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He scrubbed a hand over his mouth but he couldn’t wipe away the bitterness lingering on his lips, his tongue.
Raffaele had known his father’s death would come as a blow. He’d gone home. Dropped everything to be the first tell his mother that the Count who’d discarded her as if she was nothing—a dirty little secret he’d hidden away from the world in the middle of nowhere in the Sicilian countryside with a wad of cash and a promise of ‘soon’—was dead.
‘Soon’ was never coming.
He thought she’d scream—break things. Cry. Then come full circle to sit mute.
He’d never imagined it would be fatal.
His fingers clenched around the glass. Pain sliced through him. Acute. Searing. He imagined for a moment taking a step back, raising his arm and letting go.With force.Shattering the tumbler against the window. Hearing the crack as shards of glass exploded around him to glisten in the deep red carpet at his feet.
Instead, he moved, placing the glass down on a table with noiseless precision.
Control. It was all he had. All he’d ever had. The way he reacted—responded—to the world around him. That judge had sentenced him to a lifetime of regret. He’d reacted without even a flicker of his pulse in the Italian courtroom today. But inside—
His head snapped back to the window and he saw a flash, a movement. What looked like a woman shrouded in green. He watched her pad across the stone terrace. Her eyes, almost black in the darkness, scanned the space. A heart-shaped face shrouded by dark waves that rested on bare shoulders. Her collarbone, pronounced, was taut. The hollow at the base of her throat led down to a perfect V of green silk, drawing his eye to the slope of her small breasts.
The concrete city behind her was ablaze with blues and greens. And The Thames reflected deep violet streaks in the watery depths under the Millennium bridge. She was a shadow against the enveloping city in a too-long ball gown.
Her bare toes peeped out with every step beneath the hem, which dragged along the floor and trailed behind her. Amber lights on the floor guided her with each footfall. She slowed, lingering among the green leaves spiralling from pot plants to trail upwards on trellises in vivid reds and deep blues.
She looked mythical. Out of place.
There were no parties here tonight. No Christmas celebrations. None of the D-class celebrities and influencers who came to this hotel to take pretty pictures of the vintage decor, its iconic status amongst the elite lost.
That would change, in time, when his team gutted it. Put his stamp on it. His brand.His name.Not the Nobiltà Italiana name his father had denied him. Buthisname.Russo.Then the glitz and glamour of the rich who wore their ball gowns to breakfast would be a daily occurrence, but the previous owner had let standards slip. Everything except the rooms he stood in and the garden terrace outside.
Tonight, he understood the appeal.
This part of the hotel was completely shut off. The previous owner had created a secret world of opulence. A place to hide with every comfort at his disposal. Secret stairs, secret doors, secret passages behind the walls for secret access so staff could enter and leave unseen.
Butshewas not staff. He knew that because he could see her.Clearly.
He moved back, his thigh knocking the table, tilting the glass he’d saved from a violent end. He steadied it again by instinct, because he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her. This tiny figure invading his privacy.
Raffaele lifted his hand to flick on the floodlights and then hesitated.
She couldn’t see him. Outside, where she stood, she would see nothing but a wall. A darkness. Cleverly designed glass let those inside look out, but those beyond wouldn’t be aware of their existence.
Hisexistence.
But the shadows would disappear in the light.
She’d turned her back to him, was stalking to the iron and brick balcony. Her spine was prominent, and it called to him. The need to trail his fingers along it was instant. To tilt his head. Kiss—
Kiss?
She was a trespasser.
A trespasser on his grief.
And trespassers needed to be caught.
Her hair was caught in a wild gust of wind. It danced around her shoulders. She raised her arms high and wide beside her, lifting her face to the night sky and leaning over the edge.
He forgot to breathe.
Was this a test?
