That night, the villa came alive.

Crystal chandeliers blazed above long mahogany tables. Waiters dressed in black moved like ghosts between rows of guests dressed in couture and concealed ambition. It was the first official appearance of the “happy couple”—and every eye was on Emilia.

She made sure of it.

Her dress was black velvet, backless, the neckline scandalously low. Diamonds sparkled at her throat, on loan from Alessandro’s private collection. Every movement was a calculated seduction.

Across the room, Alessandro watched her with the stillness of a predator. His tailored suit did nothing to soften the air of lethal power he carried like a second skin.

“Shall we give them a show?” Emilia whispered as she slipped her arm into his.

Alessandro didn’t smile, but his hand settled low on her back as he led her forward. “Try not to start a war tonight.”

“No promises,” she murmured.

The guests greeted them with champagne flutes and tight smiles. Politicians, businessmen, rivals disguised as friends. Every conversation was laced with subtext, every toast a test.

One man—tall, thin, with a scar running down his cheek—raised his glass to Emilia.

“To new beginnings,” he said. “And to surviving them.”

Emilia smiled sweetly. “Oh, I don’t survive,” she said. “I adapt.”

A flicker of surprise. Then the man laughed, but his eyes didn’t.

Alessandro leaned in close to her ear. “That’s Dario Mancini. He once poisoned a man’s wine during a gala.”

She sipped her champagne without blinking. “So we’re not drinking tonight.”

“You’re catching on.”

Later, when the night was winding down and the music softened, Alessandro led her onto the balcony overlooking the gardens. The night air was cool, but his presence beside her burned hot.

“You handled them well,” he said, lighting a cigar. “Even Dario.”

“I’ve been handling men like him since I was sixteen. Only the suits are more expensive now.”

He turned to look at her. “And what about me?”

Emilia met his gaze. “You’re a different kind of dangerous.”

A pause.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked quietly.

She stepped closer, taking the cigar from his lips and dragging it slowly between her fingers.

“No,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.”

Before he could reply, a phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked it—his jaw tightened instantly.

“What is it?” Emilia asked.

He didn’t answer. Just turned and strode back into the villa, phone to his ear.

The chill in the air returned, sharper this time.

And Emilia, left alone on the balcony, looked out into the darkness beyond the hedges—where headlights had just flickered on in the trees.

Uninvited guests.

The game wasn’t just beginning anymore.

It was already bleeding.