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I smile because it’s easy to do with her. “They’re not looking at me, little rose. They’re looking at you.”

“Nope, I’m pretty sure they all stared as you walked past.”

"If they did, it was because they were wondering how the hell I got the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm."

She laughs. “Oh, that was smooth.”

We both laugh.

But then neither of us looks away. The laughing fades, and what is left are two people looking at each other as they fall toward something.

The room turns around us in a blur of crystal and candlelight because all that exists is her.

And for the first time in my life, I feel powerless against the feelings I have spent a lifetime avoiding. If I’m honest, this isn’t me falling. I fell days ago. I just haven’t had the balls to admit it to myself. I swore I would never do this, never fall for someone, never love someone I feel like I’m living just to see them smile. But since Sunny, that’s all changed, and falling in love has become the one thing I have no control over.

Her eyes sparkle up at me, and I know she feels it too, and it does something warm and happy in my chest.

It is John Marco who breaks the spell when he decides to cut in.

I’m about to warn him off, but my phone vibrates against my chest.

I slide it out far enough to see the screen, and when I see the number, I know I have to take this call without exception.

"Excuse me," I tell Sunny, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Two minutes. Put John Marco out of his misery and dance with him. Although, watch your toes."

"Should I be worried?"

"Terrified. He’s all feet and no grace."

John Marco takes her hand. “He’s just jealous because I have better moves than him.”

She laughs and lets my brother sweep her away as I walk to the quiet end of the terrace with my phone to my ear.

"Talk."

The voice on the other end is low and fast, and what it tells me almost blows my head off my shoulders.

This morning, in my casino plaza, Anton Grazalov and Flynn Lemar approached my wife.

I don't say anything; I just listen, my jaw locked tight with rage as I hear about the encounter in front of the jewelry store.

Grazalov approached my wife with the sole intention of intimidating her to get a reaction out of me.

Then he fucking put his lips on the top of her hand, and every molecule of my body vibrates with the need to rip those lips from his face with my bare hands.

I end the call without another word said because the rage is blinding. Grazalov just crossed the fucking line.

For one second, I consider crossing this city and ripping Anton’s pulse from his neck with my bare hands.

But that would only bring war to my doorstep.

From now on, Sunny gets a shadow. Freddie. Ex-military, a seven-foot-tall wall of muscle and might. I make the arrangements with two texts before I step back inside.

I force myself to breathe. To push the physical rage away. I will not lose control here with six hundred witnesses. I don’t let people see me bleed. It exposes your weak points and tells them where to aim.

Composing myself, I step back into the gala and scan the ballroom looking for Sunny. She's still dancing with John Marco and laughing at something John Marco said. Her head is tipped back, and she looks like sunshine as she laughs.

Obviously, she had no idea who she stood across from this morning and how much danger she was in.