Page 23 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

Why does anger look so damn good on him? Why does violence pour off him like a cologne I want to bottle and spray onto my own skin?

But still, I’m concerned about lawsuits, my brand reputation, business relationships, and contracts.

I move closer to him. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but you can’t just punch people in the face. It’s bad for business.”

His jaw ticks, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Your business isn’t my job. Your safety is.”

“Fuck that. You could have gotten me sued. I could lose this engagement,” I whisper urgently.

“Those are easier problems.” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice. “A broken jaw is a lesson he won’t forget,” he growls, glancing at a groaning Louis.

I should be mad, but all I can think about is how possessive his voice sounds. How primal. How it hits the exact nerve I’ve been denying since the moment he walked into my life to ruin my peace. What is wrong with me?

Louis sputters, “Son of a bitch! I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

Adrian steps forward again, and the terror on the photographer’s face says enough. Two of the lighting techs quickly grab Louis and drag him back, insisting they’ll get him checked by the in-house medic.

No one dares blame Adrian. No one dares approach him.

Even Maya, the darling of six million followers, steps back behind her makeup artist.

The studio holds its breath. And so do I.

Adrian turns away without another word, fists still clenched, as if trying to stop himself from finishing what he started. When his eyes meet mine again, something in his expression flickers. Some mix of anger and restraint, then he looks away.

The director clears his throat and announces a short break, and someone whispers that a new photographer is on the way. People scatter fast, clearly grateful for the distance between them and this uncontrollable beast.

I swallow hard.

My heart is still pounding, and my thighs squeeze together involuntarily. Damn him. Damn the way he affects me without even trying.

I walk toward him slowly, my silk robe brushing against my legs, heels tapping against the marble floor. He’s by the large window now, staring at the city below like he’s trying to calm himself with the sight.

“Adrian,” I say quietly. “Y—”

“We’re done here.” He balls his fists and walks to a distant corner of the room, eyes sharp like a hawk’s.

And somehow I want to go after him. Ask why he did that, ask if he felt something, anything… But I know better. His walls are built high, impenetrable, and reinforced with barbed wire and bad memories.

I know because I’ve seen firsthand what it means to be in the mafia—worse, to be a man in the mafia.

***

Two hours later, after the replacement photographer finishes the remaining shots and Maya posts a behind-the-scenes reel that instantly hits fifty thousand likes, I finally collapse into the back seat of the SUV.

My body aches from holding poses all day. My mind buzzes with adrenaline and questions I can’t ask. Adrian sits in the front passenger seat, stiff and silent, staring ahead as if the city traffic had personally offended him.

I should feel angry, embarrassed… anything other than this maddening heat still coiling inside me. Since he won’t talk to me, and Annora is holed up in some bizarre master class, I unlock my phone and text Bella.

My twin sister and I have come a long way. We went from being pitted against each other by our father and stepmother, to Bella holding grudges against me, to her finally forgiving me, and now to us trying to fix our relationship.

I'm trying to make up for the years I was forced to stay silent or even actively participate in the injustice against her. To make up for the years where she was treated like shit, all because of her hair color or glasses or some other shitty perceived flaw. I still feel bad about those years. Heck, I found it difficult to forgive myself for the longest time, until I realized if I ever had a chance to truly fix things between us, I’d have to forgive myself first.

ME: Hey, sister girl. How’re you doing?

Tiny bubbles appear on the screen, showing she’s typing back. Excitement swells in my chest, pushing away the momentary feeling of emptiness.

She replies instantly.