The ballroom was a gilded prison.
Champagne flutes clinked. Strings played a haunting waltz. Beneath the surface, power slithered in silken gowns and tailored suits. Every smile was a lie, every handshake a loaded gun.
Valentina felt the weight of her bloodline in every glance. They weren't looking at a woman. They were eyeing property. Merchandise wrapped in couture, trained to seduce, to obey, to belong.
To him.
Alejandro stood beside her, all charm and steel. The heir to the De La Cruz empire, her soon to be fiancé. His touch on her back was light but firm, a constant reminder: behave.
She did. For now.
But across the room stood the real danger.
Lorenzo Moretti.
His eyes were darker than the sins whispered about him. A black suit molded to his body like it had been sewn over muscle and menace. No tie. No warmth. No apologies.
He didn't belong here. He never did.
His eyes burned into hers, and she froze caught like prey in the gaze of a predator who knew she was already his.
"Stop staring," Alejandro murmured, leaning closer. "You're embarrassing me."
Valentina turned, slow and graceful, the corner of her lips curling. "Would you rather I pretend to adore you, or show them I'm still resisting?"
His jaw ticked. "They need to see we're solid."
She tilted her head, brushing her fingers along his lapel. "You're just angry he's watching."
"He's nothing."
"He's everything you wish you were."
The words were acid, and she knew it. But she didn't care. Alejandro's hand slipped lower, gripping her waist with more force than necessary. A silent threat.
Valentina didn't flinch.
"You'll regret this after the wedding," he muttered.
"No," she whispered. "You will."
She smiled, saccharine and lethal, and walked away. The moment she turned her back, she could feel Lorenzo move.
She didn't look. She didn't have to.
She could hear his footsteps before she saw him. He moved like sin silent, calculated, dangerous.
Cornered in the hallway near the balcony, she finally let herself breathe.
Until the air thickened behind her.
"Run away, dolcezza?" His voice was smoke and gravel.
She turned. Slowly. "What do you want, Moretti?"
His gaze swept over her deliberate, possessive. "You wore red."
"I always wear war to a battle."
"You wore my color."
She didn't respond. Not when he stepped closer. Not when he backed her against the marble column, their bodies nearly touching.
"You're going to marry him?" he rasped.
She met his gaze. "Does it matter?"
His hand slid around her waist. Not gentle. Not asking.
"I told you. If he puts a ring on you, I'll cut his hand off."
"You told me a lot of things. And then you disappeared."
"I had to."
"I bled for you."
"I kill for you."
The confession hung between them like thunder.
She gasped when he slammed his palm beside her head, caging her in. "He doesn't deserve you. None of them do."
"Then why aren't you fighting for me?"
He leaned in, his breath hot against her cheek. "Because you don't need a man who fights fair, Valentina. You need one who burns for you."
And then
Gunfire split the air.
Screams exploded. Glass shattered.
Guards surged. Panic erupted like fireworks.
But Lorenzo didn't flinch.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down a side corridor, ignoring her protests. His fingers wrapped tight so tight she knew it wasn't fear that drove him. It was fury.
They reached the cellar doors.
"I said let go!" she hissed.
He shoved her against the wall. "Do you want to die tonight?"
His body caged hers again hard, hot, demanding. Her breath caught as his eyes bore into her.
"I'm getting you out," he growled. "Because if anything happens to you tonight I'll burn this entire fucking city to ash."
Her chest heaved. "Why do you care?"
Lorenzo's expression shifted. Torn. Raw. Unfiltered.
"Because you're mine."
She barely had time to process it before his lips crashed onto hers.
The kiss was brutal. Hungry. Years of betrayal, want, and fury exploded into that moment. His mouth devoured her like she was his last breath.
She gasped, and his tongue slid in, taking what he wanted.
And God she gave it.
Their bodies pressed together, her hands fisting his jacket, his thigh wedged between hers. She moaned into his mouth, angry that it felt so good. Furious that she wanted more.
"I hate you," she breathed.
"Liar."
"I should kill you."
"Do it after."
And then he kissed her again, deeper, dirtier.
This wasn't love.
This was the kiss of a man who promised ruin.
And she kissed him back like a woman who wanted to burn.