Chapter 3 SMOKE AND STOLEN GLANCES

Alessia Moretti

The Aurelia Foundation for Health and Hope.

The gala is an exclusive, glittering event hosted by The Aurelia Foundation, supposedly to fund free clinics and medical research. Set in a grand Milan estate, the room is packed with wealthy donors, many of them old-money elites and polished mafia affiliates hiding behind designer suits and fake titles. They bid on luxury yachts and rare art not for charity, but for clout...because at this party, giving is just another performance. It's usually exhausting frankly, because what people do here is give fake smiles and sip expensive champagne. I hate that shit. What's the point of pretending when everyone knows who everyone is?

I've been to countless events like this because according to Papa, everyone has to see me as some sort of authority. If given a choice, I'd rather just be with Sister Angela or play with the children at the orphanage. But you know what they say, obedience is better than sacrifice. So instead, I wear my indifference like perfume, expensive and inevitable.

I notice him the moment he steps in and my mouth turns bone dry. My God, Holy. Hotness.

He had to be at least six foot four, maybe even sixfive, with solid, sculpted muscle packed onto every inch of his powerful frame. Longish black hair grazed his collar and fell over one gunmetal gray eye, his legs were so long, his strides were sharp. For someone so large, he moved with surprising stealth.

Tall. Midnight suit. Still in a way that draws the eye rather than avoids it. There's nothing overly flashy about him, yet he's magnetic. His eyes are sharp. Calculating. Not the unsettling kind. The kind that sees through people, like he's waiting for someone worth the trouble.

Our eyes meet across the room, and I swear time holds its breath.

I blink. Once. Twice. He's still looking.

His gaze isn't invasive. It's patient. Possessive, even. Like he already knows I'll come to him eventually. I scoff, As if.

I tilt my chin and look away first. I never let anyone hold my gaze too long. It gives people ideas like hope or conquest. Neither belong in my world.

"Who's that?" I murmur, barely moving my lips. I don't think I've ever seen him before.

Beside me, Rosa leans in with a low laugh, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You mean tall, dark, and brooding? No clue. He came alone. No actress on his arm, no assistant. Odd, right? You like?"

I sip my drink slowly, as I glare at her. As if I could like someone, the thought of what my father's reaction could be makes me smile. I mask the interest creeping up my spine. Rule number one: never look too curious.

But I can feel him watching me. I don't know how but the feeling was strong.

The gala spins around us. Polite applause, the soft clink of glasses. Someone announces a six-figure donation for a clinic. Another bids on a sculpture. I'm not convinced though, I know it's all for show. Most of these people are here to launder reputations or money. My family's no different. We sponsored this event, though I didn't bother asking what for. Free clinics, maybe. Or research. Who cares? The Aurelia Foundation wears the mask of mercy, but we all know what lies beneath. Lies, Schemings... I can't keep count.

Normally, I'm numb to it all. I don't give a fuck most of the time. But tonight's different, tonight... he's here. And I'm not bored, not with the way my blood is running alive through my veins.

For the second time that evening, our eyes locked. The third time, he smiles. Slow, deliberate, not arrogant, just... sure, like he knows exactly what he's doing. It stirs something in me I haven't felt in a long time.

Heat, a hum under my skin, tension. It becomes too much, Alessia Moretti doesn't have feelings. So I slipped away without a word.

The balcony is quiet, the air cool and biting against my flushed skin. The city lights stretch below twinkling in innocence. I lean on the stone railing, careful not to wrinkle the dress Papa's tailor obsessed over for two weeks, at least she did justice to it. The slit flutters at my thigh, brushing them softly.

I close my eyes. Breathe Alessia.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to escape," a voice says...deep, gravelly, rolling over me like a velvety caress. The kind of voice you sip slowly and never forget. Whoosh!

My eyes snap open.

He's here.

Leaning at the far end of the balcony, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette. The smoke coils into the night.

"I needed air," I say, forcing my voice to stay even, even as my heart betrays me.

"So did I." He exhales. "These things always smell like desperation." I mean, he's not wrong.

I study him in the moonlight. He wears elegance like armor, like it means nothing to him. "And yet you came."

He flicks ashes away with causality. "Even wolves wear tuxedos sometimes."

A smile tugs at my lips. I hate that I don't stop it. "Are you implying you're a predator?"

He shrugs. "Not unless provoked."

That makes me pause.

His eyes catch mine again. steady, unapologetic. The kind that doesn't just look at you, they read you like they want to know you inside out. It should unnerve me. It doesn't.

I take a step closer.

"You don't belong in there," I say, nodding toward the ballroom.

"Neither do you."

The silence that follows is charged, buzzing like a live wire between us.

"I've never seen you before," I say. "And I know everyone worth knowing."

He smirks. "Maybe I'm not worth knowing."

"You don't believe that."

"No," he says. "I don't."

I laugh, and it surprises both of us. His smile shifts, less sharp now. Almost real.

"What's your name?" I ask, breaking another rule. Fuck, it's like I can't help myself.

He takes one last drag, then stubs the cigarette on the railing. Sexy. "Xavier."

"Just Xavier?"

"For now."

Mysterious, dangerous, possibly infuriating. Clearly everything I should stay away from.

I like it.

"Well, Xavier," I murmur, "if you're going to hide in corners and smoke like you're going to be punished for it, at least do it with better posture."

"I'll work on that."

I turn to leave, but something keeps me still, that is not good at all, I should be leaving now! "You watched me tonight."

He doesn't deny it. "Yes." He says it without even blinking.

"Why?"

He speaks calmly, but there's weight beneath it. "Because I've never seen anyone who looked more like war and poetry in one body."

I stare.

Men compliment me all the time. On my dress. My lips. My walk. But this? This feels different. He says it like a confession, like he's been waiting to say it, like some kind of prayer.

"I don't know if that's romantic or insulting," I say, trying to keep a blank face.

"Take whichever, It's honest though."

I nod once, then walk back inside.

I don't look back, but I feel him, the energy is still charged. He's still there, still watching. Like a hawk waiting for its prey.

I tell myself to forget him, after all he's just another man, to play my part, smile coldly, nod and charm investors and donors and heirs with fragile egos and take personalities. But every time the room shifts, I feel him behind me, watching me again. Like a ghost I invited in and forgot to send away.

I've never met a man who made silence feel so loud. And I'm not exactly sure if that's a good thing.