The chandeliers of the Moretti estate glittered like a thousand broken promises above Valentina Cruz's head as she stepped through the arched entrance of the grand ballroom. Dressed in a deep crimson gown with a thigh high slit that revealed her smooth leg and dagger strapped garter, she looked every inch the deadly temptation her name had come to evoke in the underworld. Her black lace mask clung delicately to her face, eyes sharp as glass beneath it. A calculated illusion of control. Of belonging.
But tonight, she was the weapon dressed in satin and sin.
The masquerade was one of Don Moretti's signature events an annual declaration of wealth, power, and unity between the bloodlines. But for Valentina, this wasn't just another night of performative diplomacy. It was a trap, she knew. Whether hers or someone else's, she couldn't yet say.
Her pulse ticked high in her throat when she sensed him.
She didn't need to look. The electricity that sparked across her skin announced him long before her eyes found him.
Lorenzo Moretti.
He leaned casually against the edge of a marble balcony, wine glass in hand, half his face obscured by an obsidian mask. The black on black silk suit hugged his frame with aristocratic grace, but it was the way he looked at her that made her skin burn a slow, deliberate undressing that saw beyond the gown, beyond the lies, into the bare ache of her.
"La mia tentazione proibita," he murmured, not bothering to hide his hunger as she approached.
Valentina stopped mere inches from him, close enough to breathe in the spice and tobacco of his cologne. "Cuidado, Lupo," she warned in a low, laced purr. "Some temptations bite back."
He smirked slow and lethal. "I'm counting on it."
They stood there, the night humming around them, filled with masks and false smiles. The laughter of the old dons, the clinking of champagne flutes, and the quiet whispers of alliances formed in shadows. But none of it mattered. In that balcony's golden lit corner, it was just them two wolves circling, both pretending not to bleed.
"Dance with me," he said, extending a gloved hand.
For a moment, her instincts screamed no. But her body betrayed her because she wanted to feel him. To remember what her fiancé could never make her feel.
Her fingers slipped into his.
The moment they touched, the air shifted.
Inside the ballroom, the orchestra struck up a dark tango. A song meant for seduction. Or surrender.
His hand came around her waist, firm and possessive. She inhaled sharply, her breast brushing against his chest as he pulled her into him. Every step of the tango became a coded message rage disguised as rhythm, longing cloaked in elegance.
"You shouldn't be here," she said as he led her into a sharp pivot. "My fiancé is watching."
"Let him watch," Lorenzo whispered against her ear. "Let him see what he'll never have."
His voice was dark velvet, the kind that brushed the skin and left bruises beneath it.
Valentina spun, eyes locked on him. She wanted to hate him. Wanted to deny that her body responded to his with traitorous hunger. But he moved with her like they'd been dancing for centuries mirroring her, anticipating her, igniting her.
"I'll make you an offer," he murmured as they danced.
Her eyes narrowed. "Moretti offers usually come with blood and strings."
"Not this one," he said. "Just truth. Say the word, and I'll end your engagement. Tonight. I'll walk you out of here, and we'll leave this world behind."
Valentina's steps faltered only briefly but it was enough. Enough to let the vulnerability crack through the fierce control she'd held.
"Don't tempt me, Lorenzo."
"I already am."
The music slowed. They stood still in the center of the ballroom as the final notes faded. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Her eyes shimmered not with tears, but with fury. With want. With war.
She stepped back.
Smiled like a queen about to sentence her king.
"I don't run, Lupo. I conquer."
The corners of his lips twitched. Something between a grin and a snarl. "Then conquer me, Cruz. But don't pretend you don't want me."
Valentina didn't answer. She turned and walked away, hips swaying with every step. The crowd swallowed her whole but Lorenzo's gaze never left her.
And neither did the truth hanging between them like the blade of a guillotine.