Matteo sat by the sofa, drinking and smoking, his gaze fixed on her like glue as they glammed her up for the event.
In the swirling amber of his whiskey and the drifting smoke, he saw more than a woman... he saw the weapon he was finally presenting to the crowd that made Europe sleepless.
Anastasia watched him through the reflection, her pulse thrumming as the stylists moved from her hair to her makeup.
Soon, she was slipping into the black dress. It was a long, heavy silk that felt like liquid midnight. The lace detailing crept up her bodice like vines, while the shoulders fell off boldly, exposing the pale cream of her skin and the deep curve of her cleavage.
The stylists, sensing the sudden drop in temperature as Matteo stood, bowed low and trailed out behind an idling Corazon who had been standing, leaving the room in silence.
