As the evening progressed, Leonardo led me through a carefully choreographed dance.
We moved from group to group, his hand always somewhere on my body, the small of my back, my waist, occasionally dropping lower to brush the curve of my hip. Each touch was a statement of ownership, a brand visible to every watching eye.
I was introduced as 'April De Luca, Marco's daughter' to people who already knew exactly who I was. They kissed my cheeks and murmured platitudes about my father's 't ragic passing' their eyes calculating what advantage they might gain from my return.
Through it all, Leonardo never left my side, his body a constant presence, both shield and cage.
"Don't look now," he whispered during a momentary lull, "but we're being watched."
Naturally, I immediately glanced in the direction he'd indicated. A man stood at the edge of the ballroom, half-hidden behind a column. Unlike the other guests, he wore a simple black mask that covered the upper half of his face. His gaze was fixed on me with an intensity I could feel across the room.
"Who is he?" I asked, unable to look away from the stranger's stare.
"No one important," Leonardo replied, though the sudden tension in his body suggested otherwise. His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer against his side. "Someone who doesn't know boundaries."
The masked man raised his champagne glass in a silent toast, never breaking eye contact.
Something about his posture, the tilt of his head, struck me as vaguely familiar.
Before I could place it, Leonardo turned me away, his hand sliding possessively down my back to cup my hip. "Forget him. Dance with me."
It wasn't a request.
He guided me to the dance floor, one hand at my waist, the other capturing mine in a grip that brooked no resistance. The orchestra was playing something classical and melancholy as we began to move.
Leonardo was an excellent dancer, leading with the same effortless control he applied to everything. I followed automatically, muscle memory from long-ago lessons taking over. We moved as if we'd danced together countless times before, our bodies finding natural harmony despite the war between our wills.
"You're stiff," he murmured, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush against each other. "Relax."
"Difficult to relax when I'm being pawed by my kidnapper," I hissed through a frozen smile.
His hand slid lower, resting at the base of my spine, just shy of impropriety. "If I were pawing you, Piccola Rosa, you'd know it." His thumb traced small circles against the silk of my dress. "This is merely....staking a claim."
"I'm not territory to be claimed."
"Everything is territory," he countered, his lips brushing my temple in what would appear to observers as an affectionate gesture. "Everyone is either predator or prey. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will become."
"And you're the predator?" I looked up at him, defiance overtaking caution. "What does that make me?"
Leonardo's eyes darkened as they held mine. "You could be a predator too, with the right training." His gaze dropped to my lips. "You have the instincts for it. The blood."
The way he said it, almost like admiration, sent an unwelcome shiver through me. As if he saw something in me that I'd spent my life trying to deny.
The De Luca legacy. The violence in my veins.
As the music swelled, Leonardo spun me out, then pulled me back against him with more force than necessary. My body collided with his, his hand spreading across my lower back to hold me there.
"Tonight is just the beginning," he said, his voice a dark promise against my ear. "By the time I'm finished with you, April, you'll understand exactly what it means to belong to me."
The combination of threat and promise in his words made my heart race. I wanted to push away, to slap the smug certainty from his face. Instead, I remained in his arms, moving through the steps of a dance that felt increasingly like a predator toying with its meal.
Over Leonardo's shoulder, I caught another glimpse of the masked man, still watching. Still waiting. His gaze met mine across the room, and something passed between us, a current of recognition that made no sense yet felt undeniable.
Then Leonardo's hand tightened on my waist, reclaiming my attention. Reminding me who controlled this game.
"Eyes on me Piccola Rosa," he commanded softly. "Always on me."
As the music drew to a close, he bent me backward in a dramatic dip, his face hovering above mine, close enough that I could feel his breath against my lips. For one terrible moment, I thought he might kiss me here, in front of everyone.
Instead, he whispered: "Remember this feeling, April. The sensation of falling with nothing to hold onto but me. Because that's your reality now."
He pulled me upright as applause rippled through the ballroom. To the watching crowd, we must have appeared the perfect couple, the dangerous Leonardo Russo and his newly reclaimed prize.
Only I felt the steel in his fingers, the threat behind his smile.
Only I knew this dance was just the opening move in a much longer, darker game.
As the music faded, Leonardo's arm snaked possessively around my waist, guiding me from the dance floor. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the bare skin of my back, each touch a silent claim.
"You've performed admirably," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "One more hour of circulation, then we leave."
"I'm thrilled you approve," I replied, the acid in my tone earning a tightening of his fingers against my hip.
"Careful, Piccola Rosa." His voice remained pleasant, but the warning was unmistakable. "The night isn't over yet."
We moved through the crowd like royalty, Leonardo introducing me to Milan's elite with practiced charm. I played my part, the prodigal daughter returned to the fold, while scanning the room for the masked stranger. He had vanished like a ghost, leaving me with only the unsettling memory of his gaze.
"Looking for someone?" Leonardo's question carried an edge that made me stiffen.
""Just admiring the architecture," I lied.
His low chuckle vibrated against my side. "Lying doesn't suit you, April. Your eyes give you away."
Before I could retort, we were approached by an elderly woman dripping in emeralds, her face a topography of surgical enhancements.
"Leonard, darling." She air-kissed his cheeks before turning sharp eyes on me. "And this must be Marco's girl. We all thought you were dead, child."
"Disappointed to find otherwise?" I asked, earning a subtle warning squeeze from Leonardo.