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“Oh, I love music and dancing!” I jump to my feet and extend my hand.
He stands up, too, taking my hand. “Then let’s dance, Romola.”
We move to the center of the gazebo, surrounded by the soft melody of the strings. Fiero pulls me close, his hand warm against the small of my back as we sway to the music. The evening air is cool against my skin, the sun has just about set, and everything in the world seems just right.
“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he murmurs, his gaze locked with mine.
“Oh, so are you,” I reply, softening in his embrace. I close my eyes and smell him. I reach almost a dreamlike state when I whisper, “I could dance forever.”
To my shock, he jumps back.
“Fiero?” I ask confusion etched on my face.
“Then lets!” he says.
“Let’s what?” I ask, confused.
“Dance the night away, if not forever,” he says excitedly, grabbing my hand and rushing towards the table. There, he grabs the open bottle of champagne and my purse and runs back toward the entrance to the garden with me in his wake.
“Fiero!” I laugh. “Slow down, I’m in heels!”
“The night waits for no one, Romola Toscani,” he sings, looking back at me, the wind whipping his hair, sheer joy on his face. My cheeks hurt from how hard I’m smiling. “And I’m about to give you a night you’ll never forget!”
At that moment, I realized I’d never felt this happy around a man before, and that simple truth threatened to shatter me.
Twenty minutes later, Fiero parks the car in front of an unassuming door. He steps out and holds the door open for me, chucking his keys to one of his mafioso, who follows in the vehicles full of bodyguards.
We walk toward the door, and he taps in a code that opens it to reveal a hidden staircase leading underground. The sound of music beckons us, and we descend into a world of flashing lights, thumping beats, and bodies moving in sync with the rhythm.
As we enter the club, I feel like I've stepped into an entirely different world. Everyone here seems to know one another. Confetti sprinkles from the ceiling, and scantily dressed girls carry sparklers and champagne. The vibrant surroundings momentarily distract me from the weight of my problems, and I let myself be swept up by the pulsating energy that envelops us.
"Ready to dance?" Fiero asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
"I’ve never been one to say no," I reply, letting him lead me onto the dance floor, excitement coursing through my veins.
On the floor, the beat of the music pulses through me, our bodies swaying together with the rhythm. Fiero's hands on my waist feel like a blazing fire against my skin, and it takes everything in me to remind myself that this is all just a fleeting fantasy. It can never be real, no matter how much I wish it.
My heart races, not only because of our close proximity but also because of the constant reminder of the mission that hangs over me like a dark cloud.
The song changes to a more upbeat one. Fiero takes a step back and a full circle before giving me his hand with flair. I take it, and he begins to twirl me until I almost get dizzy.
I’m laughing so hard that my stomach hurts. “Fiero!” I laugh, clutching his hand. “Stop, stoooop.”
He stops, and I fall against him, giggling like a schoolgirl. He laughs, too, and pulls me close. We begin to sway slowly, and just then, I think my eyes play a trick on me. As he moves in circles, I crane my neck back, and suddenly, the blood that flew so warm, so hot, turns cold in my veins.
I almost freeze because Franco stands right there, staring at me from the corner of the room.
His cold, calculating eyes bore into mine, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. My heart seizes in my chest, and panic fills my veins. Rafaele’s right-hand man just saw me dancing, laughing with Fiero. This can’t be good.
Fear forces me to keep my eyes on Franco, who discreetly signals me to go to the washroom. A surge of anxiety washes over me, and I know there's no time to waste. I need to get to him and find out what he wants before Fiero catches on to something. Suddenly, this perfect night becomes extremely dangerous.
"Excuse me, Fiero," I say breathlessly, trying to sound composed. "I need to use the washroom."
"Of course, take your time," he replies. “I’ll get us some more drinks.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter.
He leans in like he’s about to kiss me, but I can’t let him—not with Franco watching. So, I pretended I didn’t notice and disappeared into the crowd.
