"While there is the saying 'it is not a party until someone dies', I don't think you were meant to take it quite this literally, tesoro mio." Niccolo drawled drily, throwing a quick look of disapproval at the young heiress before briefly examining the body currently sprawled on the floor of a guest room at the Villa where a wedding reception was being held. It didn't take long for Niccolo to identify the corpse to be Giovanni DiNardo, one of Italy's most evasive bachelors. It had surprised the country when he announced his betrothal to a wealthy British widow, who, most interestingly, was fifteen years his senior.

The Asian beauty remained unmoving in her uncomfortable position on the floor, her legs tucked under her and her lovely scarlet dress bunched around her hips, just barely covering her modesty. "I--I...It was an accident..." said she, through shaky breaths, "I swear it! He...he was touching me and I...I panicked, so I..." This time she slowly lifted her hand to bring his attention to a dainty piece of silk crushed between her fingers.

Niccolo recognised the offending item almost immediately - how could he not when his eyes spent the entire evening on her person. It was the ribbon that held her hair in place.

Wait.

Surely not?

His eyes searchingly shifted back to Giovanni's body and, sure enough, around his neck was a mixture of red and blues.

This woman, this meek, lithe, subservient heiress strangled a man to death with her hair accessory.

Perhaps the shock made itself visible on his face, but just one look at him made the object of his current obsession burst into a panic.

"Perhaps he's still breathing..." She trailed off uncertainly, moving from her spot to touch the body.

"Don't touch him!" Niccolo found himself declaring despite his better judgement.

Whatever the reason, whatever happened, Giovanni DiNardo had been murdered. No one would see this as an act of self-defence, least of all an accident.

The billionaire did not expect the unfamiliar pang in his chest when Huang Yifei looked up at him pleadingly with her tear-stained cheeks and quivering lips. He refuse to acknowledge it as care.

He, Niccolo Amorelli, did not care.

Yet how quickly he moved around the body to gather her in his arms betrayed every protesting thoughts in his mind. "Shhh...tesoro mio. All will be well." He whispered soothingly against her hair while he, with his otherwise callous hand, gently rubbed her back. "I want you to go to the bathroom and freshen up. When you come out, you mustn't look like you have been crying. Can you do that for me?"

Yifei made no movement to indicate she had heard him, but just as he was about to repeat himself she finally nodded and complied.

Niccolo watched her disappear into the bathroom before reluctantly moving his attention back to Giovanni. Now what to do with...this.

Niccolo surveyed the room, his brows furrowed and his lips curved downwards in concentration. Nothing came to mind and he could only drop his gaze down to the floor. Thankfully there was no blood, so that was one less thing for him to worry about. The elephant in the room was Giovanni himself. He could burn it, he supposed, but the success rate of smuggling the groom out of his own wedding was very slim.

While his mind went through a series of scenarios as to how they might escape this knot, something black and shiny caught his attention. Niccolo allowed his brain to stray momentarily to consider the silky item. He will have to get rid of it, of cour--

"Why, of course." Niccolo murmured under his breath, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement to match the growing smirk on his lips. "Perhaps if you weren't such a fiend..." He addressed the corpse mockingly and left the sentence unfinished. Niccolo took a moment to linger in his burning bitterness before picking up the black silk ribbon and tucking it in his pockets.

Giovanni DiNardo was dead, but that did not mean he had been granted absolution for what he committed, or rather almost committed, to Yifei. Niccolo had not forgotten what had transpired before the bastard's death. The opportunity to avenge the beautiful heiress might have been kindness from above, or perhaps it was just fate's cruel way. Regardless of what force brought him this chance, he would take it.

He will shame Giovanni as retribution.

Niccolo purposely moved Giovanni to the bed situated at the centre of the room and strategically laid him on it. He then removed his own suit jacket to cover his hands while he undressed the other male, an act he will carry to his grave, and carelessly threw each piece of clothing around the room as though it had been taken off in haste. He then retrieved the long strip of silk from his pocket and tightened it around each wrist to leave a bruise while warmth had not yet left his body.

For last, the one he looked forward to the most, he removed the belt from the discarded trouser on the floor and held it in his covered hand. Then with a promising glint in his blue eyes, the Italian billionaire showered many more red and blues all over the dead bastard.

Through this his mind chanted one sentence. She is mine.

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