MIA
“Eliza! Over here! Look this way!” photographers called out, vying for my client’s attention.
I fixed a wrinkle in her skirt. “Go ahead.”
“You’re not coming with me?” she asked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. She looked stunning in her custom-made brocade gown, a masterpiece that had taken me and a local designer weeks to create.
“I’m going to head straight inside.” For Eliza, this was a big red-carpet moment, but for me, it was a chance to spend one night under the veil of anonymity.
A mask—velvet with a pearl trim that matched the details on my gown—covered the top half of my face.
It. Was. Glorious.
I had no plans to take it off at any point tonight. The people here had no clue who I was, and I’d made Eliza promise not to out me.
I moved behind the backdrop and walked down a narrow path that was there for anyone who wanted to go directly to the museum entrance. The venue, a beautifully restored historic building from the 1940s, had originally been a family estate for one of the city’s wealthiest dynasties, the Starks. Now, it was an intimate art museum with collections that rotated a few times a year.
My black velvet gown rustled around me as I stepped inside the covered courtyard where the welcome cocktails were taking place. I picked up a flute of rosé with a maraschino cherry at the bottom and found a quiet spot near the edge of the courtyard.
From here, I had a clear view of the space. Guests were slowly trickling in dressed in a kaleidoscope of flowing fabrics, intricate embroidery, and elaborate masks.
I loved it.
A grin tugged on my lips. I was so glad I’d listened to Fabi and Eliza and agreed to come. I planned to spend the evening melting into the background and feasting my eyes on the spectacle around me.
No reporters. No interviews. No speeches.
My smile faltered when I caught my reflection in one of the mirrors hanging on the wall. My hand was resting just above my chest, my fingers mindlessly tracing back and forth over the diamonds resting against my skin.
Romolo’s diamonds.
It was the necklace I’d sworn I’d never wear. And I’d meant it. It had stayed tucked away in that drawer right up until tonight.
The stylist in me hadn’t been able to ignore how perfectly it complemented the pearl-trimmed neckline of my dress. Just before I’d left, I’d tried it on, and, against my better judgment, I’d given in.
It was an impulsive decision. One I was already regretting. Now, every time I looked in the mirror, I’d think of him.
Brilliant, Mia. Tonight was supposed to help you get him out of your head.
I sighed. Guess I’d just have to avoid checking my reflection for the rest of the evening.
Candles flickered in the centerpieces, tuxedoed servers balanced tiny espresso cups on trays, and a five-piece band played a waltz from a small stage in the corner of the ballroom.
Eliza was already on the dance floor with a partner, along with a few other couples. I was still finishing dessert. When we first sat down for dinner, she’d introduced me to the people at our table as her stylist, Mia. Apart from a magazine editor who seemed vaguely curious, no one appeared to recognize me.
Exactly how I wanted it.
“Coffee, miss?”
“I’m alright, thank you,” I said to the server at the same time that my gaze caught on a familiar silhouette on the other side of the ballroom.
Is that…?
I blinked, and he was gone, lost behind the sea of masks and Venetian gowns moving across the dance floor.
No, it couldn’t be Romolo. I was most likely imagining things again. The grueling schedule of the last few weeks had done a number on me. I could have sworn I’d seen Romolo walk by the studio on more than one occasion, but by the time I’d made my way over to the window to get a closer look, there was no one there.
“You don’t have a drink,” Erik, the celebrity hairstylist from LA who was seated next to me, said. “Would you like to grab one at the bar?”
I forced myself to give him my full attention and smiled. “That sounds great.” Was it a good idea to drink when I was already mildly questioning my grasp on reality? Probably not, but screw it. At least I could distract myself with Erik’s company for a little while.
Erik got me a glass of red wine and a gin and tonic for himself. We moved to one of the high-top tables scattered on the edges of the dance floor where he began telling me about some of the projects he’d worked on this year. Despite trying so hard to stay focused, my attention was split. I tried to follow what he was saying. I really did. But my gaze kept being pulled back to the faces around the room.
The dark-haired man I’d seen was wearing a mask. It hid most of his face. Yes, he had a strong jaw, but Romolo wasn’t the only man who had one of those. He also wasn’t the only tall man with broad shoulders and—
“Mia.”
My eyes snapped to Erik. Shoot, did he ask me something? I was about to fess up that I missed it, when he smiled and said, “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure.” We’d finished our drinks, though I was so distracted I couldn’t even remember drinking mine.
Maybe a dance would stop my mind from conjuring ghosts.
