“You heard her. Let go.”
The words roll out of me thick and quiet, the kind of quiet that drenches the air in threat. I’m already closing the distance, already reaching for him, and when my hand curls around his collar, the fabric bunches beneath my fingers as I drag him off her in a single, unbroken motion.
I pull him back far enough that he has no choice but to face me.
“I’m only going to say this once, Giacomo.” My voice stays calm, dangerous in its calm. “The lady said she’s going home.”
A beat.
A warning.
“So you’re going to let her.”
“This doesn’t concern you,” he says after he recovers from his initial shock. “I suggest you leave. This is between me and my fiancée.”
“It concerns me now if you lay a hand on her, Giacomo.” I seethe. “She is not some object you can jostle around; she is a woman.”
Mywoman, I want to say, but I hold my tongue.
The atmosphere shifts between us—charged, volatile, filled with electric energy. A lifetime of bad blood condensed into a single moment.
He studies me, his jaw clenched, his pride one breath away from breaking.
“My love, let’s go. I think I owe you a dance.” He’s addressing Beatrice, but his eyes are locked on me.
But she makes no move to go. I look over my shoulder, and I can see she is visibly shaken.
“I think she’ll need a minute.” I turn back to Giacomo. “You seem like you need to cool down.”
“I—what the hell are you talking about? This is business between me and my fiancée.” He closes the gap between us, and now we’re toe-to-toe. Beatrice remains behind me, shielded.
My fingers flex at my sides, and I am ready. I just need him to throw the first punch, and I will be on him like white on rice.
“You need to cool off, Giacomo. Now.”
My warning is clear. His eyes cut to Beatrice, who stands behind me with a pensive look in her eyes. He must see how distressed she is, because he steps back.
Smart man.
“Forgive me,amore mio,” he says to his fiancée. “I will head to the bathroom. I’ll meet you back in the ballroom.”
Then he walks off, leaving me standing with his woman. And for a few seconds, I am stunned. I didn’t think he would actually do it.
I’d be lyingif I said I didn’t want the chance to hit him.
Beatrice exhales like she’s been holding her breath for days. She doesn’t move at first—she just stays behind me.
I turn around to face her, and her eyes are cast downward. I make no move to hold her or step toward her for fear she may still be in shock.
“Bella, are you okay?” My voice is low and soft, like I’m talking to a startled creature.
She nods, but she doesn’t lift her head, and I don’t press her. I give her the space and time she needs to gather herself.
When she finally lifts her eyes, they are glassy, like she’s holding back unshed tears.
I want to kill him. But this isn’t about me. This is about her—and what she needs—and the last thing she would want is more violence.
“Thank you,” she whispers, so soft it barely reaches me.
