Chapter 4: Gala Sparks

Chapter 4: Gala Sparks

The yacht glided through the water easy enough, all those strings of lights making it look like a party floating on the lake or something. Isabella held onto her champagne glass like it was keeping her steady, taking small sips while the bubbles tickled her nose. The deck was full of people dressed up, chatting and laughing over the music that came from somewhere hidden. Waiters kept coming by with trays of fancy little foods—stuff like caviar on crackers that probably cost a fortune. Lorenzo had dragged her around to a few groups at first, his hand on her back like she was helping him sell whatever, but now he was over by the bar with those big-shot tycoons, waving his arms and laughing that loud way he did when he wanted to close a deal.

She walked around a little, pretending she had somewhere to be. The black dress fit nice, curving in the spots that turned heads, but it didn't make her feel confident or anything—just like she was on show. Her thoughts kept going back to that club night, sneaking in when she least wanted. His hands on her, rough but knowing, sliding up her legs like he had all the time in the world. She moved her feet, pressing her thighs together without thinking. Come on, stop. It was over, one mistake. But her body didn't care, remembering how he'd teased her slow, fingers circling till she was begging inside, then thrusting deep and hard till everything exploded.

Lorenzo wasn't making it easier. He hadn't talked to her much since getting on the yacht, just a quick "stay close" before leaving her hanging. Now he was all in with those investors, slapping backs and tossing out numbers like "three hundred million" was nothing. His suit looked sharp as ever, hair perfect, playing the billionaire CEO role to a T. But for her? He hardly looked over. That hurt twisted in her again, the same old thing—feeling like she didn't count in his life while he built his empire. She wanted more, someone who actually noticed her, made her feel something.

She ended up at the rail, leaning over to look at the dark water below. City lights sparkled far away, Milan looking tiny from here. The breeze cooled her skin, but it didn't help the warmth building inside from those memories. His breath hot on her neck, voice rough saying "let go." Fingers inside her, curling just right, thumb rubbing steady till she came undone. Then him filling her, moving slow at first, teasing, then faster, deeper, her nails digging in as pleasure hit wave after wave. She gripped the rail tighter, trying to shake it. Why did it have to stick so much?

Someone brushed past her arm, close enough to feel. "Scusi," the voice said low, familiar enough to make her freeze. She turned, and there he was. The guy from the club. No mask now, but those eyes hit her the same—dark and pulling, like he saw right through. Tall, suit hugging his broad build, hair messed a bit from the wind. He stopped, leaning on the rail beside her, close so his cologne wrapped around her, same musky scent from that night.

"You," she breathed out, heart going wild.

He gave that slow smile, small but real, eyes moving over her face then down the dress, slow like he remembered what was under. "Didn't figure on running into you here." His voice rolled with that Italian accent, deep and easy.

She looked quick—Lorenzo still deep in his group, back to her, hands flying as he talked deals. Didn't see a thing, like usual. "Same. This your kind of party?"

"Family drags me sometimes." He moved closer, arm touching hers on purpose this time. Shivers shot through her, that waiting feeling building quick. His fingers brushed her hand on the rail, light but on fire. "Black looks good on you."

Her face heated, and it spread lower too. "Thanks." She held his gaze, words starting light but heavy underneath. "No mask this time?"

"Decided to show up as is." His thumb rubbed her knuckle slow, hidden, circling like he did other places that night. "Missed your face that morning."

She bit her lip, pulse thumping. "Had to leave." Voice came out soft, body leaning toward him a bit on its own.

He laughed quiet, the rumble hitting her low. "Bolting already? We had more." Eyes went darker, full of promise—more touches, more everything. His hand covered hers warm, holding steady.

They kept chatting, words playing around the edges. He grabbed her empty glass, swapped it for full without asking. "You look wound up," he said, leaning close, breath on her ear again. "Still wanna let loose?"

Her body lit up, nipples hard under the dress, that throb starting bad. "Not out here," she said low, but she stayed put. His fingers slid up her arm slow, leaving trails of goosebumps.

"Private spot then?" Tease in his voice, but eyes serious. Banter got sharper—she threw back about his suit not hiding much, him grinning saying the red one looked better off. Every line loaded, promising stolen times, his hands on her again.

Lorenzo's laugh carried from the bar, snapping her back a second. He had his arm around one tycoon's shoulder now, sealing some deal with big handshakes. Didn't see her burning up feet away from this guy.

"Who brought you?" she asked soft, scared of the answer but needing it.

"Family stuff." Vague again, hand squeezing hers gentle. "You?"

"Husband." It tasted bad saying it.

Eyebrow up, but no big reaction. "The one always working over there?"

She nodded, peeking at Lorenzo. "Yeah, always."

"Too bad for him." Voice dropped, fingers lacing with hers hidden. Touch sparked everywhere, thighs squeezing. He leaned in more, lips close to her ear. "He ignores you, someone else steps up."

Shivers hit hard, that twist of want and wrong mixing. They talked on, banter quick—him calling out her blush, her hitting back about his hands wandering. But it all promised more, heat building thick.

Music turned up, people starting to dance. Lorenzo waved from afar. "Isabella! Over here."

She pulled her hand free slow, tense. "Have to."

He let go last second, fingers dragging on her wrist, burning trail. "Real soon," low promise, eyes locked.

She went over, legs not steady, slipping into Lorenzo's circle. He threw an arm around her, introducing fast—"my wife"—for the investors' benefit. Smiles, chit-chat. But her head spun from Dante's touch, his watch from the side heavy.

Night wore on, Lorenzo sealing deals, clueless to the fire starting close. She faked smiles, body humming, wanting bad.

Later, heading inside, he passed near, breath on her neck quick. "Dante," he said soft. "If you want."

Dante. It hit—Lorenzo's step-brother, the mafia one with all the scary stories.

Pulse went crazy. Big trouble.

But his eyes promised, and she craved it.

Gala far from over for her.