Chapter 46 Sara

For a while, the night felt perfect. Even with the Letta nonsense earlier, I was having fun, real fun. Salvatore was relaxed, smiling more than I’d seen him smile in weeks. Roc and Marco were glowing, practically inseparable. Marco kept talking about tomorrow’s dinner with Roc’s parents, and Roc kept pretending he wasn’t excited, even though he absolutely was. It felt like we were all… happy.

Dinner was being set, the lights dimming slightly, the music shifting into something softer. Salvatore leaned close, brushing a kiss against my temple. “Dance with me,” he murmured.

I didn’t even hesitate. “Always.”

He led me onto the dance floor, his hand warm at my back, the other holding mine gently but firmly. The world faded, the noise, the lights, the people. It was just us, moving slowly, his forehead resting against mine. Then something caught my eye. Letta. Dancing. With a man from her table. For a split second, I felt relieved. Maybe she’d finally leave us alone. Maybe she’d found someone else to obsess over. Maybe the night could stay peaceful. But then… something tugged at me.

The man. Something about him. I couldn’t place it, not his face, not his posture, not his smile, but something was wrong. Off. Familiar in a way that made my stomach tighten. Salvatore felt me stiffen. “What is it?”

I nodded subtly toward Letta and her dance partner. “That guy. Something about him feels… I don’t know. Wrong.”

Salvatore’s eyes followed mine. He watched the man for a long moment, his jaw tightening just slightly.

“I agree,” he said quietly. “There’s something about him.”

He didn’t say more, but the shift in his posture told me everything. He was alert now. Focused. The easy warmth from moments ago replaced by something sharper. We finished the dance, though neither of us was fully present anymore. When the song ended, I kissed his cheek. “I’m going to run to the bathroom before dinner.”

He nodded, brushing his thumb over my hand. “Don’t take too long.”

I slipped away from the dance floor, weaving through the crowd toward the hallway. The noise faded behind me, replaced by the softer hum of distant music. I pushed open the bathroom door, and Letta walked in right behind me. Of course.

She crossed her arms, blocking the exit like she owned the place. “You think you’re so special, don’t you?”

I sighed. “Letta, I’m not doing this with you.”

“Oh, you will,” she snapped. “You stole him. You stole everything.”

I turned toward the mirror, checking my lipstick, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted. “I didn’t steal anything.”

“You’re lying,” she hissed. “He sent me that dress. He wanted me here. He loves me.”

I met her eyes in the mirror, calm, steady, unbothered.

“Believe whatever you want,” I said softly. “But I’m not playing your game.”

Her face twisted, frustration boiling under her skin. But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t rise to it. I didn’t give her the satisfaction. I simply walked past her, opened the door, and stepped back into the hallway. Letta stayed behind, seething. And for the first time all night, I felt a chill run down my spine. Because something told me this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

By the time I got back to the table, dinner plates were being set down and the room buzzed with warm conversation and clinking glasses. Everything looked perfect, the lighting, the music, the people, but all I could think about was Salvatore. Or more specifically… getting him alone. He pulled out my chair for me, brushing a hand along my back as I sat. The touch was innocent, polite, appropriate for a gala, but it sent a warm shiver down my spine anyway. He noticed. Of course he did.

“You alright?” he murmured, leaning close so only I could hear.

I nodded, smiling softly. “I’m fine. Just… ready to go home.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Home?”

“Mhm.” I leaned in, letting my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Our bed.” His breath caught, just barely, and I felt a spark of satisfaction. I lowered my voice even more, barely a whisper meant for him alone. “Just the two of us.”

He went still. I didn’t have to say anything else. The message was clear. The promise was clear. And the way his hand tightened around mine under the table told me he understood exactly what I meant. I sat back, pretending to focus on my dinner, pretending not to notice the way he kept glancing at me like he was trying to decide whether to stay for dessert or carry me out of the building.

Roc and Marco were talking excitedly about tomorrow’s dinner with Roc’s parents, and I chimed in where I could, but my hand kept drifting up Salvatore's thigh, he was watching me now, eyes darker, jaw tighter, like I’d flipped a switch inside him.

Good. That was the point. I lifted my wine glass, brushing my fingers against his again. “You okay?” I asked sweetly.

He gave me a look that made my pulse jump. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

I smiled into my glass. “Maybe.”

He leaned closer, voice low and rough. “Keep teasing me like that and we’re leaving before dessert.”

“Promise?” I whispered.

His hand slid up my thigh beneath the table, warm and steady. “Sara…”

The way he said my name made my whole body warm. I didn’t need dessert, I just needed him.

And judging by the way he was looking at me now…He felt the same.