Page 131 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

The doorman greets us as we step inside, the noise from outside cutting off behind us. The lobby is as polished as I remember from last Sunday. When Michael told me the event was being held at his hotel, I asked if his company ran the charity. It seemed like the obvious connection.

He told me no. He likes supporting it. He loves the arts, and he knows the founders well.

As he moves through the space, people notice. It happens in pieces—heads turning, conversations dropping low enough that I can feel the shift, but it builds fast, until it’s constant. At first, it’s all on him. Then it isn’t. Their attention moves over to me, taking me in, and that makes me suddenly aware of every inch of myself walking next to him. He doesn’t acknowledge any of it. His hand stays at my arm, his focus forward.

We stop at the elevator, where a few other people are already waiting, all of them dressed for the event.

“Michael Amato,” an older man says, reaching out to shake his hand. “È bello vederti.”

Michael smiles easily as he takes it. “Ah, Victor. Sì, sì. Anche tu.”

I blink once. I understood none of that. Not a single word. I still smile, because apparently that’s what I do now—stand next to Michael and pretend I know what the hell’s happening.

The woman beside him looks at me, so I smile. She doesn’t. Awesome.

“Victor. Silvia,” Michael says. “This is my girlfriend, Katie.”

Silvia reacts first. Her eyes widen. Her expression shifts before she can hide it. Victor follows a second later, a smile stretching across his face.

“Girlfriend?” he asks. “Weren’t you engaged to that Messina girl?”

Michael laughs. “Things change.”

“Well, young lady,” he says, addressing me. “If Michael Amato shows up to an event like this with a woman wrapped around his arm the way you are, people will know.”

I shake my head. “Know what?”

“That you belong to him.”

His smile shifts into something that makes my stomach turn slightly.

“And no one messes with what belongs to Michael Amato.”

I almost laugh it off, but when I look up at Michael, his jaw is tight, his eyes dark. The elevator doors open, and I’ve never been more grateful in my life.

Chapter 46

Michael

We step off the elevator, and Katie grabs my arm, pulling me off to the side while the rest of the group keeps moving toward the ballroom.

“What the hell was that?” she asks, planting her hands on her hips.

I lift a brow.

“Don’t do that,” she snaps. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Her voice drops, mocking. “You belong to him. And no one messes with what belongs to Michael Amato.”

It hits me wrong in the best way, and I laugh.

“Stop laughing.” She punches me in the arm.

The hallway goes quiet. People stare at her first—a woman a foot shorter than me, barely reaching my shoulder, standing there like she has every right. Their attention shifts to me next, and they look afraid. They know I run this city. They know what happens to people who cross me, and they just watched her hit me.

I laugh again.

“Jackass,” she says.

She crosses her arms, glaring up at me.