The chandeliers sparkled like frozen stars above the Moretti mansion ballroom, their golden light spilling across marble floors polished so perfectly Isabella Romano could see her reflection when she dared to glance down. Music floated in the air, violins weaving a melody that was both beautiful and suffocating. The scent of expensive cigars and champagne clung to every corner of the vast room.
Isabella hated nights like this.
"Smile, Bella," her father murmured against her ear, his hand firm on her back as he guided her through the glittering crowd of mobsters and their jeweled wives. "The Morettis notice everything. Don't embarrass me tonight."
Her lips curved in the practiced way he demanded, but inside, her stomach churned. These parties always made her feel like an ornament, a prized possession paraded for admiration and envy. A Romanov princess in a cage lined with velvet.
She had worn the silk gown her father insisted upon a deep crimson that hugged her waist and spilled into a flowing skirt. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable. A target. The mask of lipstick on her mouth and diamonds at her throat did nothing to steady her pulse.
She had learned long ago that the men in this room didn't see women. They saw currency. Alliances. Breeding stock.
And tonight, one pair of eyes followed her like a predator watching prey.
Adrian Moretti.
He stood across the ballroom, tall and commanding in a tailored black tuxedo. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, his silver-gray eyes cold and piercing even from a distance. Everything about him radiated danger. Even among a room of mafia kings and heirs, Adrian carried an aura that silenced the air around him.
Their gazes met, and Isabella's breath caught.
His lips curved, not in a smile, but something darker an acknowledgment, a claim. Before she could blink, he was moving through the crowd, and suddenly he was there, in front of her, bowing slightly as though mocking the formality.
"Dance with me."
It wasn't a request.
Her father stiffened at her side, but he said nothing. No one denied Adrian Moretti. Not if they valued peace.
Isabella's instinct screamed at her to refuse. She didn't want his touch, didn't want to become another story whispered about in hushed voices how Adrian Moretti had ruined another girl. But the weight of her father's gaze burned into her skin, reminding her of the consequences of disobedience.
So she placed her trembling hand into his.
His grip was warm, firm, consuming.
The orchestra swelled as he led her to the center of the dance floor. Her pulse thundered in her ears, louder than the violins, louder than the applause of onlookers.
"You look like you'd rather be anywhere but here," Adrian murmured as he drew her against him. His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it.
"That obvious?" she whispered, her throat dry.
His gray eyes locked on hers. "Only to me."
The heat of his hand at her waist made it impossible to breathe. He moved with lethal grace, leading her effortlessly across the floor. She hated how her body responded her heart stuttering, her skin prickling wherever his touch lingered.
"You shouldn't be here," she managed.
"Neither should you," he countered, his lips curving into something sinful. "But I enjoy breaking rules."
Her chest tightened. Adrian Moretti was dangerous in ways she couldn't even name. Yet his presence was magnetic, pulling her closer even as every instinct screamed to run.
When the music slowed, his grip tightened just slightly, his face dipping closer until his lips brushed her ear.
"You don't belong in this world, bella," he whispered, the Italian endearment rolling off his tongue like velvet. "But tonight… you're mine."
Her breath hitched. She wanted to argue, to tear herself away, but the words died on her lips. The room spun around them, but all she felt was him the steady beat of his heart beneath his suit, the intoxicating scent of leather and spice clinging to him, the unshakable command in his gaze.
The song ended. Applause erupted around them. Isabella knew she should step back, curtsy, and walk away. But Adrian didn't release her. Instead, he laced their fingers together and led her from the dance floor, through an archway, and out into the mansion's shadowed garden.
The night air was cooler, scented with roses and rain. Moonlight bathed the stone path in silver. Isabella's lungs ached with relief to be away from the prying eyes inside yet her relief was short-lived when Adrian turned to face her.
"Why me?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "You could have danced with anyone."
Adrian's eyes gleamed like a storm on the horizon. He stepped closer, his height towering over her, his voice dropping low.
"Because, Isabella Romano," he murmured, "for the first time in years… I want something I can't control."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She should have fled then. Should have turned on her heels and left him standing in the shadows.
But when his hand rose to cup her cheek, when his thumb brushed the corner of her trembling mouth, she didn't move. She didn't resist when his head dipped lower.
And when Adrian Moretti's lips claimed hers, it was fire and ruin all at once.
The kiss was reckless. Dangerous. The kiss of a man who could destroy her and the kiss of a woman who, for one forbidden moment, didn't care.