vittorio participated in decorating the tree."
I laughed, the sound natural and relaxed in a way I wouldn't have thought possible in this setting months ago. "He didn't just participate. He decorated like a boss." Yeah. When Dario or his brothers were around, I felt free to let the rebel inside me slip the leash from time to time.
The group around us murmured in surprise, and I found myself the center of a circle of curious questions about how I'd managed to bring Christmas back to the infamous Luca family. My answers came easily, stories of Matteo stealing cookies and Alessandro's picky ornament placement drawing genuinelaughter from people I'd once watched through the barrier of a bar counter.
As I spoke, I felt a sense of belonging that had nothing to do with the expensive dress or jewelry. These people were listening to me, not just because I was Dario's, but because they found me interesting in my own right. The realization settled in my chest, warm and certain. It was a very small group, but one that seemed central to the Luca’s circle. Close friends and allies.
I glanced across the room again, finding Dario's eyes still on me. He hadn't moved, but something in his expression had changed. There was heat, a hunger that made my skin flush despite the distance between us. I watched as he set down his glass and began making his way through the crowd toward me, his movements deliberate, predatory.
My pulse quickened as he approached, anticipation curling through me like smoke. The Christmas Eve gala stretched before us, full of potential and promise. Whatever happened next, I would meet it standing tall, no longer the girl who hid behind the bar, but the woman who had captured Dario Luca's heart.
Dario moved through the crowd like a shark through water, people instinctively shifting out of his path without breaking their conversations. His focus never leaving me as he approached, and I felt the familiar flutter in my stomach, part nervousness, part desire, he always provoked. When he reached me, he took my hand without a word, leading me away from Gabriel and the others toward an archway I hadn't noticed before. Looking up, I saw the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the center, its white berries gleaming against dark leaves.
"You planned this," I whispered as he positioned us precisely beneath the holiday tradition.
His lips curved into that rare smile few people ever witnessed. "I plan everything, Belle." His voice dropped lower. "You lookbreathtaking tonight. Every man in this room wants you. Every woman wants to be you."
I shook my head slightly. "I doubt that."
"Don't," he said, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. "I can read a room. I've built my life on it." His eyes darkened as they swept over me. "But what matters is that you're mine."
Before I could respond, his hand slid to the small of my back, pressing me firmly against him. His other hand cupped my face as his mouth descended on mine. This wasn't a polite, public kiss. This was possession, declaration, a claiming. His lips moved over mine with deliberate intensity, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth when I gasped. I forgot where we were, my hands clutching at his shoulders as I melted into him.
The room fell silent around us, the sudden hush penetrating even my daze. When he finally pulled back, his eyes held a satisfaction that bordered on smugness. I became acutely aware of dozens of eyes on us, of the complete stillness that had fallen over the normally bustling club. Dario Luca, who never showed vulnerability or attachment in public, had just announced to everyone in his world exactly what I meant to him.
As the moment stretched, someone cleared their throat, then conversation gradually resumed, rippling outward from where we stood. But something had changed in the room's energy. The looks cast our way carried new weight, new assessment. I had been officially elevated in their eyes. I understood then. The huge ring, the reception, the Christmas party here tonight, none of it meant as much as the kiss he’d just given me.
"Now they know," Dario murmured against my ear, his breath warm on my skin.
"Know what?" I asked, still dazed from the kiss and the public spectacle we'd created.
"That I would burn this city to the ground for you."
The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. Not fear, but the sobering realization of the power this man wielded and what it meant that he had chosen me.
"Well, isn't this touching."
The honeyed voice sliced through our moment like a blade. I didn't need to turn to know who stood behind me. The hair on the back of my neck rose in instinctive warning. Dario's expression hardened, his arm tightening around my waist as we both turned to face Valentina Reeves.
She looked stunning, of course. Her honey-blonde hair was styled in an elegant twist that emphasized her sharp cheekbones. Diamonds dripped from her ears and throat, catching the light with every slight movement. Her dress was blood red, clinging to her curves like it had been painted on. But the look in her eyes chilled me more than anything else. A cold, calculating, hatred simmered just beneath a veneer of social polish.
"Valentina," Dario acknowledged, his tone flat. "You weren't invited."
