The applause still hummed in my ears long after the ballroom was closed. The kiss — the damn kiss — had been murmuring in hushed tones, in glasses clinking, in light from camera flashes.

To the world, it was proof. To me, it was a mistake. Because I couldn’t get over the thought. Dante brought me upstairs when the party would cease altogether, hand heavy on my small back if you want to call it that, as if he still managed to control my behavior.

His smile was serrated edges, a predator comfortable with the anarchy he had constructed. When the suite’s door shut behind us, I wheeled around on him.

“What the hell was that?” He tossed off his jacket and tossed it up at a chair with infuriating ease. “A kiss, Bella. Don’t let me know it was your first.” “You had no right—”

“No right?” He laughed, low and dangerous.

“We’re engaged. Publicly. Officially. You wanted to see a performance, and I produced it. Or would you rather Matteo have kissed you tonight?”

The name hit like a slap. My chest closed tight, fury wrestling with something far more potent. “You don’t use him as an excuse,” I snapped. “You did it for yourself. To prove you could. To humiliate me.”

Dante’s eyes blurred, that smirk turning to something thinner. He went on cutting the distance between us in two strides, propping me against the wall with his body.

The heat of him enveloped me, suffocating me with it. "Humiliate you?" His was a steel whisper. “Tell me, Isidora — was that humiliation I tasted when you kissed me back? Or was it something else?"

My breath caught. His face was inches away from mine, his hand firmly in between mine and held by either side of my head, the fragrance, like a cloud of expensive cologne, and some other less desirable smell mixed together in my mind.

“I didn’t—” “You did.” He turned his mouth into a deadly weapon, knowing.

“But you kissed me back as if you wanted the room to be burning. As if you’ve wanted it for years.”

A flush coursed up my neck, betrayal from my own body. I shoved my way through his chest, and he let me breathe. “You’re delusional.”

He released me but his smile looked good for me when he let me go, when he promised I had already won.

“Maybe. But you have to, you know there’s something to remember, Bella. The world saw that kiss. They believed it. And now, they will also believe you are mine.”

The words landed harder than they should have. Mine. Mine. I looked away, pacing towards the window. There the city, outside sparkled — power and danger and temptation — dancing on the outside in lights and shadows.

“This is a deal, Romano. Nothing more. You do not touch me unless there are eyes on us. You don’t need to kiss me unless it is part of the show. Understand?”

Behind me, silence. And his gentle voice, gentler than I hoped that could get through to me.

"Careful, Isidora. You are drawing lines I already want to cross." It filled the air with something heavy. I hated him for saying it. hated him more because of the pounding heart my mind had at the thought.

*********

We didn’t keep in touch that evening. I slammed the door of my bedroom shut, though somewhere in me wanted to believe that if I hadn’t left it open, he’d have gone there.

Sleep was impotent — every time I closed my eyes, I heard his mouth, saw him in my jaw, the world tipping against my body and me.

*********

It was early morning, and the city hummed. The engagement was everywhere — headlines, gossip columns, whispers from the underworld.My phone was flooded with messages, not a few of them veiled threats.

One stood out. No name. Only the words written in a steady, deliberate hand:

He’ll bleed for you. And so will you. The screen chilled my skin. Enemies were already circling.

By noon, Dante’s office had me, the skyline in front of me like the kingdom he owned. He tossed a newspaper across his desk.

“See? We’re the story of the year.” The front page screamed, a photograph of the party — his mouth on mine, my eyes closed, each line of our bodies pressed against the other.

It didn’t look staged. It looked real. Too real. “You’re having a good time,” I replied blankly. He huddled in his chair, dark amusement and steely control all around.

“Of course, I am. I’ve been trying for years to knock the smug out of your family. And I can do it now, by just putting a ring on your finger.” My eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about them. It’s about me staying free. Don't twist it.”

“Free?” His smile turned wolfish. “Bella, you’re not free. You’re mine now. Every headline says it. Every enemy believes it. That gives you leverage.”

“And leverage gets people killed.” The words landed heavy. His grin faded—for the first time it ever did.

His eyes sharpened, dangerous. “Who’s been talking to you?” I put the phone on the desk. He picked up the message, and his jaw tightened as he had a kind of first crack in his coolness.

“This isn’t Vescari style,” he mumbled. “Too quiet. Too personal.” “Then who?” I demanded. He stared into my eyes, cold, flickering fire burning there.

“Whoever it is, they’re dead, they’re already dead. They just don’t know it yet.” There was silence, heavy and threatening and hopeful back home from the other side.

I should have been relieved. My spine, instead, shivered. As I learned something terrifying. For the first time in my life, it wasn’t just that I had a rival in Dante Romano. He was my shield.

And if I looked at something in his eyes, it would seem to be a stern warning to do not make bones, so, for my worst hour, I would rather burn the city to dust than have anyone touch me.