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His lips twitch, a fleeting smile playing on his face. “No, that’s not it,” he says softly. “I thought blue was your color. But now, I’m starting to think everything might be your color.”

The words catch me off guard. My cheeks flush, and I turn away quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice the blush creeping up my neck. It’s not even a grand compliment, so why the fuck is my heart stuttering?

I glance out the window, forcing myself to focus on anything but the man sitting next to me.

When we arrive at the restaurant, it’s clear this isn’t just a casual dinner. The place exudes luxury, from the crystal chandeliers to the red carpet leading to the entrance. A valet opens the door, and Nicolas steps out first, offering a hand to help me.

The touch is brief, but it stirs too many memories.

The room is filled with people dressed to impress, and their stares seem to bore into my skin. This isn’t the same as the looks I used to get when I was just a Rossi.

Nicolas keeps his hand in mine, even when we sit. And honestly, I’m grateful.

To anyone watching, we must look… happy. Like a real couple. He leans in close, his voice low as he asks if I’m comfortable. I nod, pretending his proximity doesn’t tighten my stomach.

Nicolas orders wine, and the waiter brings appetizers.

“What’s your favorite flower?” he asks, and I don’t answer because I don’t think he’s talking to me.

I just stare at the beautifully presented bruschetta on my plate. I didn’t even realize how hungry I was.

“Aria.”

“Mhmm,” I respond without turning.

“I asked what your favorite flower was.”

I slowly turn my head to him. “That question was for me?”

He frowns. “Who else would I be talking to?”

Then I glance around us. The tables are spaced just right for privacy, so he must be asking me.

“You,” I point at him. “Are asking me,” I point at myself. “What my favorite flower is.”

His lips twitch, and I can’t tell if it’s an annoyance or if he’s holding back a smile. “Why do you care?”

He smirks, sipping his wine. “I’m trying to get to know you,Bambina. Like a good husband.”

10

NICOLAS

I’m in a meeting, though I’d much rather be elsewhere.

What I thought would be a two-hour discussion now threatens to consume the entire day. The meeting is important—critical, even, given recent events—but my attention keeps slipping. One moment, I’m listening to Matteo, my new second-in-command, deliver updates; the next, my mind is elsewhere. Or, more accurately, onsomeoneelse.

I shake my head and take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. The room is thick with cigar smoke, mingling with the stale scent of coffee. The men around the mahogany table wear sharp suits, their words as cutting as their tailored edges. Most of them are older, seasoned players in the game. Matteo, seated to my right, flips through reports with a precision that suggests each glance will reveal something new.

I lean back in my chair, striving to engage in the discussion. They’re talking about the shipment from Montenegro—AK-47s, grenades, and enough ammunition to fuel a small war. It’s a solid haul, yet unease settles in my gut. Something about this situation doesn’t sit right.

Despite thorough investigations, we still don’t know how the ambush was possible. All we have are fragments—chatter, speculation, and half-formed theories. Nothing concrete. And nothing I can rely on.

“The shipment will arrive by the end of the week,” Matteo says, his voice calm and steady. Though he lacks the meticulousness of his predecessor, he’s been proving himself capable. “We’ve secured the docks and doubled the security.”

“And the Rossis?” someone asks, their voice carrying an edge of skepticism.

“They’re holding up their end of the deal—for now,” Matteo replies. “They’ve been conducting business in our territory and granted us access to theirs. Our products are selling well there, especially since most of the consumers are sampling them for the first time.”