Valeria assessed me with a gaze that was cool and calculating. Her smile was perfectly measured—polite enough for appearances, but beneath it lay something else. Distrust. And she had every reason for it.
Russo took his time. His posture remained relaxed, his expression as indifferent as if he'd only just noticed me for the first time. But when he extended his hand, his grip around my fingers was painfully tight. He was playing along.
My heart beat faster, but I held his hand, returning his pressure. This wasn't just a handshake. It was a silent power struggle, an unspoken message playing out solely between us. He knew I'd seen through his game. And I now knew he'd seen through mine.
I arched a brow, letting my gaze travel slowly from our intertwined hands up to his eyes. For a fraction of a second, I caught a dark glint—an acknowledgment that burned hot beneath my skin.
"Ms. Robertson." His voice was calm, feigning a distance as if we were strangers.
"Mr. Russo." I smiled just as coolly and withdrew my hand.
Valeria glanced between us, searching for something she couldn't grasp. But she felt it, just like I did. The atmosphere hadshifted, charged with something invisible that shimmered even through our perfect façades. The tension in our little circle was like an invisible web, each of us entangled with our own motives. I felt Russo's intense gaze on me—piercing, analyzing. A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his admiration for my audacity, my ruthlessness in doing exactly what he usually did to others.
He held back, spoke little, only observed. Valeria, laughing beside him, dragged her nails slowly down his arm—a gesture more possessive than affectionate. My gaze traced the powerful line of his forearm, one I'd never touched so intimately. Never felt what it would be like to let my fingertips glide over that hard, warm skin. Instead, her nails scraped across it—foreign, unwelcome fingers right where they didn't belong. It only made it worse. This woman was a step ahead, claiming something I couldn't even admit I wanted. And him? He watched me openly. The sheer provocation of it. Like playing with a gasoline can near an open flame—and he seemed hell-bent on getting burned.
I ignored the sting in my gut, the urge to peel each one of those nails from his arm—slowly, agonizingly. Instead, I slipped the leash around Valeria's neck with every smooth word, only to hand the leash to Delany in the end.
"Christian, you mentioned you were renovating parts of the house," I began with feigned interest. "I heard you've made some truly impressive changes."
Christian's chest visibly puffed up. "Oh yes, it's going to be phenomenal! We're preserving the architecture but integrating modern elements—new lighting, and the upper lounge now offers a panoramic ocean view."
Valeria didn't catch on immediately, seeming genuinely intrigued. She might have known how to charm dangerous men, but against a scheming woman like me, she stood no chance. "That sounds spectacular! Blending modern design intoa historic villa can't be easy."
"Oh, it is spectacular." I flashed her a smile so charming it almost seemed real. "Why don't you show Valeria the view now? It won't get any better than at night."
A shadow flickered across her face—now she understood. Too late, sweetheart. Her lips pressed together before softening back into a gentle smile. "Oh, that's not necessary, I don't want to be any trouble," she said with a sweetness as calculated as my suggestion. Her fingers now clutched Alex's forearm like her life depended on it. She wasn't about to surrender Russo without a fight.
But I wasn't just a sore loser—I also hated sharing.
Christian, oblivious to the duel, was already lightly taking Valeria's wrist. "Don't be shy—come on, you'll be impressed."
She hesitated for a moment, shot me one last piercing glare, then let herself be led away. Before I could even savor my small victory, Russo's voice cut through the air—low and thoroughly amused.
"Nicely pl—"
"Shut your damn mouth," I hissed, whirling on him so sharply he actually fell silent, stunned. "What the hell was that?"
My index finger jabbed at him like the barrel of a gun.
He studied me with infuriating calm, as if my words were meant for someone else. "What was what?"
"You didn't mention you were taken."
"Maybe because I'm not," he replied, deliberately casual, popping a chip into his mouth.
"Oh? So what are you, then? A stray that lets anyone pet it?" I jutted my chin defiantly.
His gaze dragged over my face. "What do you want from me, Fiona?"
Seriously? "What I... what I want from you?" I want you to fuck me, you idiot! "I won't say it." I slid the bowl of chips just out ofhis reach—pure petty provocation.
His dark eyes smoldered as he flashed me a triumphant grin. And retrieved the chips. "Then you won't get it."
"Cut the bullshit." The words tore from between my clenched teeth. "I want to know what to expect from you."
"What do you think you should expect from me?"
"I want an answer, not another question."
