Chapter 5.

Adriano doesn't rush. He never does. He crosses the room like the crowd should already know to part for him, and it does, conversations trailing off in his wake without anyone seeming to notice they've stopped talking at all.

"Elena."

I freeze.

I hadn't told him my name.

His gaze remains fixed on me, cold and deliberate, like he's testing whether the name is real. "That was an interesting purchase."

"I saw something I wanted."

"Clearly." His pale eyes hold mine, unreadable as ever. "May I speak with you? Privately."

Beside me, I feel Rafael go still in a way that has nothing to do with charm.

"Of course," I say, before either brother can object, and let Adriano lead me a few steps away, toward the tall windows overlooking the estate's dark gardens.

"Tell me about yourself, Elena." He says it like a formality, though nothing about his eyes suggests it is one. "Where does a real estate investor come from, that she bids like that without blinking?"

"Miami, originally. Nothing glamorous to start. I built the rest myself." Every word rehearsed a hundred times before tonight, smooth enough now to feel almost true.

"And yet I've never once heard your name mentioned in any circle that matters," he observes, curiosity sharpening his gaze.

"Maybe I prefer circles that don't gossip," I counter, holding his stare.

"Or maybe those circles don't exist." His voice stays even, pleasant even, but there's a blade underneath every syllable. "Money like yours doesn't appear without a story attached to it. Everyone in this room has one. I'd like to hear yours."

"Careful, Mr. Marchetti. That's starting to sound like an interrogation."

"Call it curiosity." The faintest curve touches his mouth, gone as quickly as it arrived. "I don't often meet people I can't immediately place. It's a rare feeling. I find I don't dislike it."

Before I can answer, Rafael appears at my other side, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine, easy smile firmly back in place though something harder sits behind his eyes now.

"Adriano." A single word, deceptively light. "No sabía que te habías interesado en mi cita.” (Trans: Didn't realize you'd taken an interest in my date).

"Tu cita,” Adriano repeats, something flickering behind the ice, ""Hizo bastante impresión esta noche.” (Trans: Your date made quite an impression tonight).

"She has a habit of doing that." Rafael's hand settles at the small of my back, warm, deliberate, a quiet claim laid down in front of his brother without a single raised voice between them. "Come on, Elena. I believe you promised me the rest of your evening."

"I don't recall promising anything," I say, though I let him steer me away all the same.

Adriano watches us go, expression unreadable, and something about the stillness in his gaze unsettles me more than anything he actually said tonight.

"You should be careful with him," Rafael murmurs once we're out of earshot, voice quieter than I've heard it all evening.

"Careful how?"

"My brother doesn't get curious about people, Elena. He gets curious about problems." His jaw tightens, just barely. "I'd rather you not become one."

I don't have an answer for that either, so I say nothing at all, and let the silence between us say something neither of us is ready to name.

By the time the auction winds down, exhaustion sits heavy behind my eyes, equal parts performance and the particular ache of having spent an entire night being studied by two men who share a face and nothing else.

"I should head home," I tell Rafael, gathering my clutch, the wrapped brooch heavier in my hands than something so small should be.

"I'll walk you out." He guides me toward the entrance, one hand resting light against my back, and for a moment the charm slips just enough that I catch a flash of something almost tired underneath it. 

"I wish I could take you myself. I've got business to finish here tonight, unfortunately. The kind that doesn't wait."

“I don't need an escort, Rafael. My driver will be here any minute. I can manage until then.”

"Absolutely not." He says it easily, but there's no room in his tone for argument. He lifts two fingers toward a man waiting near the door, and a sleek black car pulls forward before I've even finished protesting. "My driver will take you. Marcus is discreet, careful, and paid very well to stay both."

"Rafael."

“Cariño." His eyes hold mine, warmth and something more serious tangled together. "I'd feel better knowing you got home safe."

There's no graceful way to refuse without raising questions I can't afford tonight, so I let him open the car door for me, let him press a kiss to my knuckles that lingers half a second too long, and slide into the leather seat before my composure has the chance to crack.

The door shuts. The driver meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, polite, patient, entirely unaware that he's about to become a problem.

"Address, miss?"

Every real address I own is a liability sitting in a stranger's ears, one this man works for someone who'd pay well to hear.

My thumb finds my phone under the clutch. The battery is already flickering red, 2 percent left, and I type one word to Jake before I can think better of it. "Code Blue."

His reply comes back in seconds. "That car isn't on our radar. We don't have eyes on Marcus. You're flying blind in there."

My phone dies. A second later, I hear the car doors lock.