Page 31

"Just plotting the philosophical corruption of law students," I say, watching his lips twitch. “The usual."
Kira makes a strategic retreat, throwing me a look that clearly says we'll be gossiping about this later. I barely notice, too caught up in the way Stefano's moving toward me, like a predator who's spotted his prey.
"You were incredible out there," he says, backing me against the makeup counter. His hands settle on either side of me, caging me in. "You’re so good at driving me crazy."
"That's kind of the point." I trace a finger down his tie, enjoying the way his breath catches. "It's called a performance for a reason."
"Is it?" His lips brush my ear. "Because some of those moves seemed...personally targeted."
He's not wrong. Half my routine had been choreographed just for him—a private show in plain sight. Another line blurred between reality and performance.
But before I can respond, his phone buzzes. The change is instant, tension replacing desire as he checks the message.
"Problem?" I ask, though my heart's already racing. I know that look. It's the same one my father would get when a job was about to go sideways.
"Maybe." He runs a hand through his hair in a rare tell. "There's been some...activity at the docks. People asking questions they shouldn't."
Docks? My mouth goes dry. "What kind of questions?"
"The kind that get people hurt." His eyes meet mine, and for a moment I see past the controlled façade to something raw. "Someone's trying to get inside my organization. The docks, the club..." He laughs without humor. "Hell, they probably want to infiltrate my coffee shop next."
You have no idea how close they already are.
"The club?" I keep my voice casual, though my pulse is thundering. "But it's legitimate. Clean."
"Which makes it the perfect cover." He starts pacing, all contained energy and lethal grace. "Put eyes inside, watch the operation, look for weak points..." He stops suddenly, turning to me. "I need your help."
I blink. "My help?"
"You see everything from that stage. Notice things others miss." His hands cup my face, and the tender gesture nearly breaks me. "Help me find whoever's trying to destroy what I've built. Please."
The last word is soft, almost vulnerable. It would be so easy to say yes. To actually help him. To choose him over the Fiori family and their threats.
So easy to forget that I'm exactly what he's hunting.
"Of course," I hear myself say, the lie tasting like ashes. "Anything you need."
His kiss is fierce, grateful, full of trust I haven't earned and can't keep. I kiss him back just as desperately, trying to memorize how this feels before it all falls apart.
Because it will fall apart. The only question is who'll be left standing in the wreckage.
His phone buzzes again—Tommaso, probably with more news about the docks. But Stefano just silences it, his attention entirely on me.
His mouth crashes into mine again, hungry and demanding. All thoughts of spies and infiltrators disappear as he presses me harder against the makeup counter, sending brushes and compacts scattering. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands grip my hips.
"Security camera," I gasp as his lips trail down my neck.
He growls something that might be Italian, then suddenly I'm being lifted, wrapped around him as he carries me into one of the private dressing rooms. The door slams behind us and I'm pressed against it, his body pinning me in place.
"Come home with me," he demands between kisses. "Now."
"I have another set?—"
"Cancel it." His teeth graze my pulse point. "I need you in my bed. I need to watch you fall apart where no one else can see."
The possessiveness sends heat pooling low in my belly. "Your place then," I agree, already starting to shimmy out of my costume so I can put on my street clothes.
His eyes darken as he watches me change. "Ten minutes. Meet me at the back entrance."