“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he says, reaching for my hand. “You look beautiful tonight.”
I thank him, making the right sounds, but his compliments don’t land. I watch his mouth move and think of Emil’s voice—rough velvet, dangerous, a whisper at my ear that left me shaken and furious. The Pedro boy is everything I should want: stable, respectful, predictable. My uncle’s eyes are on me, silently urging me to respond, to play the part.
“I hope you’re enjoying the evening,” Carlos says, voice smooth and eager to please. “My father says you’re a lover of art. Maybe you could help me understand the new paintings in the gallery?” He waits for my approval, so I nod, letting him lead me through the room, trying to summon some flicker of interest.
Polite conversation follows, safe and colorless. He asks about books, I mention a few authors. He shares an anecdote about his dog; I laugh at the right places.
All the while, my mind keeps circling back to Emil. To the way his hand closed around my wrist, the way he looked at me like he could see straight through every mask I wear. I tell myself the memory is only revulsion, a kind of animal fear. That explanation fits better than the truth.
After a while, Carlos escorts me to the drinks table, his hand hovering at my back, always just short of contact. He’s so careful, so decent, so utterly forgettable.
The conversation hums around us, a thousand deals and old grudges being made and broken in every corner. I glance across the room and see Matteo in the middle of a heated discussion with a cousin; his eyes flick to me and narrow, but he says nothing.
“I know these events can be overwhelming,” Carlos says, handing me a glass of wine. “My father is always trying to make new alliances. He thinks the world can be put right with the right guest list.”
I sip my wine, searching for words. “Sometimes I wish it were that simple.” My voice is distant, lost even to myself.
He smiles, a little shy, a little hopeful. “I suppose it’s not easy, always being in the spotlight.” His concern is genuine, and for a moment, guilt flickers in my chest. He deserves better than to be a pawn in this endless game.
The conversation drifts to safer topics. I nod and smile, but my thoughts wander. My heart isn’t here; it’s caught on the sharp memory of Emil’s eyes, the promise and threat they held. The world feels dull without that edge of danger, that spark of uncertainty. It terrifies me. It should disgust me.
When the evening finally starts to wind down, I find myself at the window, watching the city lights shimmer against the dark. I catch my reflection in the glass, elegant, composed, exactly the girl my family wants me to be. Yet my pulse quickens at the mere thought of a name that has ruined my life.
I let myself imagine it, just for a moment—facing Emil again, letting rage drive me, demanding the truth about Enzo. Iwant to hate him; I want to destroy him. The craving for answers burns away everything else, even the small voice inside me that wonders what it would feel like to have his hands on me, not in anger, but in surrender.
I turn from the window, forcing the thought away, reminding myself that hatred is safer than curiosity, that revenge is all I have left.
The laughter in the hall swells, but I barely hear it over the thunder of my own pulse. The lights are too bright, the voices too sharp, and I feel exposed—trapped in the glare of a thousand expectant eyes.
I raise my glass, pretending to sip as Carlos cracks another joke. My lips curve automatically, eyes darting over the room in search of escape.
Then I feel it. A prickle at the nape of my neck, the weight of a gaze that’s become painfully familiar. I glance up, and there he is.
Emil sits across the hall, surrounded by Russians in dark suits. They talk, gesture, laugh quietly, but Emil doesn’t join them. His posture is relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair, yet his eyes are locked on me. Unblinking. Carving straight through the crowd.
I can’t read his expression—calm, maybe bored—but the intensity in his stare sets every nerve in my body alight.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. I force a laugh at Carlos’s story, the sound brittle, hoping it will break the spell. Emil doesn’t look away. The message is clear:I see you. You belong to me.
My hands tremble as I set down my glass. “Excuse me, I need some air,” I murmur, already slipping away. I walk quickly,but not too quickly. Every step is rehearsed, every movement meant to look casual. My heart pounds, but my mind is clear. If Emil wants a confrontation, he’ll get one. Tonight, I won’t run.
I find a shadowed corridor near the back of the house, where music fades and only the hum of the city leaks in through half-open windows. My hand slips beneath the folds of my dress, fingers curling around the small dagger I hid there earlier. The cool metal steadies me. This time, if he tries anything, I’ll be ready.
He finds me, of course. The air shifts before I even see him. He walks into the darkness like he owns it, footsteps soft and confident, face half lit by the hallway sconces. He shuts the door behind him, and the world outside is gone.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” I whisper, voice trembling despite my best efforts. The words sound weak in the quiet.
He steps closer, a taunt in his eyes. “You say that, but you waited for me. What were you planning, Bella?” His gaze flickers to my hand, lingering on the hilt of the blade.
“I’ll kill you if I have to,” I manage, brandishing the dagger, holding it between us like a shield. My arm shakes, but I lift my chin in defiance.
He smiles, slow and dangerous. “No, you won’t.” His hand moves fast, sure. In a blink, he closes the distance, grip crushing my wrist until my fingers go numb. The dagger clatters to the floor, useless.
“You don’t want to hurt me, Isabella,” he murmurs, voice soft as silk, “You want me.”
Rage surges. I twist, trying to break free, but his body cages mine against the wall, every inch of him heat and strength.He presses closer, his scent all leather and smoke and danger, his voice curling into my ear.
“You feel it, don’t you? The way your heart races when I touch you. The way you burn for me even when you hate me.”
