Chapter 11
Bianca Ferrucci
The party was a spectacle of luxury unlike anything I had ever seen before. The floral arrangements looked like living works of art, and the women, oh, the women were flawless, wearing dresses that looked more like museum pieces.
I tried to keep a low profile, avoiding attention, but it wasn’t easy.
My pink dress, though beautiful, seemed far too modest compared to the luxurious fabrics and gemstones draped around the other guests’ necks.
Even so, I knew Rosa and the others from the kitchen had done everything they could, so I kept my head held high, even as I heard whispers around me.
I slowly walked over to a nearby table, pretending to study the appetizers, when a young man approached. He didn’t seem any older than me, maybe we were the same age. He had light-colored eyes and an easy smile, the kind that made people feel comfortable.
“Hi,” he said, holding a glass of champagne. “I thought I could use some company.”
I looked at him, surprised by the approach.
“Thank you,” I replied, trying to sound polite.
“I’m Lorenzo,” he continued, holding out his hand. “My father owns a few factories here in the North. And you?”
“Bianca,” I said, briefly shaking his hand. “My father works in accounting.”
Lorenzo laughed, leaning a little closer.
“Looks like we’re in the same boat, Bianca. I feel a little out of place here too.”
I couldn’t help smiling. He seemed like a good person, and that made me lower my guard. We kept talking for a few minutes, and he suggested we go out to the garden to escape the stuffy atmosphere inside.
The garden was just as impressive as the ballroom, with perfectly trimmed shrubs, stone pathways illuminated by lanterns, and a fountain that looked as if it had come straight out of a fairy tale.
We walked side by side, and Lorenzo was kind, asking questions about my life, my family, as if he genuinely cared.
I was starting to relax when I heard voices nearby.
“Look at her dress. It looks like it came from some cheap thrift store.”
The comment was followed by muffled laughter. My face heated, but I pretended not to hear. Lorenzo noticed my expression and tried to change the subject. I shouldn’t have come.
As we walked, I felt a pair of eyes watching me. I glanced over my shoulder and, for one brief moment, met Tiziano’s gaze. He was leaning against one of the veranda columns, holding what looked like a glass of whiskey, his eyes fixed on us.
I turned my attention back to Lorenzo, but I knew Tiziano was still watching me.
“Are you okay?” Lorenzo asked, noticing my distraction.
“Yes,” I lied, forcing a smile.
Our conversation was interrupted when an older man, clearly Lorenzo’s father, appeared. He carried himself with authority, and impatience showed in his expression.
“Lorenzo, why are you here?” he said, completely ignoring my presence. “There are so many girls from important families, and you’re wasting your time.”
The comment felt like a slap across the face, but I didn’t react.
Lorenzo, however, looked uncomfortable.
“Dad, we were just talking.”
“Talking?” The man laughed sarcastically. “Go do something useful.”
Without another word, he turned his back and returned to the ballroom. Lorenzo looked at me awkwardly.
“I’m sorry about that, Bianca.”
I shook my head, trying to hide my discomfort.
“It’s okay. I think he’s right. I shouldn’t be here.”
“Don’t say that,” Lorenzo insisted, but I only smiled and walked away.
As I made my way back toward the ballroom, a laugh escaped my lips, a mixture of frustration and amusement. The situation was so absurd it was almost ridiculous. Did I really have to be humiliated even outside my own home?
When I stepped back inside, I cast one last glance toward the veranda.
Tiziano was still there, and for a moment, I had the impression he had noticed my laugh.
I didn’t know what he was thinking, but that look, intense and filled with something I couldn’t identify, stayed with me for the rest of the night.
The discomfort seemed to grow with every passing second. The dress, as beautiful as it seemed to me, felt suffocating, and my shoes squeezed my toes as if they were instruments of torture. Walking had become painful, but I needed to stay composed, or at least look like I was.
I took advantage of a moment when the ballroom was more crowded to slip away into a quieter area. The Constanzo mansion was enormous, with wide hallways decorated with works of art that looked more like museum pieces. My curiosity overcame my exhaustion, and I began exploring the place.
I passed tall doors, trying to imagine what might be behind each one. At one of them, more discreet than the others, I leaned against it to rest, but the moment I did, the door gave way and swung open with a creak.
I lost my balance and fell into the room, striking my knees against the floor.
When I looked up, my breath caught. The room was filled with armed men, all of them wearing hard expressions and impassive stares. They were gathered around a table, maps spread across it and weapons casually laid out.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of one of the men clearing his throat before bursting into laughter.
“Well, look who decided to pay us a visit!” one of them joked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Another leaned against the table, smiling maliciously.
“Get lost at the party, doll? This isn’t a place for a lady.”
My face burned, and I quickly got to my feet, trying to avoid the invasive stares following me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was…”
“The Don’s room?” the first man interrupted with a mocking smile. “Well, now you know.”
I wanted to disappear, but my rush to get out only made things worse. When I turned around, I crashed straight into something solid. Or rather, someone solid.
I slowly lifted my eyes and met Tiziano’s gaze. He stood in the doorway, his expression hard, his blue eyes looking irritated.
“And what do we have here?” he asked, his voice low and filled with authority.
“I got lost,” I stammered, feeling my face grow even hotter.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the men in the room, who fell silent at once. Then his eyes returned to me, studying me from head to toe as if he were trying to understand how I had ended up there.
“Lost or curious?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“Lost!” I answered quickly, but my voice came out so loud that even I startled myself.
The men let out a few muffled laughs, but stopped the instant Tiziano gave them a cold look.
“Quiet. Now.”
It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
“It was an accident!” I shot back, though the uncertainty in my voice probably didn’t help much.
He took a step back, giving me room, but his eyes remained fixed on me, analyzing every movement.
I couldn’t help lowering my gaze and biting my lip. Without another word, I turned and left, my shoes still squeezing my feet with every step.
But as I walked back toward the ballroom, I could still feel Tiziano’s gaze burning into my back.