"Are you okay?" Sandro asked during a quiet moment.
"People are staring."
"Let them. They're going to stare whether we give them something to look at or not. Might as well make it worth their while." He pulled me onto the dance floor where a few couples were already swaying to the string quartet's rendition of something slow and romantic.
I'd never danced with a man before. Never had reason to. Marco and I had gone to exactly two formal events during our entire marriage, and both times he'd been too busy networking to dance.
Sandro led with confidence. One hand on my waist, the other holding mine. Close enough that anyone watching would know this wasn't platonic. Close enough that I could feel his heartbeat.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured.
"I'm thinking about how many people are watching us right now. How many photos are being taken. How many conversations are happening about what this means."
"Then stop thinking and just feel." He pulled me closer. "Feel how well we fit. How right this is. How little their judgment matters compared to what we have."
I closed my eyes and let him lead. Let the music and his steady presence block out everything else. For three minutes, I wasn't a compromised attorney dancing with his mob boss client. I was just someone dancing with someone I cared about.Someone who made me feel valued and wanted and worth fighting for.
When the song ended, he didn't let go immediately. Just held me there in the middle of the dance floor while people watched and whispered and judged.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?"
"For this. For making me face it instead of hiding. For showing me that being public doesn't have to be terrifying."
"It's still terrifying. You're just brave enough to do it anyway." He kissed my forehead. Right there. In front of everyone. "That's what makes you extraordinary."
We returned to the crowd. Sandro steered us toward the silent auction tables where he bid an obscene amount on a weekend at someone's Hamptons estate. I watched him write numbers with casual indifference and wondered what it was like to have that kind of wealth. To throw around money like it meant nothing.
"You're thinking too hard again," he murmured, catching my expression.
"I'm thinking about how different our worlds are. You're bidding twenty thousand dollars on a vacation rental like it's pocket change. I'm still paying off student loans."
"Not anymore. I paid those off." He said it casually. Like it was nothing.
I stared at him. "You what?"
"Your student loans. I paid them. All of them." He guided me away from the auction tables toward a quieter corner. "Along with the credit card debt and that speeding ticket from last year."
"Sandro—that's over a hundred and eighty thousand dollars. You can't just—"
"I can and I did. You were drowning in debt because your ex-husband left you with nothing and your firm doesn't pay youwhat you're worth." His hand cupped my face. "I take care of what's mine, Emilio. That includes making sure you're not kept up at night by financial stress."
"The FBI knows about those payments. Roberto told me they're planning to use it as evidence that you've compromised me."
"Let them try. I'm allowed to help someone I care about. There's nothing illegal about paying off debts." His thumb brushed my cheek. "Do you want me to stop? Taking care of you, I mean."
I should say yes. Should maintain some financial independence. Should refuse gifts that made me beholden to him.
"No," I said instead. "I don't want you to stop."
"Good. Because I wasn't planning to." He kissed me softly. "Now let's—"
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it and his expression shifted. Went carefully blank in a way that meant something was wrong.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Matteo. He says there's a situation I need to see." He pocketed the phone. "Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
