“Ciro,” he said, calm and lethal, “leave.”
There was no hesitation.
Ciro dipped his head—brief, respectful—and turned on his heel.
His footsteps were quiet as he walked away, the soft sound of his shoes fading down the corridor until it was gone.
Silence rushed in to replace him.
Vincenzo removed Violet’s hand from his, despite her surprise and hesitation.
His tone was flat, but edged with something barely contained.
“Renzo will escort you home.”
Then he left her there, his attention snapping toward me.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body press against mine, suffocating, demanding.
“Step inside.”
My heart slammed against my ribs, a single, urgent thud.
I froze.
“Elena.” His voice dropped, low and lethal, every word dripping with danger and control.
“Inside. Now.”
The command hit harder than volume ever could.
Defiance ignited in my chest, sharp and burning.
I wanted to snap back, to tell him he had no right to order me.
Wanted to remind him he had just spent that grand “happy” dinner with Violet—why wasn’t he escorting her home?
Why was he here, standing over me, angry that another man saw me dressed like this?
I wanted to say it all.
Every word of outrage. Every spark of pain at watching him give Violet everything I would never have.
I wanted to scream, to spill it all, to let him see exactly what he’d done to me.
I couldn’t hide it anymore—but I didn’t.
Instead, my jaw tightened, my fists clenched at my sides, and I let the silence carry the defiance he couldn’t touch.
I held his gaze, letting the weight of it press into me, heartbeat matching heartbeat.
Three long, heavy beats.
Too long.
Then—
I turned.