Erik’s hand was warm in mine as he led me onto the dance floor. He looked dapper in his damask jacket. A deep-red cravat was tied in an elaborate knot around his neck, resting over his high-collared shirt.
We stopped amidst the twirling couples, and Erik’s hands settled on my waist. He smiled at me. “So will you ever show me what’s under that mask?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the flirtatious note in his tone. Until now, he’d seemed friendly, but I hadn’t picked up that kind of a vibe from him.
Then again, had I really been paying attention?
There was a spark in his gaze. Maybe the gin and tonic had emboldened him.
I forced a polite smile. “I’m not sure. The mystery of it is kind of fun, don’t you think?”
The way his smile faltered told me he’d expected a different response. He’d taken his own mask off a while ago.
I forced myself to study his features.
Handsome, yes, but…I felt nothing.
No acceleration in my pulse. No spark inside my belly. Nothing compared to the feverish heat I felt around Romolo.
It was depressing.
“Well, then,” Erik said lightly, “I’ll just have to see you unmasked some other time. Could I get your number?”
“Not if you value your ability to breathe without a respirator.”
A shiver tumbled down my spine at that familiar deep voice. There was no mistaking it.
Erik froze, confusion and then unease clear on his face. He stared at the man whose presence I could feel against my back. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Romolo replied, his tone sharp. He stepped forward, appearing like a dark sentinel in my periphery. I refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge him even as every inch of my skin prickled with awareness.
“Ignore him,” I muttered.
Erik’s brow furrowed. “Do you know this guy?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said, my eyes locked on Erik’s cravat.
“You wound me.” Romolo’s voice dropped, like whatever he was about to say next was meant only for my ears. “And here I’d hoped you’d be happy to see me.”
My head snapped toward him. “Did you real—“
My. Dear. Lord.
Like me, he was in black velvet. He wore a sexy, tailored Tom Ford that would have made him look like the perfect gentleman if it wasn’t for that arrogant smirk, the snake tattoo peering over the collar of his shirt, and the rude words coming out of his mouth. The look was understated, but he wore it so damn well that it didn’t matter.
Warmth pooled low in my belly. Those sparks I was just missing were back in full force.
My body was clearly happy to see him, but my mind knew better than that.
“You shouldn’t set your hopes on things with a zero probability of happening,” I said, meeting his gaze.
His lips twitched beneath his mask, and I saw his gray eyes twinkling with dark amusement.
The fact that I’d recognized him in a split second from across the room was so irritating. It was like my senses had somehow gotten attuned to him without my consent.
“My friend doesn’t seem interested in talking to you,” Erik said with a defiant tilt to his chin.
“She’s not your fucking friend. You just met her.”
“Do I need to call security?”
“Do that, and I’ll break each one of your fingers before I break your neck.”
Erik’s hands fell away from my waist.
For God’s sake. “Excuse his twisted sense of humor, Erik. He doesn’t get out much.”
“She’s the only one who knows how to handle me.” Romolo’s tone was infuriatingly smug. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, your presence is no longer required. Leave.”
Erik glanced at me, clearly unsure what he should do.
I gave him a terse nod. I didn’t want to cause a scene and draw attention to myself. “It’s okay.”
Erik stepped away, and Romolo wasted no time. He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. Warm fingers brushed against the bare skin of my upper back, lightly nudging the clasp of my necklace.
“Fifty carats look good on you,” he murmured.
My eyes widened. Fifty carats? Fifty?!
He was certifiable.
“Take. It. Off,” I said through clenched teeth. “I don’t want it.”
“And yet here you are wearing it.”
I reached for the clasp, but he caught my wrists and held them between us.
“Shhh. Calm down,” he said and then leaned forward and kissed the tops of my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine.
My pulse skittered, and I stared at him in shock.
We were in public. There were hundreds of people around us. Someone would see us and—
The masks.
That’s right. We were hidden in plain sight.
And yet he’d recognized me. Just like I’d recognized him.
“How did you know I’d be here?” My voice shook.
He released my wrists and settled his large, warm hands on my waist. My palms flattened against his chest.
“I made sure you’d be here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Eliza and I are connected through a mutual friend. I asked her to let her date stay home and invite you instead. I needed to find a way to talk to you in person, and you wouldn’t have agreed to that if I’d asked.”
My eyes widened. He’d set this up. I’d known something was off when Eliza had been so pushy when she called. She’d probably been instructed to get me to agree to come or else.
“Did you threaten my client if she didn’t go along with your scheme?” I demanded, appalled at the thought.
“I didn’t need to,” he said. “Most smart people in this city know it’s good to have a Ferraro owe them a favor.”
