6. BELLA
6
BELLA
T he evening was in full swing aboard The Blackwood Legacy . The yacht had been transformed into a floating spectacle of luxury and charm, transformed to dazzle the elite guests who were here for the yacht show.
The golden light highlighted the floral arrangements my team had spent the afternoon setting up—deep burgundy roses, creamy white lilies, and emerald-green leaves. Dim lanterns lined the railings, and the guests mingled underneath.
I glanced around, making sure everything ran smoothly so far.
The rest of my staff were all dressed in sharp uniforms that went with the yacht’s understated luxury. White shirts, black vests and pants for the men, black sheath dresses and modest black heels for the women.
I wasn’t dressed like the rest of them. I’d put on a dark green satin cocktail dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline that fell just above my knees. I’d put on nude strappy stiletto heels and my hair was loose and in waves down my back. Casual enough not to stand out too much, but not dressed in uniform so that I could keep an undercover eye on my staff.
The air was thick with the hum of conversation and the clink of crystal glasses. Guests were draped in designer gowns and sharp tuxedos, dripping with jewels that sparkled under the lights. Women’s laughter skipped across the water, punctuating the classical pieces played by the string quartet that played in one corner of the deck. It was the kind of event that made you feel like you’d stepped into a scene from an old Hollywood film—glamorous, exclusive, and loaded with wealth.
I moved through the crowd, making sure everything ran smoothly behind the scenes. The waitstaff circulated the deck with trays of champagne and canapés, making sure that the glasses never ran dry.
I glanced toward the oyster bar, checked in with the kitchen team, and made sure bartenders had custom cocktails mixed and ready to serve on demand.
The crowd was exclusive. All of them were influential people from all over the world, involved in luxury yachting, high finance, and international business. They were a mix of old money, self-made millionaires, and high-profile clients.
As I moved through the crowd, I recognized some of them.
Philippe Leclerc was a silver-haired French businessman with a distinguished air. He spoke with quiet authority and he’d been on yachts where I’d worked during past shows.
“I’m considering something more modern, more sustainable this time. My old vessels don’t quite keep up with today’s demands.”
His companion nodded, agreeing on the need for innovation. This yacht would be perfect for Leclerc.
Anna Rosetti, an Italian fashion designer in a vibrant orange silk gown animatedly chatted with a group of designers. “I just finished the interior on the new Capri Belle , all custom linens and hand-painted murals. Personal touches, that’s what the client wants. To feel unique, not just another owner.” I smiled. Anna was one of my favorites to run into. She was so over-the-top, but in with enough money, it was called eclectic and not just weird.
I caught a few whispers as I walked through the crowd, too.
“I heard Moretti’s making a play to buy out one of the smaller shipyards. He’s getting desperate, isn’t he?” someone said in a low voice.
“Desperate, or clever?” came the response. “He’s never out of moves.”
I caught sight of Chris. He was suave in his tailored black tuxedo, his presence commanding and effortless. I watched him move through the crowd, completely comfortable in his own skin, and his smile was dashing. He was the kind of man every woman swooned over, getting lost in those eyes.
I’d drowned in those eyes once, too.
He was in his element, charming the guests with his easy smile and confident body language, but his broad shoulders were tense. Those who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice it.
I knew him.
His eyes were sharper, more focused, as if he was constantly scanning the deck for threats.
A moment later, I spotted the man Chris’s attention was on.
He was a tall dark Italian man, handsome if it wasn’t for the way he looked out from underneath bushy eyebrows. His suit was expensive, his black hair slicked back, and his eyes missed nothing. He lounged at the other end of the deck. When his eyes fell on Chris, his face changed. It looked like that of a predator who’d spotted his next mark, and I shivered.
Chris didn’t look bothered by it, but that tension was still there.
He pushed away from the railing and stepped closer to Chris. He exuded a different kind of charm—more polished but calculating and hinted at secrets and danger. He smiled, but his eyes glinted, and it wasn’t in a heartwarming way.
I subtly shifted closer, pretending to inspect a tray of champagne flutes.
The tension between the two men was immediate, palpable, like two predators circling each other in the dark.
“Well, Chris,” the man said, his voice smooth and dripping with false warmth. “Another masterpiece. You always did know how to put on a good show.”
Chris’s smile was tight, his posture tense. “How did you get on the guest list, Eli?”
This had to be Eli Moretti I’d heard so much about.
“You know how this game works. You can’t win if you’re not a player.” Eli shrugged and pushed one hand into his pocket, holding onto a champagne flute with the other.
Chris looked at the crowd, a fake smile on his face. He spoke without looking at Eli. “We both know you’re not here for the view.”
Eli chuckled. “Oh, I’m here for a lot more than just the view. But you’ve outdone yourself. I almost believed you’ve got it all under control.”
Chris’s jaw tightened. “Almost?”
Eli leaned in slightly, his smile never faltering. They were both putting on a face for the crowd. What would they have done to each other if they were alone?
“Just a word of advice, Blackwood—sometimes the most beautiful things are the most fragile. One little push, and they shatter.”
Chris’s eyes flashed with anger, but he kept his voice calm, measured. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you. I hear your reputation isn’t what it used to be.”
This time it was Eli’s turn to clench his jaw and his smile slipped. “Clearly you don’t keep up with the news. I’ve been cleared, haven’t you heard?”
