Page 44 of His

To the left, Senator Claudia Bianchi stood near the bar, her presence commanding as always. She was dressed in a striking red gown that hugged her statuesque figure, her dark hair swept into an elegant updo. Right now, Bianchi was one of the most influential senators in the Italian Parliament, known for her fiery speeches and her relentless pursuit of reform. Her reputation as a formidable negotiator had earned her the nickname ‘The Iron Lady’ among her peers.

Across the room, I spotted Alessandro Esposito, the deputy prime minister, mingling with a group of businessmen. Esposito was a man who thrived on power. His black tuxedo was perfectly tailored, his posture exuding confidence. Esposito’s connections ran deep within the government, and his ability to broker dealsmade him a key player in the political landscape. He was not a man to be underestimated or trifled with. I knew him well.

As we moved through the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice the way other men’s eyes lingered on Sofia. It was subtle, a glance here, a fleeting look there, but I saw it. I felt a primal instinct to pull her closer and shield her from their gazes.

She was mine, and I didn’t like the way they looked at her—as if they had any right to even imagine touching her.

I found it increasingly difficult to ignore the way other men’s eyes followed her, the way they seemed to covet what was mine. It was irrational, maybe, but the thought of anyone else even entertaining the idea of having her set my nerves on edge.

I’d kill them if they even thought to lay a finger on her.

As if she could sense my inner turmoil, Sofia took my hand in hers and squeezed it. I breathed easier for a moment, before I rolled my shoulders back and shook it off. I kept us moving through the crowd.

As we approached the center of the room, I spotted Lorenzo De Matteo, an influential member of the Italian Chamber of Deputies. He was dressed in a classic black tuxedo, his silver hair perfectly styled. De Matteo was known for his conservative views and his staunch support of traditional values. His influence over legislation was considerable, and he’d been useful for me in the past in securing a massive shipment of guns that I quickly offloaded to a bratva kingpin to the east.

Together, we’d made a lot of money.

“Massimo,” De Matteo greeted me with a curt nod, his sharp eyes flicking to Sofia with interest. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“I couldn’t miss such an important event, of course,” I replied smoothly, my tone polite but firm. “I want to introduce you to Sofia.”

De Matteo’s gaze lingered on Sofia for a moment longer than I liked, and I felt a surge of jealousy tighten in my chest, piercing and undeniable. I didn’t like the way he looked at her, the way he assessed her as if she were another piece on the chessboard of power. But I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see any sign that his seedy gaze was getting to me.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sofia,” De Matteo said, his tone courteous but laced with the subtle undertone of curiosity. “Massimo has brought quite the charming companion this evening.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Sofia replied, her voice steady and graceful, though I could sense the slight tension in her posture.

I nodded, my hand sliding to the small of her back, a silent claim that I hoped De Matteo—and everyone else in the room—would understand.

Sofia was not to be messed with, and neither was I.

For a time, it seemed to work.

The evening continued, a blur of handshakes, polite smiles, but I saw the constant undercurrent of power plays and hidden agendas playing out all over the floor. Sofia stayed close to me. I was about to move us toward another group of politicians whena familiar figure caught my eye, standing near the edge of the room, half-hidden in the shadows.

Raffaele Moretti.

His presence alone was enough to send a ripple of tension through the room, though most tried to hide it. He was a man who had clawed his way up from the gritty streets of Naples to the polished halls of Italian government.

Raffaele had started as a low-level mafia boss, known for his cunning and ruthless efficiency. He had a reputation for doing whatever was necessary to climb the ranks, from intimidation to bribery to violence. The whispers in the underworld still spoke of the things he’d done to secure his position, though now that he was an elected official, such rumors were harder to prove.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit, he exuded the kind of dangerous charm that could easily disarm those who didn’t know better. His sharp blue eyes, set against the olive complexion of his skin, scanned the room with a predatory gaze, taking in everything and missing nothing. The slicked-back dark hair and the casual ease with which he held a glass of whiskey in one hand completed the image of a man who was both powerful and untouchable.

Raffaele had been elected as a Member of Parliament just a few years ago, a move that had shocked the more traditional members of the Italian government. But his ascent was calculated, playing off his charisma, his connections, and the carefully crafted public persona of a reformed man who had left his criminal past behind. Whether or not that was true was a subject of much debate. Some believed he was still deeply entrenched in the underworld, pulling strings from the shadows.Others saw him as a success story, proof that even the most hardened criminals could change.

But I knew better. Raffaele was still the same man he’d always been—ruthless, calculating, and dangerous. His position in government only made him more so.

As I guided Sofia through the crowd, I could feel his eyes on us, lingering a moment too long. It wasn’t the same as the other men in the room. There was no admiration or curiosity in his gaze—only a cold, calculating interest. He was assessing us, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he made his move.

“Sofia,” I murmured, my grip on her waist tightening slightly as we approached him. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

She looked up at me, sensing the shift in my demeanor. “Who?”

“A man who’s as dangerous as he is charming,” I replied, keeping my tone light, though my eyes were locked on Raffaele.

As we neared him, he turned his full attention to us, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Massimo Sartori,” he greeted, his voice smooth, with just a hint of the Neapolitan accent he’d never quite shaken. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Raffaele,” I replied, my tone carefully neutral as I nodded in greeting. “This is Sofia.”

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