Page 138 of Brutal Heir

My eyes widened. “Calm myself? Calm myself! Did you seriously just tell me to relax after heartlessly ambushing me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Dolcezza, don’t be dramatic.”

I twisted my torso but couldn’t break his grasp. “Don’t dolcezza me. If you don’t release me this instant, I’ll show you dramatic.”

Sebastian chuckled. “If you’re threatening to make a scene, may I remind you—you’re among Italians. Social drama is an art form. Half the guests won’t even notice. The other half won’t care.”

As he spoke, we spun closer to where my father stood.

Even without seeing him, I imagined I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head.

Had he recognized me?

According to my mother, he didn’t even know I existed.

Up until now, he hadn’t really existed for me either. He was on par with the boogeyman or the beast under my bed. I’d never even Googled him, afraid to put a face to the shadows.

Sebastian’s warm hand turned my face to him. “Eyes on me. Don’t even look at him.”

I blinked back tears. “Did you do this just to torture me?”

His thumb stroked my cheek but offered no comfort. “We run in the same upper circles. Meeting him was inevitable.”

I thinned my lips as I shook my head. “It was only inevitable if I came to Rome.”

As we made the final turn with the other dancers, I caught my father’s scowl again.

A chill ran down my spine.

Just then, another dancer collided with us, breaking Sebastian’s hold on me.

Hiking up the long skirt of my dress, I pushed through the crowd, but the wall of bodies didn’t budge. “Excuse me. Please, excuse me. Can you let me through? Please.”

No one moved.

And then…they all parted like the sea.

Without saying a word, Sebastian laid a heavy hand at the curve of my neck.

My shoulders slumped.

His hand constricted slightly as he leaned down. “If you wanted to stop dancing, dear, all you had to do was ask.”

Anger intensified his words, clipping them at the ends.

I flagged down a passing server and snatched a champagne flute off their tray. Not caring how it would annoy Sebastian, I tossed it back like it was my last drink before the gallows as he shepherded me through the crowd.

Then I heard it.

“Abriana?”

I jolted as if struck by lightning. Abriana. My mother’s name.

The elegant older woman placed her hand against her chest and laughed, speaking in rapid Italian.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t⁠—”

She waved me off. “So sorry. I was just laughing at myself for being so silly. For a moment, I thought I was looking at a ghost. You are the very image of an old friend of mine, Abriana Dolce Badalamenti. Are you perhaps related?”