And then I feel a pull, I spin and I’m face to face with him.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
Our masks hide everything but the eyes. And his, his are dark fire.
He doesn’t ask. He just extends his hand. I hesitate, looking around to make sure there are no eyes on us.
I go to place my hand in his, but then I feel the thunder beneath the marble. A warning. We can’t. Not here. Not in front of all of them. Not with our families in every shadow.
We’re enemies.
And a dance would be a declaration.
So, I don’t take his hand. Instead, I step closer. Close enough to feel the heat of him. Close enough for my breath to catch against his mask.
He leans in, a whisper against my ear. “I’ll take what I want. I’ll take what I’m craving.”
And then he’s gone. Swallowed by silk and smoke and strings. My chest heaves, but I stay still. If I move, I’ll follow.
Chapter 8
Matteo
She enters like sin in silk. The red dress hugs her skin, every step a challenge. The gown marks her as forbidden and wanted at once. Hunger passes through other people’s eyes, the same hunger I feel. Her ivory-and-gold mask only sharpens it. She looks like a myth and a weapon braided together.
My mouth goes dry. She doesn't glance my way, but she knows I’m here. I can’t stop watching.
She laughs, she drinks, she smiles with that mouth I’ve kissed and dreamed of. I feel rage. The kind which is burning slowly. The kind that screams to tear her out of this room and pin her somewhere dark where no one can see the way I want her.
I turn fast and stalk into the hall. “Whoa, here we go,” Marco says, pushing off the wall as Milo joins him. “He’s storm-walking. You see that twitch in his jaw, classic.”
“Shut up,” I grunt, pacing the marble.
“Let me guess,” Milo smirks, following. “It’s the red dress or the way she walked in like she was about to own your soul.”
Marco leans against a column. “I mean, if I were engaged to a man twice my age and I looked like that, I’d come to the ball looking for war too.”
“Or a good fuck,” Milo says, chuckling. “She looks like she wants both.”
“Maybe she wants revenge,” Marco adds.
“Maybe she wants Matteo’s hands on her throat again,” Milo teases.
I flip them both off and roll my shoulders, because the fucking rage moving through my body is crazy.
“Just fuck her,” Marco deadpans. “Get it out of your system. You’ll feel better.”
“Yeah.” Milo grins. “Fuck the enemy. It’s every mafia fantasy, danger, lust, and trouble.”
“Sounds like our family dinners.” Marco shrugs.
I can’t help it, I laugh, low and dry. They’re right. But they’re also wrong. Because I don’t think one night will be enough. This thing I feel, it’s not just sex. It’s fire and fury and something darker.
“Holy shit,” Marco says, squinting. “You’re serious. You’re actually caught up on her.”
I don’t answer. That is enough.
