Page 5

I feel the anger surge through me, blinding and sharp. How dare he?

“You don’t even know me.” I sound defensive, maybe a little hypocritical, since I had just tried to read him, but I wasn’t cruel about it.

“I don’t have to. Everyone here can see it.”

“What?” My fingers clench deeper around my purse, and for a moment, I wonder what will happen if I pull out my taser and use it on him.

Of course, the thought is absurd, as jail or worse would await me if I acted on it. So, instead, I settle on using my words.

“You’re not much different from any of the men in there. You’re just another asshole who thinks with his cock and acts on impulse.” I spit the words out.

He steps closer, his aftershave and cologne lingering in the air. It’s a masculine scent, and I know I won’t forget it anytime soon.

“Careful,” he says with a slow, knowing smile. “You don’t want to cross any lines—I don’t think you can handle the consequences.”

That smile pisses me off. His casual arrogance cuts deep, and it’s hard to ignore. “Maybe you should save your threats for someone who cares.”

For a moment, his expression remains unreadable. Then, his mouth curves into a slow, mocking smile. His gaze lingers on my lips just a bit too long, and I hate how it makes me feel. “Brave,” he says, as though it’s a mocking insult. “Or stupid.”

The space between us feels oppressive, closing in with every second. I open my mouth to respond, but an angry voice cuts through the tension before I can.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” it demands, sharp and biting.

2

NICOLAS

I despise events like this, but not as much as I hate the man standing before me.

Marco Rossi. A man who reeks of an inferiority complex, propped up solely by the legacy his father built. On his own, he wouldn’t be worth my time. But the name Rossi commands attention, whether I like it or not.

Still, I ignore him. My focus remains on his sister.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Marco snaps again, stepping closer.

I roll my eyes, annoyed at the interruption, just when I began to enjoy the fiery back-and-forth with his little spitfire of a sister.

Aria Rossi is a surprise. Her reputation never hinted at the sharp wit or fierce personality she unleashed on me. And her beauty—well, that’s undeniable. She’s the kind of beautiful that men would go to war for, the kind that draws you in even when you know better.

Even now, with her eyes blazing with defiance, I can’t look away. My gaze scans over her—her dark hair swept up, soft tendrils teasing her graceful neck. Her full lips painted a bold red that dares anyone to look too long. Her body is perfection: full breasts, an elegant curve to her hips, every detail designed to captivate.

And it works.

That bold and tempting lipstick makes me wonder how it would look smeared, leaving imprints on my skin. Around my cock.

I shouldn’t be thinking this way, but I’d bet half the men in the room are having similar thoughts. Marco knows it, too.

I’m sure that’s why she’s here: to make men react, stir their blood, and tempt them into saying things they shouldn’t. That’s her weapon, and she wields it expertly. My body’s reaction to her only proves how effective she is.

She almost had me earlier with her pointed comments about falsity. The irony isn’t lost on me—Aria Rossi, queen of deception, accusingmeof thriving on lies.

“Paolo,” Marco growls, his voice tight with barely concealed fury. “I asked you a fucking question.”

I arch my eyebrows at him, unimpressed. Few people would dare speak to me like that and get away with it. This is precisely why I loathe the Rossis—all of them, right down to their women.

Marco’s gaze shifts to his sister, and for a moment, she freezes. Her expression is a careful mask—neutral, controlled. Yet, even in stillness, she draws attention like a flame.

I’ve been trying not to look at her since Marco barged in, but now that I do, it’s impossible to resist. She’s captivating.