He held me tighter, his thumb slowly stroking along my hipbone like he was reminding me I was not going anywhere. Like he had me sorted.
And I hated that it calmed me.
Hated that I melted against him and let the warmth of his body became a sanctuary. That the tremble in my thighs wasn’t entirely fear anymore. That the flush creeping up my neck was heat, and not shame.
Lust and madness behind that impossible stillness.
His grip loosened slowly, like he knew exactly how I’d fall apart if he let go too fast. His hand lingered at my waist, thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of my dress. His mouth was still closed, and the heat of his breath brushed my cheek.
“Don’t let them affect you, Dolcezza. You belong to the silence between my heartbeats, not their cameras. Let them chase your shadow, but only I… I can taste your fear and tame it.”
A shiver ran down my spine, curling my toes inside my heels, and the flashes continued. A few reporters called out my name, assuming maybe I was someone else. Or someone important to him.
“Mr. Vitale! Over here!”
“Who’s the girl?!”
“Is she your date?!”
But Zagreus didn’t look at them. He never broke eye contact with me. His hand slid away, slow enough to burn. And just like that, the armour returned, his face became blank marble, elegant and cold. He stepped around me, letting the chauffeur open the door fully as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just silenced my panic with a few whispered words and a single touch.
The reporters’ voices grew louder, more curious, but none dared to cross the velvet ropes.
I stepped out of the car. Legs shaking and eyes blinking against the onslaught of camera lights.
My fingers instinctively reached for him, just the air where he’d been seconds ago, and then he was there again. Walkingbeside me like a shadow with a pulse. Zagreus didn’t offer his arm, didn’t even touch me, but his presence alone pulled me to his gravity.
We entered the building, and the chaos buzzed in front of us.
Cold marble floors beneath the cathedral-high ceiling. Crystal chandeliers, dripping with light, danced above our heads. Velvet-lined walls, gold accents, and the distant sound of a cello echoing through the lobby.
And I… I was drowning all over again.
Not in panic, though, but in the sensation of not belonging.
I wasn’t dressed like the women we passed. They were tall and sharply painted to perfection. I wasn’t poised like them. Everything felt foreign. This wasn’t my world. It was just a place made of money and menace and masks.
I’d almost forgotten I was wearing a dress.
Forgotten the slit that revealed too much of my skin. Forgotten that Zagreus picked it up for me, and he liked it.
People turned to look at us. At me. I heard the whispers again. And all I wanted was to fade.
But Zagreus? He walked like he owned every inch of this place and everyone in it. And somehow… I started to remember how to breathe again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Syndicate
We hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the grand foyer when a tall, suited man approached. Sharp edges were carved into the bones of his face and his steps faltered slightly before he caught sight of Zagreus, and then he bowed his head in reverence. Or maybe fear.
“Mr. Vitale,” he murmured.
Zagreus gave him nothing more than a slight nod, cold and disinterested as if he was a king acknowledging a peasant. The man retreated, shoulders stiff, almost relieved to be dismissed without words.
It wasn’t just him.
Eyes followed us, some wide with wary recognition, others squinting with thinly veiled contempt. But not one dared approach again. Not one spoke.
