Lara lifted her eyes from the monitors, a mix of disbelief and fury on her face.
"You've got to be kidding me."
He ignored her tone completely, speaking in the same calm voice.
"The car will be waiting for us at 7:30 p.m."
"My father has been kidnapped, we've had no news for hours, and you expect me to put on a dress and smile at the man who locked him up?"
Vincenzo's dark eyes studied her for a long moment. He didn't even blink.
"Yes."
Lara clenched her fists.
"You're sick."
He closed the distance between them in two strides, and she caught the scent of his woody, intoxicating cologne.
"And you're impulsive. You want to solve everything with desperation and shouting."
"Because it's my father! And you act like you don't even care!"
"I care about getting answers," he shot back in a low, cutting tone. "And the only way to find out who's behind this is by pretending everything's normal. Tonight, we're having dinner with Prosecutor Hélio Almeida."
Lara felt the floor drop out from under her. He was right. Damn him, he was always right.
"And what if they call while we're gone?"
"My men are on standby." He lifted his hand, almost touching her face, but lowered it at the last second.
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
"I hate you right now."
His lips curved into an almost-smile.
"I'm used to it."
She blinked, stunned by Vincenzo's coldness.
"So you're going to use me as bait. Again."
"I'm going to use your presence as an advantage. What you do with it… is up to you."
Lara felt a lump rising in her throat. Every cell in her body screamed at her to say no. But her exhausted mind knew it was useless to resist. Vincenzo wasn't a man who bent to anyone's will. And worst of all, he always seemed to be right. She hated that.
"You really are a monster, Vincenzo."
He shrugged.
"Wear the black dress. The one with the thin straps. You look more beautiful when you hate me."
*******
The black dress waited for her in the closet. Pure silk, cutouts at the waist, a side slit climbing dangerously high up her thigh. Elegant, provocative, irresistible. It was obvious he wanted to show her off—or use her as a weapon.
As she got ready, Lara remembered the night before. The way he'd stripped her with his hands, as if he had every right. The firm, demanding touch, and the way she'd responded.
There were no romantic words. No slow kisses. Just raw, possessive desire. And, against all logic, she wanted it again.
You're losing control, she thought, staring at her reflection in the mirror. But maybe she'd already lost it the moment she signed that contract.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red with rage, not tears. Good. She didn't want to look fragile. Not for him.
At precisely 7:30 p.m., Lara descended the penthouse stairs. Every step felt like a blow to her pride. The black dress hugged her body perfectly. On the outside, she looked like an implacable woman. On the inside, she was a desperate daughter.
Vincenzo was waiting for her, seated in a leather armchair. Impeccable. As always.
Custom black suit. Slim tie, held by a gold tie clip. Hair slicked back perfectly, his face expressionless, as if the day hadn't been consumed by anonymous threats, tracking operations, and revelations of a kidnapping.
He lifted his eyes when he saw her. And though he didn't smile, his gaze trailed over every inch of her body.
"Perfect," he said simply. "The prosecutor's going to love you."
She bit back the retort rising in her throat. He loved testing her limits. And tonight would be the biggest test of all.
"Are you going to smile at the prosecutor?" he asked as he held the door open for her.
"Maybe I'll stab his hand with a fork."
He gave a half-smile.
"Now that would be entertainment."
******
The restaurant they'd chosen was at the top of a luxury hotel. Heavy drapes, golden lighting, and silver cutlery. A place where the dirtiest deals were sealed beneath polite laughter and cold toasts.
Prosecutor Hélio Almeida was already waiting for them. He stood when he saw Lara, feigning surprise and delight.
"Miss Fernandes. What a pleasant surprise."
"For me, it's a nightmare," she shot back, bluntly.
Almeida laughed, a bit awkwardly. Vincenzo made no move to scold her.
"You'll have to excuse her, Prosecutor," Vincenzo said as he sat down. "Lara's still adjusting to the game."
"I can imagine," Almeida replied, raising his wine glass. "But time teaches us all. Eventually."
The prosecutor, a man with graying hair and a rehearsed smile, looked more like a Hollywood leading man than a public servant. He talked far more than he should have, clearly enchanted by Lara's presence. She listened, feigning interest, while Vincenzo remained silent beside her, sipping his wine like a king observing a chess match.
Until he finally spoke.
"Funny, Doctor. I didn't imagine men of the law could be so easily distracted by… ornaments."
The prosecutor let out an uneasy laugh.
"I believe we're all human, Mr. Vasquez."
"But some pretend better than others," Vincenzo said, slicing into his filet with disturbing calm.
Lara resisted the urge to get up and leave. The mere sound of Hélio Almeida's voice made her stomach churn. But no matter how much every part of her screamed inside, she knew she was in a silent war. And that every word spoken at that dinner could be either a key… or a trap.
Lara forced a smile and leaned forward, letting the neckline of her dress do some of the work.
"You've always been so… dedicated to the law, Prosecutor. It must be difficult to separate work and personal life."
Almeida smiled proudly.
"Oh, a bit of golf at the club helps. Actually, I played a round last week with Edgar Campos. Influential man, you know?"
Edgar Campos. The name echoed in Lara's head, though she couldn't immediately place why.
Until Vincenzo, who until then had been cutting his filet with surgical precision, lifted his chin slightly.
"Campos… the investor?" he asked, as though it were mere curiosity.
"Exactly!" Almeida brightened. "A refined man, with a vision for the country very similar to my own."
Vincenzo remained perfectly still, but his eyes darkened, just a fraction. Lara saw his fingers tighten slightly around his cutlery. He knew something.
"Sounds fun," she said with a laugh, playing along. "Edgar must have some incredible stories."
"Oh, absolutely!" The prosecutor lowered his voice. "He even mentioned your father, Miss Fernandes. Said that… well, that his downfall was a tragedy."
A tragedy. As if Renato had slipped and fallen, instead of being pushed.
"How did you get close to Edgar Campos?" she asked casually, swirling her wine with delicate movements.
"Social circles, of course. Campos is one of the biggest investors in the private sector. He's always funding campaigns, causes… strategic solutions."
His tone was smug. And foolish.
Lara picked up her water glass, distracted, not noticing that Vincenzo was still watching Almeida more closely than he'd ever shown before.
She decided to keep pressing the conversation, not out of genuine interest, but as a weapon.
"And are you married, Prosecutor?"
Almeida laughed, surprised.
"Divorced. Luckily. But I still believe in love, my dear."
The air turned cold. Vincenzo slowly set his cutlery down on his plate. Lara fell silent. She felt it. Vincenzo's gaze was now locked on her. It wasn't anger. It was something darker. Jealousy.
Vincenzo, until now a master of self-control, betrayed himself with a sharp movement as he refilled Lara's water glass.
"Drink," he ordered softly, without looking at her.
Almeida didn't notice, but Lara felt the possessiveness in his tone. He was unsettled.
"You're very protective, Vasquez," she teased, turning toward the prosecutor.
Almeida laughed, too drunk to detect the knife-edge in her voice.
"Men like us enjoy taking care of what belongs to us."
Vincenzo crushed his napkin against the table.
"We're done here." He stood abruptly.
"Dessert will have to wait for another time," he cut in sharply. "Prosecutor, thank you for your company. Unfortunately, we have an urgent matter."
"But…" Lara began, startled.
He didn't listen.
He stood, pulled out her chair with a firm tug, and extended his hand in an almost symbolic gesture. It was gallant, yes. But it was also a display of dominance. He was staking his claim.
Lara lifted her eyes toward the prosecutor.
"Thank you for dinner."
"The pleasure was all mine, Miss Fernandes," he said, though his smile had already lost some of its shine.