Hate Me Closer (Lust Disguises~Love Reveals #2)

1. Pietro

Pietro

The night air is scented with roses. The gardens of the Evarran palazzo are the most beautiful in all of Italy.

I lean against the balustrade, the stone still warm from the day, listening to the frogs sing.

Their voices rise like a lullaby written long before I was born—raw, rhythmic, strangely comforting.

I am just a man breathing beside the water—no spy, no soldier, no dead to weigh down my soul.

For a moment, I let myself believe this stillness could last.

I sip the flute of Dom Perignon—grab another when a tray passes.

I’ve been trussed up in a tux for twelve hours straight. I pulled double-duty. Best man. Chief of Special Ops. And yet I can’t tear myself away from the shadows of this gilded garden. Not because of duty.

Not even because Luca, the groom—His Royal Highness—tipped his head and said, “Stay close.”

Loyalty? On a good day, maybe.

Money? Not even for a day.

I own more ill-gotten money than I could spend in ten lifetimes, yet none of it has ever brought me the one thing I crave—the quiet certainty of love. I’ve buried that hunger beneath balance sheets and shadows, locked it deep in my chest, and pretend the hollow ache isn’t the truest thing about me.

The truest thing about me is my sins. No amount of money can ever pay for those.

My one good deed isn’t enough.

The Crown doles out a generous salary. It goes straight into some kids’ piggy banks in a piss-poor sorry attempt to sweep the streets of Venice clean of the urchins.

The same streets where I lived as one of the dirty many. The same streets where I fleshed out my one-word resume: Thug.

Besides, if I wasn’t doing this, what else would I do?

There’s only one reason I’m still here.

Valaria.

Armed with icy charm, her elite Serrano Signature PR agency turns scandals into power plays for the rich and ruthless.

Sharp-tongued. Impossibly elegant. The fin of a shark.

Undercover Carabinieri. And currently sauntering across the stone path like the world owes her an apology—and if it isn’t offered, she’ll demand it.

She’s wearing black, of course. Floor length satin like some kind of glamorous executioner. That dress hugs every curve like it’s jealous of the air. Her hair’s half up, half falling over one shoulder. She looks ready for war, yet I can’t stop watching her.

Hell. I need to stop watching her.

I shift my stance behind the marble column, still armed, still technically on the clock—but my thoughts? Hot-blooded. Undisciplined. Not regulation.

The moment she opens her mouth, I remember exactly why I can’t stand her. She could flay skin with her words alone. Her voice slices through the quiet like it’s hers to command. There’s a reason my special ops avoid her. But me. I’m not smart enough to keep my distance—not yet anyway.

I exhale through my nose. Remind myself—bark—don’t bite.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” I mutter, stepping out of the shadows. “It’s nearly midnight.”

She steps closer, slow and deliberate and meets my gaze like she’s daring me to say anything else. Moonlight turns her skin to silver. Her eyes glint, dark and knowing.

“I’m not alone. You’re here.”

That’s the problem.

Because when she’s close, my mind slips. My resolve shatters. I start wondering what that mouth would taste like if it wasn’t busy mocking me. I start thinking of dragging her into the hedges just to shut her up with my hands on her throat—gently, reverently, like a prayer I’ve never said.

Never dared touch her.

But God help me, I’ve imagined it.

Often.

Too often.

The worst part? She knows. She thrives on the power she holds over men. Men with scars despite discipline and steel-forged restraint.

“You always scowl,” she says, stepping closer. “Is that part of the job too?”

I clench my jaw. “It keeps people from doing something stupid.”

She arches one brow. “Like what?”

Like pressing you against the garden wall and wiping the smugness off your face with my tongue.

Valaria crosses her arms. “You really think flashing that smirk and flexing your biceps scares anyone? Careful, Pietro. That ego of yours might need its own security detail.”

“Go back inside, Valaria.”

She tilts her head, curious now. Dangerous. “Why? Do I make you nervous?”

No. You make me reckless. A bit of silver glints like a star between us. She’s too close for comfort--any closer, she’ll wreck me.

“Is your safety on?”

She exhales a quiet laugh without bothering to glance at the pistol butt inching its way up between her ample breasts.

She turns and walks off, hips swaying over stilettos like the devil dressed her himself. She doesn’t look back.

I watch her go.

And I know I’m in trouble.