Part 5:

Aleandro stood with his back to her, speaking rapid French into his phone. He turned, saw her, and ended the call mid-sentence. For several heartbeats, he just looked at her, his gaze traveling down the red dress and back up, and then he crossed to pull out her chair. You look beautiful, he said simply. She sat hyperconscious of his nearness and her eyes caught on the piano in the corner.

You play? She heard herself ask. Alessandro settled across from her with fluid grace. Sometimes my mother’s legacy. Music was hers. Business was my father’s. Selene’s breath caught in surprise. Mine, too. The piano you replaced was my mother’s. the only thing I brought from Paris. Something passed between them, a recognition that made the air heavier.

Seline opened her portfolio, desperate for professional ground. I looked at your collection, and I think I know what pieces would compliment. Aleandro raised his hand, eyebrow lifting with it, the scar cutting through it suddenly more prominent. Business later, first dinner and conversation. His gaze held hers with intensity that made her stomach clench.

I want to know you. Her voice came out smaller than intended. Know me? Yes. He leaned back slightly. Tell me about Selene Davenport. She laughed nervously, the words tumbling out. You know my father, so you know most of it. Paris before Monaco. Art history at the Sorbon. 6 months here then back to Paris. That’s everything.

Aleandro rose and crossed to the barcart with controlled movements, then leaned down until his mouth was close to her ear, his breath warm against her neck. “You’re nervous. You don’t need to be. Just be yourself.” He straightened and returned to his seat as if he hadn’t just made her pulse race, raising his wine glass without looking away from her.

Silence settled heavy between them. Seline cleared her throat, grasping for safer conversation. You said you and my father are friends. Did you work together? Aleandro’s mouth curved without humor in a manner of speaking. More silence waited with things unsaid. “How old are you, Allesandro?” she asked, trying to make it sound casual, even though she was very aware of the age gap.

He didn’t even pretend to dodge the question. “41,” he said, mouth tipping in the faintest challenge. “Does that scare you?” She held his gaze, still smiling. Not the number, she said softly. The way you wear it. His smile deepened. Good, he murmured. Because I’m not getting any younger. Seline bit her lip hard. 41.

And he looks like that. I didn’t think men that age could be this fit, this hot, she thought. Heat spreading across her cheeks. Aleandro’s eyes tracked the gesture. something predatory flickering in his gaze like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “And you?” he asked quietly. “How old are you, Seline?” Selene met his gaze directly, lifting her chin slightly. 23.

Well, 23 and 2 months. Aleandro’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Acknowledgement of the 18 years between them. Calculation of what that meant. The silence stretched, waited with implications neither seemed willing to address until Seline pulled out her phone with fingers that trembled slightly.

I got a message in the car on the way here from an unknown number. Someone knows my schedule. Knows I’m here tonight. Alessandro’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening in a way that made the air feel suddenly colder. Show me. She turned the screen toward him and he read the message. Stay away from him. turned back now with eyes that went cold and dangerous before he controlled the reaction.

Let me have your phone tracked, he said, his voice quiet but absolute. I need to know who’s behind this. Seline shook her head, pulling the phone back. My father can handle it. You don’t need to get involved. Aleandro leaned forward slightly, his gaze holding hers with intensity that made breathing difficult.

If you get another message like this, I want you to tell me immediately. Do you understand? Before she could respond, her phone buzzed with a new text, another unknown number. This is my personal line. Use it if you need me, Alessandro. Seline stared at the message, then looked up at him with wide eyes.

How did you know my number? Aleandro’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, amused and mysterious, and he said nothing. just reached for his wine glasses if he hadn’t just demonstrated exactly how much access he had to information he shouldn’t. When the staff quietly cleared their plates, Selene looked out at the view, Monaco spreading below them in cascading lights.

The view is incredible. Alessandro rose from his chair with fluid grace and extended his hand. Come with me. His hand found the small of her back with gentle but possessive pressure, guiding her through glass doors onto a terrace that jutted out over the hillside, the Mediterranean breeze carrying salt and night blooming jasmine.

Aleandro moved to the railing, his profile sharp against the glittering cityscape. My family has lived in this house for 200 years. We’re Italian by blood, but Monaco raised me. He gestured toward the sprawl of wealth below. This place is different, Seline. Glamour and darkness living side by side. Wealth and crime so tangled you can’t separate them.

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