I bark out a laugh. "That's rich coming from you. When's the last time you let a woman get close, brother?"
Alessio's mouth quirks into a half-smile. "I'm not the one who needs the advice. I know exactly what I am."
"And what am I?"
"Someone who's been punishing himself long enough." His expression softens just slightly. "You can advise others all you want, Damiano, but you never take your own advice."
Despite everything, I find myself laughing. "Look at us. The blind leading the blind."
Alessio joins in, his deep chuckle filling the warehouse. "Maybe we both need help."
"Maybe we do." I clap him on the shoulder. "But I'll stick with business advice from you. Leave the relationship counseling to someone who isn't as fucked up as we are."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Iadjust my cufflinks, Italian silk sliding against my wrists. The black tuxedo fits perfectly—it should, for what I paid Armani. I check my reflection one more time, straightening my bow tie with practiced precision.
Tonight matters. The Rossi Foundation Gala draws every power player in the city—legitimate and otherwise. Appearances must be maintained, alliances reinforced, enemies watched. And for the first time, I'll present Zoe as my wife to everyone who matters.
I exit my bedroom, making my way toward the grand staircase. Lucrezia has been suspiciously quiet about their shopping expedition. When I asked what Zoe chose, mysister just smiled that mischievous smile and said, "You'll see."
I position myself at the bottom of the stairs, checking my watch. We need to leave in ten minutes.
A movement at the top of the stairs captures my attention, and I look up.
Holy fuck.
Zoe stands there, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. She wears an emerald green dress that clings to every curve, the fabric shimmering under the chandelier light. The deep v-neckline plunges between her breasts, revealing just enough skin to make my throat go dry. The dress splits high on her thigh, offering a glimpse of leg with each step she takes.
Her blonde hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and her green eyes, accentuated by smoky makeup, lock with mine as she descends.
My cock stirs, blood rushing south with such force I have to shift my stance. She's supposed to look good—presentable—not make every filthy thought I've been suppressing crash through my mind all at once.
I clear my throat, forcing my expression into something more controlled. "That dress is..." I search for a word that won't reveal too much.
"Too much?" she asks, her eyebrow arching.
"Perfect," I say before I can stop myself. "For making every man in the room want to kill me tonight."
A slight flush colors her cheeks, but she maintains her composure. "Isn't that the point? To sell our relationship?"
I step closer. "You might be selling it too well, Zoe."
She tilts her chin up, defiant. "I thought you wanted convincing."
"I do." I offer my arm. "Let's give them something to talk about."
The sleek black Bentley purrs as we pull away from the mansion. Zoe sits beside me, her emerald dress shifting in the low light, a vision that makes it hard to look away. The silence between us feels charged, heavy with all the things we don't say.
I clear my throat. "There will be cameras tonight. Press."
She turns slightly. "I assumed as much."
"Not just social photographers. Real media." My fingers tap against my thigh. "The Rossi Foundation brings out everyone who matters in this city."
The passing streetlights cast shadows across her face, highlighting the elegant curve of her jawline. "You don't need to worry. I know how to smile for cameras."
"It's more than that," I say. "They'll be watching us. Looking for cracks, weaknesses."
