Chapter 1 - The Step into the StarlightThe grand ballroom of the Minneapolis hotel fell into a suffocating, absolute silence.
The orchestral violins faded into a low, trembling note as three hundred pair of eyes—diamond-dripping socialites, corrupt city officials, and powerful Midwest corporate titans—locked onto us.
Leandro Vitali didn't care. His broad, calloused fingers wrapped around mine with an unshakeable, protective warmth. Up close, beneath the glittering light of the crystal chandeliers, the pale, jagged scars tracing down the left side of his jawline to his temple didn't make him look monstrous. They gave his handsome, severe face an edge of absolute, forged steel.
Wesley Harkort stood paralyzed across the table, his raised champagne glass trembling so violently that amber bubbles spilled over his knuckles, spattering onto his three-thousand-dollar suit. Blair Kensington’s smug, cruel smile had completely vanished, her face turning an ugly, mottled shade of gray as she realized her cruel prank had backfired in the most spectacular fashion possible.
"Keep your head high, Clare," Leandro murmured softly near my ear, his deep baritone carrying a quiet, sovereign authority that sent a wild, thrilling pulse straight through my chest. "Let them stare. They are looking at the only real woman in this room."
I took a deep breath, smoothing down my ninety-dollar department-store dress. "I'm not afraid of them, Leandro."
A dark, breathtaking smile touched the unscarred side of his lips. "I know you're not. That's why you're holding my hand."
He led me onto the center of the polished parquet dance floor.
The conductor of the orchestra, reading the sudden, life-or-death atmosphere in the room, hastily tapped his baton and launched into a sweeping, romantic waltz.
Leandro turned to face me. His right hand settled gently against the small of my back. It was firm, respectful, and held a possessive warmth that instantly cut through every lingering shadow of shame Blair and Wesley had tried to cast over me. My left hand rested against his broad shoulder, feeling the iron strength beneath his tailored dark tuxedo.
"You move like you belong in a palace, Clare," Leandro whispered, sweeping me into a smooth, effortless turn that made my dress flare out like liquid emerald.
"I learned to dance in my grandmother's living room," I admitted softly, looking up into his piercing dark eyes. "On old linoleum."
"Then your grandmother taught a queen," Leandro replied without a single second of hesitation.
May you like
From the edge of the floor, I saw Wesley attempting to slip quietly toward the exit. But before he could reach the heavy double doors, Leandro’s chief security lieutenant—a broad-shouldered man in a dark coat named Leo—stepped smoothly into his path, crossing his arms, blocking his exit with a cold, terrifying glare.
The message was clear: no one was leaving this room until Don Leandro Vitali was finished with his dance.
Related Stories
