Chapter 2 #2
The question feels dangerous. I push it away.
"So." Amanda stretches out the word, her eyes getting that scheming glint I know too well. "Are we going to talk about the fact that we got moved to VIP for literally no reason?"
"Maybe they liked your dress."
"V, they gave us complimentary Dom Pérignon. Nobody does that unless someone is trying to impress someone." She wiggles her eyebrows. "And since I'm basically a nobody, that means someone is trying to impress you."
My stomach does something complicated. "You're being dramatic."
"I'm being observant." She leans closer, dropping her voice even though nobody can hear us over the music.
I scan the crowd below, suddenly hyperaware. Is someone watching? The back of my neck prickles. Probably nothing. Probably just paranoia and champagne.
But the feeling won't go away.
"I need to pee," Amanda announces, already sliding out of the booth. "Guard my spot."
She's gone before I can respond, weaving toward the bathroom with the confidence of someone who's never had to check exits or watch for threats.
Must be nice.
Elio's gaze follows her like a compass needle finding true north. Then he glances at me, something apologetic in his expression.
"Go," I tell him. "I'm not going anywhere."
He hesitates. His job is to watch me, not trail after my friend like a lovesick puppy.
"Elio." I soften my voice. "I'll be right here. Two minutes."
He nods once, sharp, and follows Amanda into the crowd.
And just like that, I'm alone.
The solitude lasts approximately forty-five seconds.
"Hey."
I look up to find a guy sliding into Amanda's empty spot. Young. Maybe twenty-two. Expensive watch, cheap cologne, the kind of confidence that comes from never being told no.
"I'm Ben." He flashes what he probably thinks is a charming smile. "I spotted you earlier. Couldn't stop staring."
"Vittoria." I keep my voice polite but flat. No warmth. No invitation.
He doesn't notice. Of course he doesn't.
"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman." He scoots closer, and I catch the sharp bite of vodka on his breath. "You here alone?"
"No."
"Could've fooled me." His gaze drops to my legs, lingering in a way that makes my skin crawl. "That dress is insane. You must work out."
Jesus Christ.
I shift away, putting distance between us. "My friend will be back any second."
"Then I better work fast." He laughs at his own joke. His hand lands on my thigh, fingers pressing into bare skin.
Everything in me goes cold.
"Remove your hand," I say quietly. "Now."
"Come on, don't be like that—"
The click of a gun safety cuts him off mid-sentence.
Ben freezes. His face drains of color as cold metal presses against his temple.
"If I wasn't thinking about your father right now," a deep voice says from behind him, accent curling around the words like smoke, "you'd be leaving here with no fingers for daring to put your hands on her."
What the fuck?
Ben's hand disappears from my leg so fast you'd think I was made of fire. He stumbles out of the booth, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"I didn't—I wasn't—"
"Leave."
One word. That's all it takes. Ben practically runs, disappearing into the crowd like his life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
I stand slowly, as I finally face my... rescuer? Attacker? I don't know what to call him.
Tall. Dark hair pushed back from a face all sharp angles and devastating symmetry. Eyes like ice chips, pale and piercing, tracking my every movement with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
Something about him tugs at my memory. The set of his jaw. The way he holds himself like the room belongs to him.
Where have I seen him before?
"What the hell was that?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
He tucks the gun away and has the audacity to smile. "You're welcome."
"I didn't thank you."
"You should." He steps closer, and I catch his scent. Expensive. Leather and something darker underneath. "That boy was about to make a very stupid mistake."
"I had it handled."
"Did you?" One eyebrow lifts. "Because it looked like you were about to cause a scene that would've had your family asking questions."
Your family.
Before I can respond, Amanda appears at the edge of the booth, Elio right behind her. But another man blocks Elio's path.
Elio reaches for his weapon.
"I wouldn't." He doesn't even look at Elio, keeping those pale eyes fixed on me. "Miss Sartori is in perfectly good hands. Stand down."
"Like hell—"
"Or." The stranger tilts his head. "I could inform the Sartori family that their guard left their precious sister unattended. That a man approached her without permission while he was too busy following the blonde."
Elio's face goes white.
Fuck.
Amanda looks between all of us, confusion and alarm warring on her features. "V? What's going on?"
"Nothing." I force the word out. "Just... give me a minute."
"But—"
"Amanda." I meet her eyes. "Please."
She hesitates, then nods slowly. Her gaze lingers on the stranger with something between fear and fascination before she lets Elio guide her back toward the bar.
The stranger watches them go, then turns that devastating attention back to me. "Smart friends."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who'd like to have a drink with you." He gestures toward a door I hadn't noticed before—hidden behind the VIP section, guarded by another mountain of a man. "I have a private room upstairs. Quieter."
Every survival instinct I possess screams at me to walk away. This man knows who I am. Knows my family.
Red flags. So many red flags.
But the way he's looking at me...
Heat curls low in my belly. Dangerous and delicious.
Two years, something whispers. Two years of nothing.
"One drink," I hear myself say.
His smile sharpens. Victorious. "After you."
I follow him toward the hidden door, pulse thrumming with something that feels terrifyingly like anticipation. His hand brushes the small of my back—barely a touch, but it burns through the thin fabric of my dress.
This is such a bad idea.