Page 176 of Sinful Lies

“And I want her to enjoy it. She worked fucking hard for this.”

Vittori’s lip curled, disbelief painted across his face. “Lazzio?—”

“I love her, Leonardo.”

“Does she know?”

“She will. Tonight.”

If the room hadn’t been filled with murmuring socialites and orchestral violins, I knew he would have laughed in my face. Me—Angelo Lazzio—admitting something so reckless, so fucking weak. But the truth had a way of escaping when you least expected it.

I was in love with Jade Whitenhouse.

So wholly, so relentlessly in love that the mere thought of her being upset or disappointed tonight made me want to raze the whole damn ballroom to the ground.

“Finally,” Vittori muttered, snatching another glass of champagne. “Took you long enough. Six years obsessed with this girl, and you’re only just figuring it out.”

Annoyance clawed at the back of my throat. “Stai zitto.”

I shoved my empty glass into his hand and turned to leave—but, fuck it. A hard punch to his stomach silenced him faster. He doubled over with a groan, laughter bubbling in its wake.

“By the way, touch her again, and I’ll make you swallow your teeth,stronzo.”

He straightened with a wince, a grin splitting his face. “Noted.”

I left him there, weaving through the crowd like a man possessed. I smiled, shook hands, greeted old partners and investors, but none of it mattered. None of them mattered. My soul itched for her—the only person worth seeing.

A flick of my wrist revealed the time on my Rolex.

An hour since the ball had begun, and Jade wasn’t here. That wasn’t like her. She called me a control freak, but on nights like this? She was the one who demanded perfection—every detail, every corner, every step orchestrated to her vision.

I glanced at my phone. No calls. No texts.

Then, it happened.

The shiver.

The fine hair at my nape rose.

She was here. I fuckingfelther.

My eyes snapped to the top of the staircase.

Jade Whitenhouse.

Mia diavoletta.

Emerald silk poured over her curves—-the one I gifted her for Christmas—black hair swept sleek and regal, her maskcatching the light with glittering green flecks—like shards of a dangerous jewel. Her hands trembled against her small bag, those sharp eyes darting over the crowd as though the weight of the room itself might crush her.

I moved.

The violins faded, everything muffled as I pushed my way through the throng until I stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.

She froze when her gaze met mine. Just for a second—her hand clutching the banister tightly, her lips trembling, before she forced herself forward, one step at a time.

When she reached me, I held out my hand.

Slowly, her fingers slipped into mine—warm, delicate, her nails grazing my skin like fire. I lifted her hand to my lips.

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