Chapter 6 - The Velvet Trap
I took two silent steps backward, my bare feet sinking into the plush wool runner, before turning and retreating into the living room. My chest felt hollowed out, filled with freezing panic. My father? My own father—the man who had embraced me at the airport with tears in his eyes, who had called me his beautiful daughter—could he really have orchestrated an ambush that nearly got my head blown off? Or was Uncle Roberto, the man who used to slip me peppermint candies during Sunday dinners, selling our family to Russian butchers?
The world I thought I understood had collapsed into a pit of vipers.
Before I could process the terror, the heavy study door clicked fully open. Ciro stepped into the living room, wearing a fresh charcoal button-down shirt that hung unbuttoned over a clean white bandage across his ribs. He carried two tumblers of dark amber bourbon.
He stopped when he saw me standing by the panoramic window, staring out at the blizzard swallowing the city.
""You shouldn't stand near the glass when it's dark,"" he said calmly, walking over and offering me one of the glasses. ""A silhouette against forty floors of city light makes an easy target for a heavy rifle from the opposite roof.""
I didn't take the glass. I turned around and looked him dead in the eye. ""Who was it, Ciro?""
His eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly. He slowly set both glasses down on the low marble table beside the sofa. ""You heard.""
""Every word,"" I said, my voice shaking with raw fury and betrayal. ""Is my father trying to get me killed?""
Ciro closed the distance between us, his movements unhurried, until he was standing directly in front of me. The heat radiating from his chest cut through the chill of the windowpane.
""Marco is ruthless, arrogant, and greedy,"" Ciro said bluntly, his voice steady as iron. ""He has done unforgivable things to keep his throne. But he loves you, Leora. In his own sick, twisted way, you are the only clean thing he has left in this world. I don't believe he made that call.""
""Then who did?""
""Roberto,"" Ciro said without hesitation. ""Your uncle has been meeting with Russian financiers in Toronto for six months. He wants Marco out, he wants me dead, and he thought that killing you at Pier 42 would break your father's spirit and make me look incompetent to the five families.""
A dry sob caught in my throat. Uncle Roberto. The man had held me on his shoulders at my eighth birthday party. ""What are you going to do?""
""I'm going to end it,"" Ciro said simply. ""Tonight. There is an annual gala at the Drake Hotel tonight—the Winter Solstice Charity Ball. The entire syndicate will be there in black tie. Roberto thinks he's attending a celebration where he'll announce a new trade partnership. Instead, he's going to find out what happens when you aim a gun at what is mine.""
The words hung in the air, heavy and intimate. What is mine.
I looked up at him, my breath hitching as his gaze locked onto my mouth. ""I'm not your property, Ciro.""
""Aren't you?"" he whispered, taking a half-step forward until the fabric of his trousers brushed against the soft terrycloth of my robe. He reached out, his fingers catching the silk belt of my robe, toying with the knot. ""You came down those stairs this morning in that green dress because you wanted to see if I was still human. You pulled that trigger on the docks because you couldn't bear to see me burn. Stop lying to yourself, Leora. Lisbon was a dream. This is reality.""
He pulled gently on the belt. The knot loosened.
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. ""Ciro...""
""Tonight, you walk into that ballroom on my arm,"" he said, his voice dropping into a dark, commanding rasp that made my knees feel weak. ""You will wear diamonds, you will wear silk, and you will show every rat in this city that the Moretti bloodline belongs under my protection. And when it's over, you and I are going to finish the conversation we started six years ago on that terrace.""
May you like
He leaned in, his mouth brushing the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending an electric shiver cascading straight down my spine to the tips of my toes.
""Go to the guest room,"" he murmured against my throat. ""There's a dress waiting on the bed. Put it on. And this time, Leora... don't you dare look away when I look at you.""
