The letter haunted Serena. Even when it wasn't in her hands, she felt its weight pressing against her ribs, its truths clawing at her mind. Betrayals written in ink. Accounts that linked her father to blood and money she couldn't comprehend.
And worse—the knowledge that Lorenzo Romano had put it in her hands.
The next night, the Caruso estate glittered with another lavish gathering. Diamonds sparkled on the women's throats, laughter echoed like broken glass, and glasses of champagne flowed endlessly. From the outside, it was perfect. But Serena saw it differently now—every smile looked like a mask, every touch a hidden blade.
Her fiancé, Matteo, was at her side as always. Polished. Charming. Calculated. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her close for the benefit of the crowd. His lips brushed her temple, his voice low but firm.
"Smile, Serena. Don't make me repeat myself."
She obeyed, but the smile never reached her eyes. Matteo's grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing just a little too hard against her waist, reminding her that his charm was a leash. Her stomach knotted.
Is this the man who could want me dead?
The thought made her chest tighten. She needed air.
Slipping away from the crowd, she wandered into one of the long corridors of the estate. The music and chatter dulled behind her. Here, the air was cooler, the silence thicker. She pressed her palm against her chest, trying to steady the storm inside her.
Then a voice slid through the shadows."Running away again?"
Her head snapped up.
Lorenzo Romano stepped forward from the darkness like he had been waiting all along. The moonlight from the tall windows caught his face, sharp and dangerous, but his loosened tie and the smirk playing at his lips softened him into something maddeningly irresistible.
Serena's pulse leapt. "You—what are you doing here?" she hissed.
His gaze locked on hers, intense and unyielding. "Making sure you don't lose your way."
She bristled, though her voice trembled. "You shouldn't be here. If anyone sees you—"
"They won't," he interrupted smoothly, stepping closer. "Unless you want them to."
The air thickened as he closed the distance between them. She could smell his cologne, dark and clean, like smoke laced with spice. It was intoxicating, dangerous.
"Did you read it?" he asked, voice low.
Her breath caught. She nodded slowly. "It's true… isn't it? My father—he's—"
"Selling loyalty he doesn't own," Lorenzo finished for her. "Playing both sides until someone decides to put a bullet in him. And you—" His hand brushed her wrist, featherlight but searing. "You're caught in the middle of it."
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Then, suddenly, voices echoed down the corridor. Heavy footsteps. Matteo's voice—sharp, impatient.
"Serena? Where are you?"
Her blood turned to ice.
Before she could move, Lorenzo acted. He pressed her against the wall, his body flush against hers, shielding her from view. The world shrank into the heat between them.
"Stay quiet," he whispered, his lips so close they nearly grazed her ear.
Serena froze, every nerve alive, torn between fear and something else—something she couldn't name. His breath warmed her skin, his scent filled her lungs, and though her heart pounded with panic, a forbidden thrill curled inside her.
Matteo's footsteps drew nearer, echoing with authority. He was hunting her, she realized. And if he found her like this—with Lorenzo—her life would end before the night did.
Her chest rose and fell too fast, and she was terrified he would hear it. Terrified Lorenzo would feel it.
His dark eyes locked on hers, holding her still. He mouthed, Do you trust me?
She didn't know. She couldn't know. And yet, in that breathless moment, she didn't push him away.
The footsteps slowed just beyond the corner. Matteo's voice rang again, smooth but sharp enough to cut."Serena? Don't make me look for you."
Serena's throat tightened. One sound, one slip, and she was caught—in more ways than one.
Lorenzo's hand pressed gently against hers, steadying her trembling fingers. His smirk ghosted across his lips, even in danger.
Then, silence. The footsteps retreated.
Serena slumped against the wall, lungs finally dragging in air. But Lorenzo didn't step back. He lingered, too close, his gaze burning into hers with something unspoken—something reckless.
"See?" he murmured. "I told you. Dangerous games. Close calls."
She should have pushed him away. She should have run. Instead, she felt herself lean closer—just slightly—toward the enemy whose touch both terrified and thrilled her.
And in that stolen second, Serena realized the truth: she wasn't afraid of Lorenzo Romano.
She was afraid of herself.
End of Chapter 3 – Danger, Heat, and a Close Call