Page 218 of The Devil's Thorn
I smiled faintly. “You just want to see who bleeds first.”
His smirk was barely there, but I felt it.
Inside, the air changed. The ceiling rose impossibly high, adorned with faded frescoes that told stories of gods and monsters. Chandeliers hung like captured galaxies, casting soft golden light over marble floors and velvet tapestries. There were flowers—white orchids and blood-red roses—woven through the ironwork and stone, like the villa had dressed itself for war.
And then the people turned. Not all at once, but gradually—eyes drifting toward Rafael, toward me. Some subtle. Others blatant.
A tall man with silver hair and a deep scar across his brow stepped forward, offering Rafael a nod. “Romanov. Glad to see you’re still alive.”
“Much to your disappointment, I’m sure,” Rafael replied evenly.
The man chuckled, then turned to me. “And this must be your… date.”
Rafael’s hand dropped from mine, sliding to my lower back with possessive ease. “Isabella.”
The man looked at me like I was a riddle he hadn’t decided how to solve yet. “You’ve got the kind of eyes that don’t flinch. I’d say that’s rare in rooms like this.”
I held his gaze. “Maybe you’ve just been looking in the wrong rooms.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Keep her close, Romanov.”
“Oh,” Rafael said, voice silk over steel. “I intend to.”
We moved on. More men. Some older, some young. All power in different shapes—measured gazes, slow nods, veiled comments that meant more than they said.
A woman in emerald silk approached next, her heels clicking softly on the stone. She kissed Rafael once on each cheek—French—but lingered longer than necessary.
“Still playing the villain, Rafael?” she purred.
“Only with those who deserve it.”
Her eyes flicked to me. “And this beautiful creature?”
“My distraction,” he said easily.
She laughed, turning to me. “He lies. If you weren’t dangerous, he wouldn’t have brought you here. Watch your step,cara mia. This floor eats the weak.”
I met her eyes. “Then let it starve.”
Her smile sharpened like glass. She liked that.
We moved deeper into the villa. The music was soft, a string quartet hidden somewhere behind the walls. Waiters passed with trays of champagne and wine. The scent of aged wood, flowers, and old secrets filled my lungs.
And still, people watched. I knew what they saw—a woman in a black dress with a red-threaded serpent winding up her back. A woman beside a man who never brought anyone. A woman who didn’t bow her head.
But they didn’t know what I was yet.
I caught Rafael’s eyes as we passed a corridor glowing with candlelight. He hadn’t spoken again, but he didn’t need to. The pressure of his hand on my back was enough. Not for protection. For warning.
We were in the lion’s den now. And I wasn’t sure yet if I was the bait or another lion.
The villa was alive with murmurs and soft laughter, shadows flickering beneath the warm golden glow of antique chandeliers. Marble columns lined the entrance hall, and every corner of the grand estate whispered wealth, power, and secrets long buried beneath the Italian soil.
Rafael’s palm rested at the small of my back as he led me through the main foyer. The touch was light, but possessive. Grounding. My heels made no sound against the polished stone floors, and my head remained high, my expression unreadable. The dress clung to me like smoke, flowing with each step I took like liquid shadow.
But beneath the calm mask I wore, my thoughts twisted in quiet tension.
The air around us buzzed with something taut. Like a violin string pulled too tight, moments from snapping. Eyes followed us. Smiles flickered, never quite reaching anyone’s eyes. These weren’t people simply gathering for tradition. They were predators circling their territory. Kings guarding the edges of their empires.
