“Your beauty is a ruinous thing—enough to bring empires to their knees, mine included.”
Her lips curled faintly.
I stepped closer, sliding my free hand around her waist.
I dipped my head, brushing my lips against hers—a fleeting taste before she startled, cheeks flushed.
“Angelo,” she hissed, pushing me back gently. “Stop. People are watching.”
“And?”
“They’ll think we’re …together.”
I traced my thumb along her cheek. “Aren’t we,amore?”
She inhaled deeply, her resolve cracking as she chewed her bottom lip.
“Angelo–”
“I can still feel how tight your pussy was around my cock the other night. We can skip the pleasantries and admit it—you’re mine, Jade.”
“Ugh, you’resoinappropriate.”
I inched closer, “Only when I’m with you. Let’s get you a drink.”
I took her hand again, unwilling to let go, and guided her through the crowd.
I found a nearby butler, snatched a glass of champagne, and pressed it into her hand.
She finished it off in three gulps.
“Angelo—”
“Mr. Lazzio! There you are!”
A man approached with a woman under his arm—young enough to be his daughter.
“Congratulations on a stunning night. It’s our first New Year’s Eve in New York, and there’s no better way to start the year than with a Lazzio exhibition.”
I released Jade’s hand, forced a polite smile, and shook his.
“It’s me. Cillian Mondeor.”
Cillian Mondeor. Europe’s golden architect. The man who had turned Paris into a modern masterpiece. A man whose work had made him the envy of the world.
“Welcome, Cillian,” I said smoothly. “It’s an honor.”
“No, the honor’s mine. What you’ve done here—renovating the museum after that fire… It’s extraordinary. You’d never know it burned to the ground.”
Smoke. Screams. Flames devouring everything in sight—the memories clawed at me, but I shoved them down.
“Thank you, Cillian. Allow me to introduce my COO, Jade Whitenhouse. She’s the mastermind behind tonight?—”
I turned.
She was gone.
The spot where she’d stood only seconds ago was empty, swallowed whole by the sea of masks and glittering chaos.