Chapter 14: A Dance with the Devil

The moment I stepped out of the car, the cool evening air kissed my skin, sending a slight shiver down my spine. The entrance to the gala was nothing short of breathtaking—golden lights illuminated the grand building, luxury cars lined the driveway, and men in sharp tuxedos escorted women draped in elegance.

But none of it compared to the man walking toward me.

Marco Valentino.

His presence commanded attention, his dark eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. He looked effortlessly powerful in his tailored suit, the crisp black fabric molding to his frame in a way that was both refined and utterly sinful.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he reached me, his gaze roaming over my figure in a way that sent warmth pooling in my stomach.

“You wear it well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk.

I swallowed, heart racing. “Thank you… for the dress.”

His smirk deepened as if he knew exactly how much his effect on me was unraveling my composure.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm.

I hesitated for only a second before slipping my hand through the crook of his elbow. His warmth seeped through the fabric, making my pulse stutter.

The moment we stepped inside, the grandeur of the gala hit me all at once. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting a golden glow over the ballroom. Laughter and chatter filled the space as elegantly dressed guests sipped champagne and exchanged pleasantries. Every detail oozed wealth and influence, and for a brief moment, I felt completely out of place.

Marco’s grip on me tightened slightly, as if sensing my unease. “Relax, Mia. You belong here.”

The words sent a different kind of shiver down my spine.

He led me further into the room, guiding me past watchful eyes and whispers. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I tried to keep my composure, painfully aware of his hand resting lightly on my lower back. The touch was innocent enough, but the heat it left in its wake was anything but.

Marco brought me to a table near the front, where my name was elegantly displayed on a small gold plaque. My brows furrowed in surprise.

“You planned this?” I asked, glancing up at him.

He leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur near my ear. “I always plan ahead, mia cara.”

Before I could respond, he pulled back and gave me a look that sent my heart racing. Then, without another word, he turned and strode toward the stage.

The room quieted as Marco took his place at the podium, exuding an effortless authority that commanded the attention of every soul in the room. My breath caught when his gaze found mine again—dark, unwavering, and filled with something unspoken.

He spoke about business, investments, philanthropy. But I barely registered the words.

Because the entire time, he never took his eyes off me.

The weight of Marco’s gaze anchored me to my seat, making it impossible to focus on anything but him. His voice, rich and commanding, carried through the room, yet it felt as though he was speaking only to me.

I barely noticed the scattered applause or the way the guests hung onto his every word. My mind was elsewhere—trapped in the storm brewing between us, in the way my skin tingled under the memory of his touch.

Finally, he concluded his speech, offering a slight nod of acknowledgment to the crowd before stepping down from the stage. As he walked back toward me, the air seemed to shift, thickening with something dangerous, something intoxicating.

He didn’t slow as he approached, his hand reaching for mine in a way that felt both casual and possessive. “Come,” he murmured, his fingers curling around mine.

I barely had time to react before he was leading me away from the table, past curious stares and knowing glances. My heart pounded as he guided me onto the dance floor, where couples were already swaying to the slow, seductive melody playing in the background.

“Marco, I don’t—”

“Just follow my lead,” he interrupted, his voice low as he pulled me flush against him.

A sharp inhale escaped me at the feel of his body against mine—warm, firm, utterly in control. One of his hands settled on my lower back, the other capturing my fingers in a loose but unyielding grip.

And then we moved.

The world around us faded as he led me in a slow, deliberate dance, each step measured, each movement drawing me deeper into the dangerous web that was Marco Valentino. His touch burned through the fabric of my dress, his scent—a mix of something dark and expensive—clouding my thoughts.

I tilted my head up, meeting his eyes, and what I saw there stole the breath from my lungs.

Hunger.

Possession.

A promise of something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

“You’re nervous,” he observed, his lips curving slightly.

“I’m not,” I lied, my voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on my waist tightened, pulling me impossibly closer. “Liar.”

The music swelled around us, the rhythm slowing, yet neither of us let go. My pulse thrummed wildly as I felt his breath ghost over my cheek.

“Tell me, Mia,” he murmured, his lips so close they nearly brushed my skin. “Are you afraid of me?”

I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat.

Because the truth?

I wasn’t afraid of Marco Valentino.

I was afraid of how much I wanted him.

His question lingered between us, thickening the air like smoke from a slow-burning fire.

Are you afraid of me?

I should’ve said yes. I should’ve pulled away, put distance between us before I lost myself completely in his dangerous pull.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I held his gaze, my fingers tightening in his grip. “No.”

Marco’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. His thumb brushed the curve of my waist, barely there, yet enough to make my breath catch.

“Good.” His voice was a rough whisper, like he was pleased with my answer. Like he needed it.

The music slowed to its final notes, but neither of us moved. Around us, people clapped politely, some still dancing, others retreating to their seats.

Still, Marco held me.

Still, I let him.

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes, and Marco effortlessly plucked two, handing one to me. I took it, my fingers brushing against his.

“To courage,” he murmured, tilting his glass toward mine.

I hesitated before clinking mine against his. “To what exactly?”

His smirk was lazy, knowing. “To not running.”

I didn’t know if he meant the dance or something deeper. Maybe both. But I took a sip anyway, letting the chilled liquid slide down my throat.

Marco’s attention flickered past me for a brief second before he leaned in, his lips brushing just above my ear. “Walk with me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, his hand slipping around mine once more as he led me away from the ballroom.

The moment we stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the noise from the gala faded, leaving only the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor and the steady, purposeful strides of the man beside me.

I glanced up at him. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

We passed elaborately framed paintings, intricate chandeliers, and doors that likely led to private rooms. And then, Marco stopped.

He pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a terrace that overlooked the city. The view was breathtaking—twinkling lights stretching endlessly, the skyline standing tall against the dark canvas of the night.

But it wasn’t the view that made my pulse stutter.

It was the way Marco turned to me, his expression unreadable, his eyes filled with something intense. Something dangerous.

I barely had time to react before he reached for me, his fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up to his.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me, Mia?” His voice was low, rough, carrying the weight of something unspoken.

I swallowed hard. “What?”

His thumb traced the edge of my bottom lip, slow, deliberate.

“You’ve made me want.”

The words were a confession, a warning.

And yet, when he leaned in, when his breath fanned against my lips, I didn’t pull away.

I couldn’t.