Yes, based on what my father had told me, that much was true. Just a few days ago, I’d overheard him venting about all the people the Ferraros had in their pocket.
I stared at him, confused by those kisses, confused by the effort he’d made to arrange for us to meet. “Romolo, all this to talk? What’s there to talk about?”
“Plenty.” His gaze narrowed. “Why don’t we start with what the fuck happened to you up on that stage last week?”
I frowned. “You heard about it?” The team had made an effort to bury any articles that mentioned my stumbling, and it hadn’t become a big story.
“I saw it, Mia. On TV. You almost fell.”
He’d watched the rallies? I tucked that piece of information away for a later review. “I got a bit lightheaded. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” His hold on me tightened. “It’s a bad look. You don’t want rumors about Morales exploiting his daughter at the expense of her health making the news.”
He was making it into a far bigger deal than it was. And why? Was he worried about me? “What do you care? I’d assume any negative press about my dad would be celebrated by your family.”
His jaw ticked. “How do you feel now?”
Frustration bubbled up inside of me at the way he’d avoided my question. “Romolo, enough. Don’t tell me you went to all this trouble to ask me about my health.”
His gaze darkened. The masks we wore were the only reason we could have this conversation, but right now, I wanted to rip his off so that I could see his face. He’d always been hard to read. Now, it was practically impossible.
“What do you really want?” I asked.
A beat passed.
“You.”
My heart leaped and then plummeted a second later.
More games. I was so tired of playing them with him.
I stopped mid-dance and pushed against his chest. “Let go of me.”
His hold on me only tightened. “Listen to me,” he murmured, bringing his lips close to my ear. “Please.”
“Just when I’d managed to forget about you, you waltz right back into my life,” I spat out. It was a lie. I wondered if he could tell.
He waited for me to still before he resumed spinning me around the room. “Lucky you,” he said. “You don’t want to know the things I’ve done to try to forget you for even a minute these past few weeks. None of them worked. You haven’t left my mind for longer than a breath.”
My pulse trembled.
“I can’t fucking sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see you so vividly that I can practically taste you.” Romolo leaned in, brushing his lips against my temple. “I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me, Berry, but I need to get you out of my system. And I think you need to get me out of yours too.”
I should’ve kneed him in the groin—the way I did the first day we met—and fled the scene.
But I couldn’t. Because despite being so damn frustrated with him, with the situation, I could relate to the feeling.
“Berry?” I asked, buying myself more time to think.
He lifted his hand and dragged his thumb over my bottom lip, pulling it down as he did it. “That’s what these look like. That’s what you taste like.” Behind his mask, his gaze flared. “Everywhere.”
The memory of him tasting me off his fingers made my breath catch. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“Simple. You. Me. A sturdy bed with a headboard, and a box of condoms. Remember how you said I hadn’t earned you moaning my name? Let me fucking earn it.”
Oh. Oh.
I teetered somewhere between insulted and turned on. He wasn’t here to woo me. He was being upfront about what he wanted.
His eyes were focused on me like I was prey.
And damn it all to hell, I was turned on. Even though I knew it was all so, so risky and wrong.
“It’s eleven. If we leave now, you’ll be screaming it by midnight,” he said roughly. He spread his palm open over my waist, moving his thumb up my ribcage and brushing it against the side of my breast.
My nipples tightened immediately. It was getting hard to breathe. “How do I know you’re not a bad lay?”
That earned me a chuckle. “Think of what I did to you with just my fingers. Now imagine those replaced with my tongue and a nine-inch—’
“Okay, I got it.” My face felt like it was about to melt off. My pussy freaking clenched. Was my headboard sturdy enough? “To be clear, you’re proposing we do this tonight?”
“For a start.” His voice was so low and tense. “We can continue until we decide we’ve had enough of each other.”
“Just tonight.” The masks gave us cover. I could bring him upstairs without the concierge seeing his face. But beyond that, it was too risky. “Otherwise, I’ll have problems.”
“I can deal with your problems. Dealt with Kassandra, didn’t I?”
WHAT?
I stumbled over my feet.
No. It couldn’t be. “That was you?”
His hands twitched on my waist. “I didn’t like how she talked to you that day. I should have done it earlier, but better late than never.”
My mouth was agape.
A mobster had run one of my competitors out of town. At least, I hoped that was all he’d done.
Was she still even alive?!
Heat flashed over my body. The floor tilted. The room seemed to spin even though we weren’t moving anymore.
“Mia?”
My eyelids lowered. I knew what was coming, but I couldn’t stop it.
“Don’t let me fall,” I whispered as everything around me faded to black.
