Chapter 7

The news cycle had already devoured me whole. The rumor wasn't news anymore. It was gospel.

A week had passed since the engagement headlines took over the city, and still the world couldn't stop talking about us.

Every time I stepped outside, flashes greeted me. Reporters called my name like I was something glittering and fragile they wanted to touch.

“The Mafia Heiress that stole the devil's heart. Power couple or calculated alliance?”

I read one of the tabloids over my morning espresso. My own photograph stared back at me. It was the red dress from the charity fundraiser and the diamond ring Dante chose glinted on my finger.

A laugh caught in my throat. It was brittle and humorless.

Every headline fed on another, and every whisper tightened the cage.

************

The penthouse had turned into a gilded cage. Security guards trailed me even to the balcony, the maids whispered my name when they thought I wasn't listening. And Dante…..Dante was colder than ever. He was composed, calculated and completely unreadable.

I found him in his office. The city was bleeding gold through the glass behind him. He was standing by the desk with his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up and his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low. It was the kind that made every word sound like a promise and a threat all at once.

“Yes”, he said into the receiver, tone clipped. “Double the security. And tell them no press within a hundred feet of the building. My fiancée's safety comes first.”

The word “fiancée” landed like a blow.

He hung up. His eyes flickered to me. “You're up early.”

“I couldn't sleep.” I folded my arms and leaned against the doorframe with thr newspaper in my hand. “You sound so convincing when you say it. My fiancée. It almost makes me forget that it's a lie.”

Hisgaze sharpened. “It's not a lie if everyone believes it.”

My laugh was soft and bitter. “You really think the truth doesn't matter?”

“I think perception is power.” He replied and stepped closer. “And right now, ours keeps you alive.”

“You shouldn't be reading those.” He said as he looked away.

I arched my brow. “Because they lie?”

“Because they're predictable.” His voice was steady and measured. “They worship what they don't understand.”

“And what do you understand, Dante?” I asked. “Because I don't recognize myself in any of this.”

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You’re safer when they see you as mine. It keeps the wolves guessing.”

His proximity stole my breath. That quiet, dangerous gravity he carried like a second skin. I wanted to fight it but I was tired.I was tired of pretending that my pulse raced every time he looked at me like this.

“I didn't ask you to protect me,” I said quietly.

“No,” he murmured. “But you're under my name now and that makes it my responsibility.”

My stomach flipped. I opened my mouth to argue but he had already turned away–slipping that mask back on. His voice was steady again, all business.

“We have a gala tonight,” he said. “Be ready by nine.”

I watched his back as he walked out. The expresso cooled between my fingers, bitter and untouched. I told myself I hated him for deciding my every move. But my heart raced all the same.

*************

“The gala?” I repeated, incredulous. “You can't be serious.”

He stood near the window. The late afternoon light cut across his jaw. “Deadly serious. It's a charity event for the Valerio Foundation. The press will be there as well as investors. A perfect stage.”

“For what?” I snapped. “Another performance?”

“For making our engagement look real.” He looked over his shoulder. That infuriating calm back in place. “You wanted this arrangement, remember?”

“I wanted safety,” I retorted. “Not to be paraded around like your prize.”

He turned fully now, closing the distance until I had to tilt my chin to meet his gaze. “Then stop playing victim, and play the role you agreed to.”

My breath stuttered. There was steel in his tone, but something else too—heat, quiet and deliberate, running through every word. His nearness unsettled me more than his threats ever could.

I wanted to slap him.

I wanted to kiss him.

And that was the problem.

“Fine,” I said through my teeth. “But if we're doing this, we'll do it my way.”

His mouth curved faintly. “By all means, cara mia. Surprise me.”

**************

By the time the evening arrived, I was still furious—at the headlines, at his indifference, at myself for caring.

When I started to descend the staircase, he was waiting in the foyer. His tuxedo was perfectly pressed and the cuffs glinted under the chandelier.

His eyes darkened when he saw me. I wore a gown of deep crimson silk with a living flame in the sea of diamonds. Every turn of my body caught the light. It was fitting and daring. It was the kind of dress that turned silence into attention.

“You're late,” he said.

“You didn't specify if that mattered,” I replied, pausing on the last step.

His mouth curved—not a smile, more a warning. “You look like a challenge.”

“And you look like a man who hates being challenged.”

He offered his arm. “Good. Then we understand each other.”

I ignored it and walked past him toward the waiting car. He followed. His voice was quiet but firm. “Remember the cameras. You'll smile when they look.”

“I'll smile when I feel like it.”

“You'll smile,” he repeated, “because we need them to believe the lie.”

I stopped and turned. “And what if I don't know where the lie ends anymore?”

He studied me for a long moment, then opened the car door without answering. His control was infuriating and magnetic. The way he commanded a room, a conversation and even my own breathing was pulling me toward danger.

*************

The gala glittered like something out of a dream.

The Imperial Hall glowed like a palace of glass and light.

Every powerful name in the city was here. Politicians, heirs and enemies disguised as friends.

As we entered, all eyes turned to us as a ripple passed through the crowd.

Music hummed beneath the chandeliers, and the rich of the city glided across the marble floors,which were perfumed and polished for the night's spectacle.

I felt his hand settle in the small of my back. It was possessive, protective and steady.