Chris was still smiling. “Careful, Eli. You’ve got a lot of people watching. One wrong move, and it won’t just be your yacht sinking.”
Eli’s smile turned cold, his eyes narrowing. “Threats don’t suit you, Chris. But I’m curious—are you really as confident as you seem, or is this just part of the act?”
Chris stepped closer, lowering his voice. “It’s not an act, Eli. I’ve been at this game a long time, and I’ve seen your kind come and go. You play dirty, but that only works until someone plays dirtier.”
There was a charged silence between them, thick with hostility. Eli eventually broke the tension with a soft laugh, tipping his glass in mock salute. “We’ll see who’s left standing when the dust settles. Good luck, Chris. You’re going to need it.”
Eli turned and walked away, leaving Chris simmering in his wake. I watched Chris, his posture rigid, his eyes following Eli with a mix of anger and something else—something that looked a lot like concern.
I had barely shaken off the tension from witnessing Chris and Eli’s confrontation when Eli found me. He approached from behind with a smooth, confident stride. If I hadn’t turned in time, he would have caught me off guard.
He had a looming presence, the kind that made people instinctively step aside. His smile was wide, charming, and just a little too perfect. His teeth were perfectly white. When his eyes met mine, I felt an odd chill despite the warmth of the evening.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he said, his voice dripping with warmth. “You must be new to the scene.”
“Not at all,” I said smoothly. “I’ve been here many times before.” As staff, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Pity we haven’t met before. I would have remembered you.” He looked me up and down, leaning back a little to do it without shame and it wasn’t a positive feeling. I wanted to shake it off. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen tonight. And on a yacht like this, that’s saying something.”
I forced a polite smile, though the compliment landed like a trap. “Thank you, Mr. Moretti. But I’m sure you say that to all the women.”
“Ah, so you know who I am.”
“It seems your reputation precedes you.”
His eyes flickered for just a moment. Uncertainty? How much did I know about whatever scandal was referred to? But he recovered quickly.
He chuckled, stepping closer, his gaze lingering on me in a way that was more unnerving than flattering. “I only say it to the women who deserve it. You know, you have a presence about you. Not many people can move through a room full of sharks and not get bitten. It’s impressive.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment or a warning?” I asked, keeping my tone light but my senses went on high alert.
“Both,” Eli replied, his eyes dancing with mischief. “You’ve got a rare quality, Miss…
“Rossi,” I said. “Isabella.” I didn’t even want him to call me by my usual nickname.
“Isabella—grace under pressure. It’s a trait I value highly.”
He was laying it on thick, and I knew it. But there was a part of me, the part still smarting from Chris’s earlier dismissal, that couldn’t help but be drawn to Eli’s attention. He had a way of making me feel seen, like I was the only person in the room worth noticing. But beneath that charm, there was something sharper—like a blade hidden behind silk.
I decided to test the waters, see just how much I could pry from him. If I could figure out what he was up to…
“You and Chris Blackwood seem to have quite the rivalry. I overheard some of your conversation. It sounded… intense.”
Eli’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes now—amusement, maybe, or calculation. His eyes showed more than his set-in-stone smile did. “Chris and I go way back. We’ve always had… differing views on how to do business. He likes to play by the rules, and I prefer to make my own.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said, playing along with his game. “How do you know what the rules are if you change them?”
“That’s how you win,” Eli said with a chuckle. “You make—and change—the rules as you go along.”
“And they say integrity’s dead,” I said sarcastically, but I kept my smile in place just as Eli did.
Eli leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant just for me. “Integrity’s nice, Isabella, but it doesn’t always pay the bills. Sometimes, you have to get your hands a little dirty to get ahead. Chris Blackwood might not admit it, but he knows that deep down.”
I arched an eyebrow, pretending to be intrigued rather than appalled. “And what about you? How far would you go to win?”
He smiled, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. He lifted his hand, tracing a finger down my arm, and I shivered. His touch was cold despite the warmth of his skin. “As far as I need to. And if that means making a few enemies along the way, so be it. But you’re not my enemy, Isabella. I could be a friend. Maybe even more.” He pushed my hair off my shoulder and goose bumps chased down my spine, the hair on my neck standing on end.
His words were smooth, but there was an edge to them that made me uncomfortable. He reached out, brushing a stray curl from my face in a gesture that was far too intimate for the setting. My instincts screamed at me to step back, but I held my ground, determined not to show any weakness. Eli looked like he preyed on weakness.
“You seem like the kind of woman who knows what she wants,” Eli continued, his voice oozing seduction. “And I’m the kind of man who knows how to give it. Think about it.”
There was something hypnotic about the way he spoke, the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he was eager to solve. But I wasn’t about to let him think he could charm me into anything. Not when every instinct told me he was trouble.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, my tone polite but firm. “But I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
He laughed softly, stepping back but not before letting his eyes linger on me one last time. “That’s what they all say. But you’re not like the others. I look forward to proving you wrong.”
As Eli sauntered away, I let out a breath, feeling unsteady. He was slick, seductive, and undeniably dangerous, and I knew he was playing at something far beyond flirtation. But I wanted to know what his angle was. Whatever Eli Moretti was up to, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Not if it meant hurting Chris.
Why do you care?
I knew why. I shut down the thought before I could think about it too much.