Page 90 of The Devil's Thorn
As we pass through the crowd, I cast a quick glance toward Rafael.
He hasn’t moved. Still surrounded by Bratva power and carefully curated alliances, but I feel it—the awareness that prickles between us, invisible and hot like static.
He’s watching. Even if he won’t admit it.
His jaw ticks slightly when I look away. Good.
We reach the table. I sit first, cross one leg over the other slowly, letting the slit in my dress slide just enough to hint—but not show. The dagger is still there. Still pressing into my thigh. My reminder.
Alessio sits across from me, leaning back like he owns the space. “You always pick the dark corners of the room?”
I tilt my head. “Only when I want to hear the truth.”
He chuckles, signaling to a nearby server. “Two of your best,” he says. “Whatever it is.”
I keep my eyes on him, sipping the last of my champagne.
Time to start peeling.
“So, Alessio,” I say, voice soft, fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “What’s a man like you looking for at a gathering like this?”
“Opportunity,” he answers without missing a beat. “And maybe a little fun, if I’m lucky.”
“And what does opportunity look like for you? A seat at the table? A name no one forgets?”
He smirks, like the idea excites him. “Maybe both.”
“Ambitious.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” I say, lowering my voice just slightly. “I’m just trying to figure out who you’re trying to impress.”
The server sets down two glasses—something amber and expensive. Alessio lifts his, clinks it gently against mine. “What makes you think I’m trying to impress anyone?”
“Because I’ve watched enough men to know when they’re lying.”
He laughs, genuinely this time. “Okay, Natasha. You got me. Maybe I do want to prove a little something. This life… it’s not for the weak.”
“No,” I say, leaning in slightly, “it’s not.”
His eyes flick to my mouth. “You sound like someone who knows more than she lets on.”
I just smile.
Hook.
“Tell me something, Alessio,” I murmur. “If you had somethingbig,something that could make waves… would you tell anyone?”
He sits back, eyes narrowing just slightly, like the question caught him off guard. But his ego won’t let him play it safe.
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“Let’s pretend it’s just me,” I say. “And I don’t care about politics. I just like secrets.”
He lifts his glass again. Swallows. Watches me. “There’s talk,” he says slowly. “Things moving behind the curtain. Some shifting of hands.”
“Shifting?” I echo. “Like… new alliances?”