“Smile,” he murmured. His voice brushed my ear. I did and it was flawless.

The cameras exploded in flashes as questions spilled from every side.

“Is the wedding this fall?”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“Does your father approve?”

Dante shielded me from all the chaos with a slight shift of his body, his expression unreadable. When he finally leaned close enough for only me to hear, his words were a low hum. “Breathe. They're feeding. Don't give them.”

I nodded once, steadying myself. My training in diplomacy and charm returned–the mack slided into place as easily as his. We glided through the crowd like royalty made of ice and sin.

**************

Then came a slow haunting waltz from the orchestra — strings that curled like smoke in the air. Dante offered me a straight face.

“May I?” he asked.

“You don’t look like the dancing type.”

“I’m not.” A faint smile crossed his mouth.

“But tonight I’ll fake it.” I took his hand, but there was a jolt in my spine. He led me to the floor.

The crowd parted and he pulled me in close. His hand rested on my back. It was strong, warm enough through my thin silk. My skin tingled. His scent — clean, cologne and danger — surrounded me until the rest of the room faded.

But to those who watched, we were grace. We were perfect, collected and on board. However, beneath all that radiance was something much darker.

"You are staring," I murmured.

“Observing.”

“That’s not how it feels.” His thumb followed a slow arc across my spine.

“And what does it feel like?”

“Like you’re about to destroy something.”

“Maybe I am.”

The dance drew us closer till my breath merged with his. Outwardly we were perfect. We were a perfect pair, the pair in candlelight.

Underneath all of this, the tension hummed like an exposed wire. His fingers went along my back. It was a deliberate test.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Isidora.” My lips barely moved.

“So are you.” I smirked.

The curve of his mouth skimmed my ear. “The only difference is I never lose.”

I experienced it — the struggle and the risk. My heart faltered while syncing with the music. His touch was infuriating and his breath was intoxicating — leather, smoke and something overly warm. I inhaled sharply.

I flickered and closed my eyes for a heartbeat. The world shrank to rhythm, heat and the dangerous crushing presence of his hand.

I clung to his shoulder for balance, but his hand steadied my waist and supported me. Our bodies leaned forward and his breath blurred on my jaw.

Only I could hear him. "I told you, Bella, this was never just an act." I lifted my eyes.

"Then what?" I looked up, and saw him. "What is this?" He didn't react. He just stared at me like he was trying to memorize me.

The room turned around us; the room spun; the crowd looked on befuddled and mesmerized—noticing the silent storm that unfurled here, not paying attention to the silent storm unweighed through, waiting in between us. It grew clear the audience was enchanted and watching.

The last notes of the waltz swelled. He whipped me around once, pulled me back in, palms drawn across the small of my back.

We paused for one heartbeat that had gone suspended — so close that our lips barely touched. The cameras went wild. And then it was over.

There was an applause in the hall as it snapped the spell. Dante let me go slowly, fingers lingered just a second too long.

***********

The crowd turned to champagne and gossip. The air was cool later at night, like that which carries the scent of rain and roses. The city below sparkled like a thousand secrets. "Taking a break," I replied, not looking back. “Your admirers were exhausting.”

“I don’t have admirers.”

“You have worshippers then.”

He stood beside me and placed a hand on the balcony railing. “And what are you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

The silence stretched. The city hummed. At last, he said gently:

“Congratulations, you did well tonight.”

I glanced up at him. “That almost sounds like praise.”

“It is. You wore the mask perfectly.”

“Maybe it’s not a mask,” I told him, softer than I realized. He looked down at me. His expression remained unreadable. He went on. “Convincing the world was easy.”

“And convincing me?”

He stepped closer. His eyes were dark and intent:

“That’s the part I haven’t decided if I want to do.”

I held my breath. The distance between us disappeared. In one step, I retreated against the cold stone wall. His hand rose, not to touch me, and settled behind my head—and caged me within. His voice dropped lower. “You keep pretending you don’t feel this,” he whispered. “But every time I’m near, you tremble.”

“Because you’re impossible,” I breathed. “Because you–”

“Because you want me.”

The honesty in his voice cut more than any accusation. My throat tightened. I hated him for saying it first, and more for being right.

“You think you know everything.” I whispered. “But you don’t know what I want.”

His gaze flickered to my lips, then to my eyes. “Then show me.”

For a second the world came to a dead end. The party noise faded into a far echo. The air between them was electric and silent.

Then, I moved first. I gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. His breath hitched. The sharp edge of control tore apart as our faces were separated by a breath. But he stopped me. His hand rose again and his fingers brushed my jaw. That was a tender and agonizing gesture.

“If I kiss you again,” he said softly, “I won’t stop.”

My heart pounded against my ribs. “Then don’t.”

He slowly exhaled, looking for mine. He nearly succumbed for a moment. And the restraint in him seemed a very visible and fragile thing, the self-control breaking and yet mending at the same time. Instead he stepped back and took a breath of space between us. City lights flickered on his face. It draped him in gold and shadow.

“We can’t afford mistakes,” he said low.

“Funny,” I said quietly. “It already feels like we’ve made one.”

He didn’t answer. He turned only to the glowing skyline, his hands in his pockets and his jaw shut. And even in our separated eyes, the air hummed with so much unexpressed—every almost touch, every unspoken word.