When I returned, he took the box from my hands without a word. "Turn around."
Reluctantly, I obeyed, lifting my hair as he removed the necklace from its velvet nest. His fingers brushed the nape of my neck as he fastened the clasp, the touch sending unwelcome shivers down my spine.
"Perfection..." he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
The diamonds felt heavy, constricting. I reached up to adjust them, but Leonardo caught my wrist.
"Don't touch it," he warned. "In fact, don't touch any of the things I give you unless you're prepared to face what that invitation implies."
The undercurrent of heat in his voice made my cheeks flush. I jerked my hand away, despising the effect his proximity had on my traitorous body.
"I'm ready," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Let's get this over with."
Leonardo offered his arm, the perfect gentleman escorting his lady. The perfect lie. "Remember who you are tonight, April De Luca. The daughter of Milan's fallen king, now under my protection."
"Your possession, you mean."
His smile was knife-sharp. "Protection, possession, semantics, Piccola Rosa."
Outside, a sleek black Maserati waited, Dante holding the rear door open with robotic efficiency. Leonardo guided me inside, his hand at the small of my back, thumb brushing against exposed skin where the dress dipped low.
I tried not to flinch at the contact.
The drive into Milan passed in tense silence. I stared out the window as familiar landmarks slid by, the cathedral with its Gothic spires reaching toward heaven, the high-end boutiques where my father had purchased my childhood dresses, the park where my mother's ashes had been scattered.
Milan. The city of my birth, my family's legacy, and my greatest fear.
"Nervous?" Leonardo asked, watching me with that unnerving intensity.
"Should I be?"
"Most of these people thought you were dead. Some will be... disappointed to learn otherwise."
The implication was unnerving. My father had enemies, enemies who would now see me as either leverage or a loose end.
And Leonardo was dangling me in front of them like bait.
"You're using me," I realized aloud. "Tonight isn't about networking. It's about sending a message."
"Clever girl." His hand settled on my knee, warm and heavy through the silk of my dress. "Every appearance is a message. Every gesture a negotiation."
"And what message are you sending with your hand on my leg?"
His fingers tightened slightly, sliding a fraction higher. "That depends on who's watching."
The car slowed as we approached a grand hotel lit up like a cruise ship in the night. A red carpet stretched from the curb to the entrance, flanked by photographers and security personnel.
My heart rate doubled.
"I can't do this," I whispered, panic rising in my throat. "Someone will recognize me. From before..."
"That's the point." Leonardo's hand moved to cup my face, the gentleness of his touch at odds with the hardness in his eyes. "You're not hiding anymore April. You're mine now, and everyone is going to know it."
Before I could protest, Dante opened the door. Camera flashes exploded like stars, momentarily blinding me. Leonardo exited first, then offered his hand to help me from the car. I had no choice but to take it, my fingers trembling against his steady grip.
The moment I emerged, a hush fell over the gathered crowd, followed by an explosion of whispers. I heard snippets as Leonardo guided me along the carpet, his arm a steel band around my waist.
"the De Luca girl"
"... thought she was dead'
Cameras clicked frantically, documenting my resurrection for tomorrow's gossip pages. Leonardo played the role of devoted escort perfectly, his hand never leaving my body, my waist, my back, occasionally dropping to brush against my hip in a gesture of casual possession that made my skin burn.
Inside, the ballroom was a cathedral of wealth, crystal chandeliers, marble columns, Milan's elite draped in designer gowns and old family jewels.
I recognized some faces from my childhood, business associates of my father, politicians who'd dined at our table, wives who'd pitied the motherless De Luca girl.
None approached us directly. Instead, they watched from behind champagne flutes, calculating what my presence on Leonardo Russo's arm meant for the balance of power in their world.
"Smile," Leonardo murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "You look like you're attending a funeral rather than a charity ball."
"Perhaps I am," I replied through gritted teeth. "The funeral of my freedom."
His laugh was low, almost genuine. "Such drama. You never had freedom, April. You had a temporary reprieve."
A waiter appeared with champagne. Leonardo took two flutes, handing one to me. "Drink. It'll calm your nerves."
I accepted the glass but didn't drink, unwilling to dull my senses in this pit of vipers. Leonardo noticed, of course. His hand slid to the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair with deceptive gentleness.
"When I offer you something," he said softly, for my ears alone, "I expect you to accept it graciously. Drink."
The pressure of his fingers increased fractionally, not painful, but a clear warning.
I raised the glass to my lips and took a small sip, the bubbles bitter on my tongue.
"Better."