Page 36 of Ruthless Royalty

But it’s also the silence I need after last night with Giovanni. He got under my skin more than usual, and now that he knows…

I can’t even finish the thought without my stomach twisting. He knows how I react to him. He knows that when he touches me, when he whispers in my ear, my resolve crumbles. It’s like he’s found some secret switch inside me, one that I didn’t even know existed, and he’s flipped it, leaving me raw and confused.

I drag the brush across the canvas, the strokes more aggressive than I intended. I try to lose myself in the work, to focus on the colors blending together, the image slowly taking shape. But every time I get close, his voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to that moment when I almost gave in.

I’m so absorbed in my painting that I don’t notice Leo moving closer until he’s right beside me, his presence warm and solid. I glance over at him, raising an eyebrow as I pause mid-stroke.

“What’s up?” I ask, noticing the way he’s watching me, a small smile playing on his lips.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze flicking from my face to the canvas and back again. There’s something different about the way he’s looking at me, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Before I can figure it out, he speaks.

“Go out with me,” he says, his tone light but with an edge of seriousness that catches me off guard.

I blink at him, not sure I heard him right. “What?”

He grins, that mischievous, boyish grin that makes him look younger than he is. “You heard me, Chiara. I’m asking you out on a date.”

I let out a chuckle, shaking my head as I set my brush down on the easel.

“How the hell are we supposed to do that? We’re stuck in the middle of a private estate, surrounded by a bunch of mafia brats and Crowns. It’s not exactly the most romantic setting.”

He laughs, the sound deep and genuine, and I can’t help but smile. There’s something infectious about his laugh, something that makes me want to join in even when I don’t know why.

“Trust me, I’ve got it all figured out,” he says, leaning a little closer, his eyes gleaming with that playful energy that’s so distinctly Leo. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to gauge how serious he is. “A surprise, huh? You’re not planning on taking me to some shady corner of the estate and having your way with me, are you?”

He puts a hand over his heart, feigning shock. “Chiara, I’m wounded. I’m a gentleman, remember? Besides, I don’t need to take you to a shady corner for that.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning despite myself. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he says, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between us. “But you like that about me, don’t you?”

I can feel the heat from his body, the subtle press of his chest against mine, and I hate how easily he gets under my skin. He knows it, too—there’s a knowing look in his eyes, a smirk that tells me he’s fully aware of the effect he has on me.

“Maybe,” I mimic, my voice teasing.

He chuckles, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at me, something that makes my heart beat a little faster. I should probably say no, keep him at arm’s length, but there’s a part of me that’s curious.

This is a good kind of curious, though. The kind that doesn’t feel like I’m stretched too thin, the easy kind.

Leo’s different, in a way I can’t quite explain. He’s part of this world, but he doesn’t seem to be bound by it, and that intrigues me more than I’d like to admit.

I glance back at my painting; the colors swirling together in a chaotic blend of emotions that I can’t seem to put into words. Maybe that’s why I paint—because it’s easier to let the colors speak for me than to try and make sense of the mess in my head.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” I ask, turning back to him.

His grin softens into something more sincere, his eyes locking onto mine. “Yeah, I am.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that feels heavy with unspoken words, and I realize I’m holding my breath. Then, before I can overthink it, I nod.

“Alright,” I say, trying to sound more casual than I feel. “But if this ‘surprise’ of yours sucks, I’m painting over your canvas the next time we’re in here.”

He laughs, a full-bodied sound that makes my chest tighten in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with.

“Deal,” he says, holding out his hand. “But I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

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