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“It wasn’t a request, Sabrina.” He shut the door on my objection.

I sat fuming for several minutes.

With trembling fingers, I opened my laptop and logged into my Instagram account.

I hesitated a moment, biting my lip as I found Mark Hanson, the photographer I'd worked with in Paris.

The same man Sebastian had threatened because he’d seen him casually put his arm over my shoulders on the day we'd first met.

I shouldn’t.

It was a mistake.

And yet Mark was one of the best fashion photographers out there.

If I could convince him to come to Rome for the shoot, I could show the Diamanti team that I had connections. That I deserved to be here.

And more importantly, Mark was a friend and ally.

I could use more people on my side.

Still, it would be declaring outright war on Sebastian.

He would be incandescent with jealous rage.

This was stupid. And dangerous.

And exactly what I needed to feel like myself again.

Steeling myself, I typed in Mark's DMs:

Hey, Mark. Fancy a trip to Italy?

Send.

The moment my finger lifted from the screen, Sebastian's face flashed through my mind. That cold, predatory stillness right before he'd vaulted over my desk. The way his hand had closed around Adrian's throat like it was nothing.

My rebellion wilted.

I pressed and held the message, searching frantically for the option to unsend.

It wasn't there.

That was when I noticed the status had already changed from Delivered to Read.

Shit.

Three dots appeared. Mark was typing.

There was no backing out now.

CHAPTER 11

SEBASTIAN

Rafaello strolled into the walled courtyard with the relaxed swagger of a man about to deliver a warning cloaked in charm.

I knew that smile.