Chapter 6. Caught

* Miranda *

It was a few minutes inside the ballroom hall when I realized I'd left my purse in Salvatore's car, and the cool night air hit my shoulders. There is no sign of his men in the private parking, I guess everyone is happily drinking inside.

The ballroom doors closed behind me, muting the orchestra into a distant thrum, and for a second I just stood there, gathering myself. The smile I'd worn for the time being loosened, my jaw aching from holding it in place. I turned back toward the parking lot instead of the entrance, heels clicking softly against concrete as I followed the memory of where Salvatore's car had been parked.

The night smelled like rain and gasoline. Quiet, the total opposite of how noisy it was inside. But then I passed by another vehicle and I saw the car before I heard voices.

Salvatore's black sedan sat half-hidden beneath a flickering lamp, its polished surface catching the yellow light. The car next to it has its rear passenger door wide open. That was the first thing I noticed that was wrong.

Then I heard a man's voice. Low but visible in my ears. Roughened, then it was followed by a woman moaning or gagging, like she couldn't breathe but clearly enjoying it. A sound I hadn't heard before in my life.

My steps slowed without me meaning them to. My fingers tightened as I fisted them beside me. A part of me wanted to go back inside the ballroom. Yet another part of me insisted I should go and see. I took one more step, and the angle shifted just enough.

Then I saw him.

Lorenzo De Luca, with his jacket discarded, shoulders tense, one hand braced against the car's roof as if he needed it to stay upright. A woman was close, too close, her silhouette unmistakable, her red dress a slash of color in the dim light. She was moaning softly now, saying his name like it belonged to her.

"Oh, Enzo.."

Enzo? Is that his nickname? It doesn't suit him no matter how I think about it.

The door blocked their lower half the worst of it. My mind filled in the rest anyway. I gulped down a lump in my throat, what on earth? My chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like I'd swallowed glass.

So this was how he chose to deal with it, with his women. With his father. With whatever that look between us in the ballroom.

I should have turned away. Any sensible woman would have. I had no right to be there, no claim to him, no justification for the heat flooding my face or the ache curling low in my stomach. I could only imagine what she was doing to him. I heard the noise.

But my feet wouldn't move, it was as if they were glued to the ground. Lorenzo shifted, and for a brief, terrible second, his eyes lifted. Then they met mine.

"God damn it!"

He cursed through gritted teeth, perhaps he is angry that I interrupted them. He was shocked at first. Then something sharper registered on his face. Awareness that I was there. I smiled at the back of my head. His expression changed instantly. Whatever hunger or tension had been etched into his face hardened into something else.

Time did something strange then, it stretched, thinned, vibrated.

He hadn't expected me but his mouth curved into a smirk, when he saw me not taking my eyes from them. The woman followed his gaze, confusion flickering across her features before she turned and saw me standing there, alone, wrapped in black silk and composure I no longer felt.

"Oh, hello there!, she said, blinking. "Well, this is awkward."

I said nothing. The woman is obviously tipsy, she must have drunk a lot of champagne, and even though she looked gorgeous it was such a turn off that she lost her poise.

I didn't trust my voice nor could I say anything. This is the son of the old man that I am going to marry and he is as powerful as his father. Lorenzo straightened slowly, deliberately, like a man pulling armor back into place. His jaw clenched. His eyes didn't leave mine, it was challenging me to stay.

Of course, this is what you see, his gaze seemed to say. Of course this is how it looks. Salvatore's fiancée. The inconvenient witness to his son's affairs.

I lifted my chin. If I was going to be humiliated, I would not look small doing it.

"I'm sorry," I said at last, my voice steady despite the pulse roaring in my ears. "I left my purse in the car. Clearly, bad timing."

The woman recovered first. She always would, as if she had done this a thousand times before. She smoothed her dress, smiled too brightly, and leaned into Lorenzo as if staking a claim. "Relax honey. We were just leaving anyway."

Lorenzo didn't move toward her but I saw his hand fixing his trousers. That told me more than I wanted to know.

"I'll get it myself," I added, stepping forward before anyone could stop me. I pressed the key in my hand with trembling fingers then reached into the car beside them, my hand brushing cool leather, then metal, then the familiar weight of my purse. Simple and Mundane. Ridiculous, how something so small could feel like crossing a battlefield.

When I straightened, Lorenzo was still watching me.

Up close, I could see it, the tension under his skin, the conflict he pretended didn't exist. His mouth opened, as if to say something.

I didn't let him, I started walking back then I paused.

"Enjoy your night, you two," I said quietly. Not sweet nor bitter. Just final so that I could leave.

Then I turned and walked back toward the ballroom entrance, heels steady, spine straight, heart racing faster inside my chest. I was feeling disappointed from the sight that I had just witnessed. But for some reason that I could not admit.

Behind me, the parking lot swallowed its secrets again.

And I understood something with aching clarity as the doors opened and the music rushed back in around me.

Is there a silent war between me and Salvatore's son? Because it feels like I was standing on the wrong side of Mr. Lorenzo De Luca. And no one walks away from that unscathed, I could tell without asking. Knowing his reputation, but what the heck? Must be do that in the parking with a sophisticated woman, his date?