Chapter Four — The Hunt...

Lorenzo Bianchi

Nearly a month ago, I experienced one of the most intense, overwhelming moments of my life.

I won't deny that I've always been a serial player, but this time, the hunter was completely caught.

The striking fragrance of that mysterious woman lingered on my skin, tormenting my memory day and night.

That damn woman fled from me in a calculated escape before I could even learn her name or see her face.

"Pietro, did you find any solid information about the woman from the ball?" I asked, turning around sharply.

I stared at my head of security with a icy glare, feeling anger and frustration strain every muscle in my neck.

The memory of stepping out of that bathroom to find the broken condom still made my blood burn with pure desperation.

When I walked out, after realizing the protection had ruptured while we were together, the damn room was already empty.

The panic that she might be carrying my child right now, without even knowing it, was driving me out of my mind.

That mysterious widow was carrying the Bianchi heir in her womb, and I needed to find her at any cost.

"Mr. Bianchi, what we've managed to gather so far is just footage of her leaving the venue," Pietro replied, tense.

The guard swallowed hard and gestured nervously, trying to contain his anxiety in the face of my clear displeasure.

"She ran past the exterior cameras, using your Venetian Domino mask to cover her face," he added.

"That woman couldn't have simply vanished into thin air like a ghost, Pietro!" I bellowed, slamming my fist on the desk.

The crash echoed through the Valmont & Co. executive suite, making the man step back, visibly cornered by my fury.

"There has to be a way to find her, and you will turn this city upside down until you find a lead!" I ordered, pointing my finger.

I paced back and forth across the spacious office, consumed by underlying anxiety and destructive impatience.

I was suffocating over the incompetence of the people we paid top dollar to guarantee absolute security.

How could a crew of seasoned men fail to figure out how someone enters and leaves an exclusive event without even identifying themselves?

That woman had invaded my space, stolen my sanity, and vanished with my child inside her.

I leaned both hands against the glass desk, breathing heavily as my inner instinct screamed to hunt down the intruder.

"I think we found a way to uncover her identity, sir," Pietro said, offering a glimmer of hope.

The security chief took a step forward, adjusting his posture to ease the tension dominating the room.

"Then get that information by whatever means necessary, man!" I barked, wanting nothing more than to find that "black widow."

"I want that woman's damn name on my desk yesterday," I added, keeping my voice low and menacing.

"She must have received an official invitation and used it to pass through the main gate," he explained quickly.

"We'll go straight to the event organizers and cross-reference the name registered on the invitation presented at the entrance."

"And why the hell didn't you do that in the first place?" I growled, clenching my fists as my blood boiled.

"Get moving and bring me that name once and for all!" I finished, gesturing toward the exit.

My security chief nodded sharply and practically sprinted out of my office, shutting the door behind him.

His sudden departure left me even more edge, my chest heaving with anxiety as doubt continued to batter my sanity.

Hours later, I remained locked in the office, angrily reviewing charts from our latest business transactions.

That was when the door swung open and Pietro entered the room again, breathing somewhat heavily.

This time, he bore an eager expression, which immediately told me he had the answer I was demanding.

"Here it is, sir," he said, holding out a stamped envelope with the official guest list from the ball.

I snatched the paper from his hand, tearing open the envelope without the slightest care to pull out the sheet inside.

There was a specific name highlighted in dark ink, identifying the mysterious woman who had surrendered to me in the dark.

My eyes widened as I locked onto the letters, the air leaving my lungs as I read a name I never expected to see there.

"It can't be..." I whispered, feeling the floor drop beneath my feet while the paper trembled between my fingers.

"It can't be this damn woman! That's impossible!" I barked at the walls, a wave of shock coursing down my spine.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Bianchi?" Pietro asked immediately, taking a step forward with an anxious look.

I had foolishly assumed that discovering the intruder's identity would bring instant relief, but I was hit with violent frustration instead.

"Antonella Russo..." I muttered to myself, my voice sounding like a trapped growl as I read the printed name on the list.

The woman my parents were trying to force me to marry at all costs was the same one I had taken against that wall.

