"And what's that?"
"Desperate." I lean in close, my voice dropping. “You're so threatened by me—by a nobody from Queens—that you're following me into hallways and making threats. That's pathetic."
Her eyes flash with fury, her perfect composure cracking. For a moment I think she might actually hit me, her hand twitching at her side.
But she doesn't.
Instead, she leans in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You have no idea who you're dealing with. No idea what I'm capable of."
"I couldn’t care less,” I say, even though my heart is pounding.
I’m definitely going to regret this later.
"Oh, you will." She straightens, her smile returning but colder now. "I will destroy you, Bianca Mancini. I'll dig up every secret you're hiding. Every lie you've told. And when I do, when everyone knows exactly what you are, Dante won't be able to save you. He won't even want to."
She turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
And the fear is back, cold and sharp in my chest.
Because she's right about one thing—I do have secrets. Dangerous secrets that could ruin everything if they come out.
And if Caterina keeps digging, if Richard decides to talk, if anyone else from that life recognizes me?—
It's not just Dante's plan that will fall apart.
It's my mother's treatment. My life. Everything.
I make it back to the ballroom, my hands shaking, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
Dante is standing by the bar, talking to his father. He sees me immediately, and something in my expression must give me away because his eyes narrow.
He excuses himself and crosses to me in three strides.
"What happened?" His eyes search my face. "You look?—"
"It's nothing." I pull away. "I just need to leave. Please. Can we go?"
He studies me for a long moment. I can see him calculating, trying to figure out what I'm not saying.
"We'll leave in ten minutes," he says finally. "After my father's speech. Then I'm taking you home."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Bianca
The car ride home is silent.
Dante sits beside me, one hand resting on my thigh in a way that looks possessive from the outside but feels like a brand burning through the fabric of my dress. Neither of us speaks. The tension from the party—the dance, the fight, Caterina's threats—looms in my mind like a living thing.
When we pull through the gates of his estate, I expect him to go straight inside and retreat to his office or his room or wherever he goes when he needs to think.
Instead, he opens my door before I can reach for the handle.
Uh… okay…
"Come with me," he says and takes my hand, pulling me out of the car. "I never gave you the grand tour. Time to fix that."
