Chapter 10
BELLA
Everything has changed. And somehow, nothing has.
I'm handling it the way I handle everything, with an aggressive competency so that I don't have time to sink deeper into the realization of what just happened.
I scan the room and issue subtle orders to make sure that everyone is exactly where they’re supposed to be. When a caterer passes by with a tray of champagne flutes, I snag one.
Not because I want it but because it gives my hands something to do besides shake.
Because fifteen feet away, Slava is busy talking with Councilman Peters about promises of campaign donations. His performance is flawless, and I should know because I designed it.
His eyes shift my way and a knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, sending my heart skidding through my chest. I fight the urge to mouth “fuck you” to him before I turn away like his smile doesn’t bother me.
But it does. God help me, it fucking does. And after what happened in the confines of the SUV on our way here, I know that neither of us can ignore the unmistakable tension pulling tight between us.
Sooner or later, it’s going to snap, and I have no idea what happens when it does.
A ripple of commotion—whisper quiet at first—moves through the crowd. Heads begin turning. Conversations stop outright. Then, one by one, every person’s attention moves to the entrance where someone has just walked in.
I have no choice but to glance at Slava, and I see his hand gripping the glass in his hand so hard that it’s on the verge of shattering.
Like everyone else, he’s staring at the new, unexpected guest. And judging by his reaction, I know exactly who that guest must be.
Slowly, I follow the direction of the crowd and spot Nico D'Ambrosio walking into the fundraiser gala like he owns the place. Somehow, even flanked by three large dangerous looking men in suits, Nico manages to stand out.
I've only ever heard his voice.
Now, seeing him in person is disorienting.
He's handsome in a way that feels almost aggressive, made even more so by the scar running from his right ear down to his chin and the shit-eating grin.
His dark hair is swept back. His angular jaw is chiseled with just the slightest hint of scruff, and his amber eyes sweep the room with practiced assessment before landing on me like he knew exactly where to look.
There’s an arrogant swagger to the way he carries himself. The tailored black tuxedo fits him like a second skin, and instead of a pocket square, he’s chosen to decorate his lapel with a white peony.
Slava is at my elbow in an instant, and his fingers shackle my wrist in fire as he snarls. "What the fuck is he doing here? I thought you checked the guest list."
"I did. But he probably found out the same way anyone else does." I keep my own voice steady. "Monitoring political fundraisers isn't exactly sophisticated surveillance."
"I don't care how he found out." Slava's hand shackles around my wrist as he leans closer to my ear. “I want him gone. Now.”
I notice a few heads start turning our way, and more than a few eyebrows starting to raise.
Including Nico’s.
"Careful, Mr. Romanov," I whisper. "People are watching, and they might start getting the wrong ideas."
“I care about you getting the wrong ideas, Ms. Creminelli.” His hand tightens. “Go do your job as my PR agent and make this problem go away, before I do it my way and make your life a bigger hell than it already is.”
And then, as if to make his point clear, he looks around at his men. I follow his gaze, and see the various security guards shifting their postures and reaching their hands in their suit jackets.
"I'll take care of it."
Slava says nothing as he lets me go, and slowly, I walk towards Nico D’Ambrosio.
Nico’s grin widens when he sees me approach. Up close, he's even more irritatingly handsome. It’s the kind of handsome that knows it's handsome, and has been told so often that it’s become practically insufferable.
"Miss—" He deliberately drags out the word, waiting for me to choose which face to wear.
“Creminelli,” I tell him.
“Of course, how could I have possibly thought that it was anything else?” He bows mockingly. “What a wonderful event you’ve put together, Ms. Creminelli.”
"You need to leave." I cut right to the chase. "Whatever you're planning to do, you’re not going to fucking do it here."
"But I thought we wanted something to be done here." Nico's eyebrows rise in mock surprise. “In the middle of this fundraiser.” He gestures lazily at the press photographers circling the room. “In front of all these cameras."
"I told you that I’m concerned about collateral damage."
"And my men came with me through security like every other guest here. That is to say, unarmed."
He snaps his fingers and gestures at a caterer holding a tray of champagne. Once he plucks one off the plate, he takes a sip and watches me over the rim of his glass.
"I told you to trust me, and now I’m showing you that I’m a trustworthy man.”
Bullshit. If there’s one thing I learned in life, it’s that trustworthy people rarely have to tell you that they’re trustworthy.
“So you have,” I force politeness through my teeth. “And now you may leave.”
“I’m confused, Ms. Creminelli,” he says. “I thought you wanted my help in getting the world to see the real Slava Romanov by the people he chooses to be in bed with.”
“Bella Farnassi wanted your help,” I reply. “But unfortunately, Bella Creminelli has to do her job, and her job right now is getting you to leave.”
“Does it ever get confusing, Ms. Creminelli?” Amusement dances across Nico’s eyes. “Keeping track of where your loyalties lie?”
“I know exactly where my loyalties lie.”
“Do you? Because I’m starting to think that you want to be in bed with Slava Romanov.”
My breath stops in my chest at what he just said, and he smirks when he sees.
“I told you before, Ms. Creminelli, both of us are after the same thing.” He pauses. "I know what he did to your brother. But don’t you want to know what Slava did to my little sister Gia?"
I do. God help me, I do. But I don’t answer because I know the answer will make me feel guiltier than I already do about the feelings that I shouldn’t be having about him.
Nico takes my silence for agreement.
"He murdered her,” he whispers. “After he raped her.”
The revelation steals what little air remains from my lungs. I want to look back at Slava as if I can somehow find the truth on his face. But that’s when Nico reaches out to grab me by my chin to hold my gaze to him.
Where Slava’s touch sets my body on fire, I feel nothing but a dreadful ice snaking through my veins from Nico.
"If he could do that to a princess of the D’Ambrosio Family," Nico continues. “Just imagine what he might do to an ordinary girl like you when he finds out what you really are."
But he does know what I am, a little voice in my head snaps at him in silence. He knows and he hasn’t done a damn thing that might suggest he’s anything like the monster that you say he is.
As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find myself wondering just why the hell am I defending Slava fucking Romanov.
“If you want to hurt Slava for both our murdered siblings, you don’t kill his reputation.” His lips thin into a line. “You have to dig deep, find something precious to him, and bring it to me.”
"And what exactly am I looking for?"
"That's the problem. I don’t know what it is. I just know that it’s something he keeps very close to his heart." He shrugs. "And the only place he’ll keep it hidden is in his penthouse."
Dread curls in my stomach. I see where this is going before he says it.
"How am I supposed to get in?"
"You already know how, Ms. Creminelli." Nico doesn’t let me go as he gives me an up-and-down look, his eyes gleaming. “Spread those pretty long legs that Luca never told us about and get in bed with him."
My hand connects with his face before my brain can stop myself.
The slap is loud. Loud enough that heads turn nearby. Loud enough that I see Slava shifting in my peripheral vision as I make a spectacle of myself in the middle of the event I spent weeks organizing.
I don't care.
"Get the fuck out."
Nico touches his cheek, where a red mark is already blooming. But the part that scares me the most is the fact that there isn’t any anger in his eyes when he looks back at me.
Instead, he looks satisfied.
Like this is exactly what he wanted.