A knot tightened in my throat as a dangerous, dark line of reasoning began to take shape in my mind.

Had my parents and hers set up that encounter at the ball just to trap me once and for all?

Was everything that happened in that room engineered by them and Antonella to force me closer to her?

My parents know me; they know I never turn down a challenge or a beautiful woman handing herself over to me. They must have fed her details about my habits and tastes.

After that failed dinner at the Bianchi mansion, I was suffocated by daily calls and surprise visits from them.

They pushed obsessively, trying to convince me to yield to the arranged marriage so I would finally settle down and leave my "playboy" life behind.

What the hell was I supposed to do now with this game-changing piece of information?

If that spoiled bitch really was the "black widow" from that night, there was a huge chance she was carrying my heir.

I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the strands tightly as rage erupted in my chest at this perfect trap.

Did she know full well it was me in that dark room, surrendering to me on purpose?

I needed to find out as fast as possible whether this was a meticulously calculated setup or just a cruel twist of fate.

"Thank you for getting this information, Pietro," I murmured, feeling uncomfortably frustrated.

I squeezed the paper highlighted with Antonella's name, crumpling the edges with unnecessary force.

"From here on out, I'll handle this myself. If I need anything else, I'll call you," I concluded without looking up.

"Understood, sir... I'll be in the security department if you need me," Pietro replied, bowing his head slightly.

He exited with quick steps, leaving me standing there, staring blankly as the heavy wooden door shut.

Every click of the latch sounded like the door of my own life locking into a inescapable prison.

Indeed, I would have nowhere to run if spoiled Antonella was truly carrying my child in her womb.

This damn arranged marriage would have to happen out of honor, and I would officially become the most miserable man alive.

By the end of the day, after spending hours trying in vain to focus on business reports, I gathered my files.

I ended my workday with my mind boiling and made a drastic decision: I would go find Antonella Russo immediately to get to the bottom of this.

Afterward, I would confront my parents. If they were involved in this, our already strained relationship would be irreparably damaged.

I walked over to the intercom on my desk and pressed the button with my index finger, my jaw set tight.

"Marcella, get me Antonella Russo's personal cell number. Urgent," I commanded my assistant, leaving no room for questions.

If I had to deal with this nightmare and find out if I walked into a trap, it needed to happen right now.

About ten minutes later, my secretary handed me the card with the number of the woman who could drastically alter my life.

I dialed the digits on my phone and brought it to my ear, pacing back and forth as it rang.

"Antonella? It's Lorenzo Bianchi. How are you?" I said as soon as the line connected, keeping my tone intentionally firm.

"Lorenzo! What a surprise!" her voice chimed from the other end, high-pitched with an affectation that gave me an uncomfortable shiver.

I could tell from her hesitant tone that she really hadn't expected my call after the spectacle I made at the mansion.

"I'm so glad you called, honestly..." she continued, trying to sound casual and friendly.

"I was thinking of taking you out for dinner tonight. What do you say?" I suggested, though I loathed putting on this act.

I rested my free hand on my waist, swallowing my pride, knowing this forced meeting was a necessary evil.

"Tonight? But... that's so short notice, Lorenzo. It's almost six o'clock," she hesitated, her doubt obvious.

I could easily imagine her frustration on the other end over not having time to schedule hair, nails, and makeup.

Those typical high-society frivolous details that only served to make me lose my patience.

"We need to have a serious talk, and I don't want to wait another day," I pressed, letting my impatience sharpen my tone.

"Alright... What time are you picking me up?" she gave in, sensing the urgency or my barely disguised reluctance.

"I still have a few things to wrap up at the office, but I'll send my private driver to pick you up at nine. Work for you?"

"Of course! Perfect. I'll be ready at nine," she answered, her enthusiasm clear for what she assumed was a romantic date.

"See you then," I said, hanging up without waiting for long goodbyes and tossing the phone onto the glass desk.

I sank back into my dark thoughts, feeling my chest tighten with mounting rage.

What would become of me if that superficial girl was actually pregnant, forcing me to tie myself to her forever?

Life and fate couldn't possibly be cruel enough to pull a trick like this on me.