Page 120 of Vow Of Fire

“Makes a change from destroyer,” he muttered, but he released my hand and stared stonily ahead as the SUV pulled up outside the luxury apartment block.

I felt the tension radiating off him as we rode the elevator up to the penthouse suite, but I busied myself checking my reflection in the mirrored interior. I’d dressed carefully in high-waisted black silk trousers and a cream satin blouse tucked neatly into them, the sleeves rolled to my elbows beneath a fitted camel blazer. Gold hoops glinted beneath my loose coppery waves, while a pair of pointed black heels completed the look. Sophisticated. Polished. Armor for walking into the Marcelli lion’s den.

I gawked as I stepped out onto the private landing lined with black-and-white marble. Soft golden light spilled from recessed sconces, catching on gilt-framed mirrors and fresh white orchids arranged on a narrow console table.

Dante gave me a gentle nudge, and I stepped forward toward the double doors at the end of the vestibule. A woman in her late fifties greeted us. She wore an elegant black dress with a crisp white collar, her silver-streaked dark hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck.

“Good evening, Dante,” she said warmly, though her sharp gaze immediately flicked to me. “Miss Cruz.”

“This is Teresa,” Dante murmured quietly beside me. “She runs the place.”

Runs the place. Not works here.

I swallowed but gave her a friendly nod. So much for keeping my nerves in check.

Teresa inclined her head politely. “Everyone is waiting for you in the salon.”

We were late, but only by a few minutes.

Teresa led us down a long hallway where dramatic contemporary artwork hung against smooth, cream walls. Unlike Dante’s penthouse, which felt sparse and masculine, this apartment was undeniably feminine, though no less imposing for it.

I admired the tall floral arrangements overflowing from marble pedestals, and the antique furniture strategically placed under works of art worth more than most Manhattan apartments. I was sure I clocked a Modigliani, but I wasn’t about to ask.

As we approached the salon, voices drifted through the partially open doors. Male laughter. The clink of crystal glasses.

Then Teresa pushed the doors fully open and announced smoothly, “Dante and Miss Cruz.”

Every head in the room turned toward us.

I froze, pulse racing.

Valentina sat poised on a cream velvet chaise near the enormous fireplace, a champagne flute between her fingers. Tonight she wore an ivory silk suit and diamond earrings so large they caught the firelight every time her head moved.

Nico lounged nearby on one of the sofas, long legs stretched carelessly in front of him, though his sharp blue eyes flitted to my wrist before he looked away. Nico, I realized, missed absolutely nothing.

Izzy, who I hadn’t seen since the exhibition at the Agora, stood near the bar in dark jeans and a white oversized shirt under a leather trenchcoat, one hip cocked as she surveyed me with open curiosity. With wine-red nails and dark hair flowing down her back, she looked both edgy and beautiful. I was momentarily distracted by her gorgeous fur-lined boots. I wondered if she’d tell me where she bought them.

“Welcome,” a deep voice said, and a man I assumed was Marco rose from an armchair by the window. “You must be Evelyn.”

Older than the others by a few years, his dark hair was turning a distinguished gray at the temples. He had a tanned, handsome face and the cobalt-blue but totally unnerving Marcelli gaze. Immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit, he looked less like a criminal and more like a man who belonged on the cover of a political magazine.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice somewhere between a strangled rasp and a whisper. For a terrible second, I felt like I’d just walked into the lion’s den. I gave a tense nod. “It’s good to meet you.”

He gave me a once-over in response.

Then Dante’s hand settled against the small of my back and stayed there. It was firm, possessive, and grounding, and I felt myself relax a fraction.

“Sorry we’re late,” he said, shooting Marco a hard look and leading me to a vacant sofa. We sat down next to each other.

“Where’s Leo?” he asked.

“On his way,” Izzy said, unashamedly checking me out with an amused glint. “I must say, I’m surprised you made it this far, Evelyn.”

“Play nice, Izzy,” Nico said.

I forced a smile. “So am I, to be honest.”

Beside me, Dante smirked.