Page 7 of Dante
A flash of defiance crosses her face. "When it comes to my gallery's reputation, yes."
"This has nothing to do with your gallery." I reach out, gently removing the smudge of paint from her temple with my thumb. She doesn't flinch, though her breath catches. "This would be between you and me. Nothing to do with your brother, or our... rivalry."
"Everything has to do with Marco in this city," she says, but I can hear the hesitation in her voice. She's tempted, despite her better judgment.
"Not everything." I straighten, giving her back her space. "Think about it. The offer stands. For both the painting and dinner."
She looks up at me, conflict evident in her expression. "Why me? If this is some game you're playing with my brother—"
"If I wanted to play games with Marco, I wouldn't need you to do it." The bluntness of my response surprises her. Good. Let her see a glimpse of truth among my fierce words. "I'm interested in you, Elena. Your determination to build something separate from your family legacy. Your eye for beauty others miss."
I move toward the door, pausing with my hand on the handle. "Your brother has nothing to do with my interest in you. In fact, he's the only reason I've kept my distance until now."
"Kept your distance?" She follows me, confusion evident. "You didn't even know me until tonight."
I allow myself a small smile. "I make it my business to know everything about this city. Including the most interesting people in it." I open the door, letting in the cool night air. "Eight o'clock tomorrow, Elena. Come alone, or don't come at all."
Outside, the rain has begun to fall lightly, giving the street a glossy sheen under the lamplight. I don't look back as I cross to my waiting car, though I can feel her watching me through the gallery windows.
"Back to the house," I tell Raphael as I slide into the rear seat.
"Everything all right, sir?" he asks, eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
"Fine." I pull out my phone, scrolling to a particular contact. "Drive."
As we pull away from the curb, I dial Franco.
"The shipment from Palermo," I say when he answers, "double the security. Marco Rossi is getting desperate."
"You think he'll make a move?" Franco's voice is measured, calm.
"I know he will." I glance back at the gallery, just visible now through the rain-streaked window. Elena still stands in the doorway, watching my car disappear into the night. "He's running out of options."
"And his sister?" Franco asks. "Raphael mentioned you spoke with her tonight."
"She's exactly what we need." I turn my attention forward again, mind already calculating the next moves in this game. "Innocent of her brother's activities, but with access we could never get otherwise."
"Using her is risky," Franco cautions. "If Marco realizes—"
"I'm not using her," I interrupt, surprising myself with the vehemence in my tone. "At least, not only using her."
"Sir?" Franco's confusion is evident even through the phone.
I don't elaborate. How could I explain what I barely understand myself? That standing in that gallery with Elena Rossi, discussing art and beauty and Florence, I felt something I haven't experienced in years—a connection that has nothing to do with power or business or the bloody legacy I've built.
"Have the team watching Marco report directly to me," I say instead. "And find out who he's planning to sell that painting to. There's more happening there than an art transaction."
After ending the call, I lean back against the leather seat, closing my eyes briefly. Elena's face appears in my mind. Those expressive green eyes, the defiant tilt of her chin, theunconscious grace with which she moves through her gallery. She's a complication I don't need. A weakness I can't afford.
And yet, as we drive through the rain-slicked streets toward my penthouse, I find myself thinking not of business or rivalries or the ever-present threat of betrayal, but of the way she looked standing before that painting of Florence. Passionate, alive, untouched by the darkness that surrounds her family name.
She won't come tomorrow night. She shouldn't. For her own safety, she should stay as far from me as possible.
But God help me, I hope she comes.
Because Elena Rossi is forbidden in every way that matters. Sister to my enemy, innocent to my guilt, light to my darkness. And like every forbidden thing I've ever encountered, I find myself willing to risk everything just to possess her.
Even if it means war.
