Page 377 of Rosetti Family New York
The words echo what she said in the library, but something's different now. There's a wall between us that wasn't there after our kiss, after the way she surrendered under my hands. She'sretreating behind that composed facade, turning herself back into the untouchable Callahan princess.
It shouldn't bother me. This is business, after all. Leverage against Chase, nothing more.
But it does bother me. And that annoys me more than her distance.
"Come here," I say quietly.
She hesitates for just a moment, then crosses to me with that unconscious grace that makes my pulse spike. When she's close enough to touch, I reach out and adjust one of her earrings, letting my fingers brush the soft skin of her neck. The same spot where I held her throat, where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird under my touch.
She doesn't pull away, but I feel her tension increase. Every muscle in her body is wound tight, ready to run or fight despite her promises.
"Relax, bella." I let my hand linger at her throat, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse. "You're safe with me."
"Am I?" The question slips out before she can stop it, and for a moment the mask cracks. I see the woman underneath, the one who kissed me back with desperate hunger, who admitted she wanted my touch.
"Always." The word comes out rougher than I intended. "No one will hurt you while you're mine."
Her green eyes search my face, looking for truth or lies or something in between. Whatever she finds there seems to satisfy her, because some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
"Ready?" I offer her my arm.
She takes it with steady fingers. "Ready."
The drive into Manhattan passes in comfortable silence, city lights streaming past the tinted windows of the SUV. Isabella sits beside me, poised and controlled, her bare shoulder occasionally brushing mine when Anton takes a turn. Each point of contactsends heat through my system, making me hyperaware of her scent, her breathing, the way her fingers rest in her lap.
I remember those fingers digging into my shoulders when I kissed her, the way she arched against me when my hand found her breast. The memory makes my jaw tighten. This is supposed to be about business, not the way she felt melting under my touch.
By the time we reach the Plaza, I'm wound tighter than piano wire.
The valet opens Isabella's door, and flashbulbs immediately start popping. A small crowd of photographers has gathered outside the hotel, drawn by the promise of society scandal. I slide out after her, placing my hand on the small of her back as we walk toward the entrance.
She doesn't stiffen at my touch. Doesn't pull away. Instead, she turns her head slightly and smiles, brilliant and dazzling. But her body moves closer to mine, seeking shelter or comfort, and the warmth of her skin through the silk makes me think of how she felt pressed against the bookshelf.
"Smile, bella," I murmur against her ear as we reach the revolving doors. "You're the most beautiful scandal in the room."
Her breath catches slightly, but her smile never wavers. We move through the lobby like we belong here, like she chose to be on my arm instead of being forced into it. The performance is flawless.
The ballroom doors open to reveal Manhattan's elite in all their glittering glory. Gold chandeliers cast warm light over designer gowns and tuxedos. Champagne towers catch the overhead lighting, and classical music drifts from a small orchestra near the dance floor. The air smells like expensive perfume, aged whiskey, and the particular scent of old money mingling with fresh corruption.
This is my world as much as it is theirs. I've been playing this game since I was old enough to wear a suit, using charm and calculated violence in equal measure to build the Rosetti empire. But tonight feels different. Tonight, I'm not just here to make deals or gather intelligence.
Tonight, I'm claiming what's mine.
"Matteo." Senator Reynolds approaches us, his wife trailing behind him like an expensive accessory. His eyes immediately shift to Isabella, taking in every detail with the hungry assessment of a man who appreciates beautiful things. "What a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect to see you here."
"Senator." I extend my hand, noting the way he lingers over Isabella's appearance. The possessive heat that spikes through me is unexpected and unwelcome. "I'd like you to meet Isabella Callahan."
The reaction is immediate. His wife's eyebrows raise slightly, and I can practically see the gossip calculations running behind her eyes. A waiter drops his champagne flute somewhere behind us, the crash of glass punctuating the moment. Everyone in this room knows the Callahan name, knows about Chase's recent troubles with my family. Having his niece here, on my arm, sends shockwaves through their carefully maintained social order.
Exactly what I wanted.
"Miss Callahan." The Senator's handshake lingers just a moment too long. "You look absolutely radiant tonight."
"Thank you, Senator Reynolds." Isabella's voice is warm honey, modulated to the exact pitch of polite interest. "I've heard wonderful things about your work with veterans' affairs."
She's good at this. Better than I expected. She moves through the conversation with practiced ease, saying exactly the right things while revealing nothing of substance. But I catch the way her hand tightens slightly on my arm when the Senatormentions her family's charitable work, and I remember how her fingers gripped my shirt when I pressed her against the bookshelf.
We move deeper into the crowd, stopping to chat with key allies and potential enemies. Each introduction is calculated, each smile a weapon in disguise. Isabella plays her part flawlessly, charming everyone we meet while never quite letting them close enough to matter.
