Dimitri. Rose’s brother-in-law. Which meant Valentin’s brother. Which meant?—
Shitshitshitshit.
Dimitri worked for Angelo Santi. The vampire mafia king. The most dangerous man in New Orleans.
What the hell did Angelo want with Rocco?
“Hello, Selena.”
I nearly dropped my phone.
My head snapped up, and the world tilted sideways.
Rocco Palazzo stood in front of me.
Not the Rocco I’d been tracking for two years—the hollow-eyed, grease-stained ghost working minimum wage jobs in the French Quarter. This Rocco wore a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been tailored yesterday. His long dark hair was pulled back into a man bun, showing off the sharp lines of his jaw. He looked... good. Healthy. Like the prince he used to be.
And his eyes—those dark eyes I’d tried so hard to forget—watched me with a flicker of amusement.
My skin flushed. My breath caught. Every nerve ending in my body lit up like I'd been struck by lightning. Two years of burying these feelings, and one look from him brought them all crashing back.
No. Absolutely not.
“Rocco.” His name came out strangled, caught somewhere between my chest and my throat like it didn’t want to leave. Icleared my throat, forced my voice steady, even though my pulse had kicked into a sprint. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, casual as anything, like he hadn’t just appeared out of thin air in the last place I’d ever expected to see him. Hands in his pockets. Head tilted slightly. That effortless confidence that used to make my knees weak.
“Looking for you.”
Butterflies crashed against my ribs. I crushed that feeling down with both hands and buried it somewhere deep.
He gave me a smile—the one that used to melt my heart. The one I’d replayed a thousand times in the dark, tracing every detail of it from memory like some lovesick fool. The one I’d dreamed about for years before I learned how little I meant to him.
It wasn’t going to work this time.
“I need a date for Julienne’s Birthday Party.”
I stared at him. Waited for the punchline. When it didn’t come, I cocked my eyebrow. “You want to go with me?”
His smile faded. The charm drained out of his face like someone had pulled a plug, and for a moment the mask slipped—I saw exhaustion underneath. Shame. The kind of shame that lived in a man’s bones and ate at him from the inside out. “After what I did with my mom, I’m not on the top of everyone’s dance list anymore.”
There it was. The truth hiding beneath the swagger. Prince Rocco, who once had every woman in the kingdom falling at his feet, was standing in front of me because no one else would say yes.
I remembered. God, I remembered. I’d been there that day—had watched his fist connect with his mother’s face, watched her crumple, watched him keep hitting her while something dark and wrong looked through his eyes. The sounds she’d made. The blood on the marble floor.
He’d been possessed. It wasn’t him. Not really.
His mother had forgiven him. But Rocco hadn’t forgiven himself. He’d walked away from everything—his title, his family, his life—and disappeared into the human world like he was punishing himself for something he couldn’t control.
And still—after everything—he wouldn't talk to me. Wouldn't look at me. Wouldn't acknowledge what was between us. But now he wanted me at his side for the event of the year?
I should have felt satisfaction. Some petty, justified part of me wanted to. He’d ignored me for years. Treated me like I was invisible while I’d burned for him in silence. And now here he was, because he’d run out of options.
But satisfaction wasn’t what I felt. What I felt, looking at the shadows carved beneath his eyes and the way his shoulders curled inward like he was bracing for rejection, was something worse.
I felt sorry for him. And I hated myself for it.
“So I’m your last resort.” I gave him a smirk, trying to hide the hurt building inside me. “That’s your pitch.”
