2

Raella's POV

“No one’s supposed to be in here,” he said, his voice low, authoritative.

Panic surged. “I’m hiding!” I blurted, tugging uselessly at the shredded fabric. Could this get any worse?

“Stripping, hiding, I don’t care what you call it—but you can’t do it here,” he snapped.

His words stung, but I forced myself to glare at him, trying to shield my embarrassment with defiance. “Who are you? Security?”

He let out a short laugh. “You must be joking.”

I hesitated. Something in his tone told me I should know who he was, but I didn’t, and that only made me bolder. “Not security, then? Let me guess… Some trust-fund baby who thinks he owns every room he walks into?”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a glint of amusement in them. “Big words for someone sneaking around naked in a stranger’s house.”

“I’m hiding!” I yelped, wishing I could sound less desperate. “And trust me, I’d give anything to be clothed right now. Sweatpants, a hoodie, a damn parka—anything. Even that strappy nightmare of a dress if it would just behave.”

I hated this party. Hated the dress. Hated being seen like this. I wrapped my arms around myself, as if that could shield me from his gaze.

A cool breeze blew in through the open doors, making me shiver. Of course, he noticed.

Before I could say anything else, he shrugged out of his jacket and approached me.

“What are you doing?” I asked, instinctively shrinking back.

He froze mid-motion, holding his jacket in one hand. His face softened, but his voice was firm. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Take it or leave it.”

I stared at him, unsure whether to trust his sudden kindness. But the jacket was warm, and his words weren’t cruel. After a moment’s hesitation, I lunged forward, pulling it on.

It smelled like him—clean, expensive, with a hint of something darker. It was too big, but I wrapped it around me tightly, savoring the safety it gave me.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. Then, unable to stop myself, I added, “For a second, I thought you were going to parade me out of here naked as punishment.”

His lips twitched, like he was fighting a grin. He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at me—drowning in the jacket, my hair a mess, my cheeks still burning—made me feel more seen than I ever had.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, his voice cool, but the challenge was clear.

“Don’t threaten me,” I shot back, lifting my chin.

“Don’t act like it wouldn’t be all bad. You’d be the center of attention.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t act like all women want the same thing.”

He arched an amused eyebrow. “Don’t they? You got all dolled up to sell your soul to Vincenzo Marinelli. Just like the rest of them.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Not you, too? Vincenzo this, Vincenzo that. Everyone can’t get enough of him. Who even is he?”

He moved closer, joining me by the window. His gaze swept over the party below. “Everyone’s here because they want to marry him.”

“I’m sure he thinks so.” I gestured toward a man near the shrubs. “What’s your name?”

He studied me for a long moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Tell me yours first.”

“Or what?” I challenged.

“Or I’ll kick you out for trespassing.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t head of security? You’re on a real power trip.”

He didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering. The air between us thickened. “I’ll answer when you tell me who you are.”

Sighing, I gave in. “Carmela Callahan.”

He grabbed two glasses from the bar cart. “Care for a drink, Ms. Callahan?”

“God, yes. But you don’t get off that easy. You’re supposed to tell me if you’re head of security or not.”

He poured the drinks, holding up his glass. “If I was head of security, would I be drinking on the job?”

“If you were bad at your job, you might,” I shot back.

He handed me the second glass, his confidence maddening. “I’m not bad at anything.”

“I hate that I actually believe you.” I sipped the drink and grimaced at the sharp flavor. “I also hate cognac.”

“That’s a three-hundred-dollar bottle.”

“Oh.” I straightened, forcing a wide, fake smile. “Well, in that case, it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Better?”

He chuckled softly, low and warm. He raised his glass, tapping it against mine. “Much better.”