STRANGER AND CHAMPAGNE

Martina’s POV (Expanded)

Startled, I turned to find Silvio standing behind me, his sharp eyes fixed on mine. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that accentuated his powerful frame, he exuded an intimidating elegance. His presence seemed to draw all the air from the room, leaving me both relieved and nervous. How did he manage to appear both effortlessly sophisticated and utterly ruthless?

Silvio stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “Shall we?” he asked, offering me his arm with a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Where have you been?” I asked, my eyes narrowing slightly as I took in his slightly disheveled appearance. A few strands of hair had broken free from the meticulous gel, giving him a roguish charm that contrasted sharply with his usual polished demeanor.

“I had business,” he replied curtly, his tone leaving no room for further questions.

Still, I pressed on, reaching for his shoulders before I could stop myself. “Can you squat a little so I can fix your tie?”

He blinked, clearly surprised, and for a moment, something unfamiliar flickered in his eyes. His usual predatory glare softened into something… almost vulnerable. Without a word, he lowered himself slightly, giving me just enough access to straighten the collar of his shirt and carefully adjust his tie.

The scent of his cologne—rich, woody, and undeniably masculine—wrapped around me, almost intoxicating in its intensity. It was a scent that demanded attention, much like the man himself. I glanced up to find him watching me, his gaze uncharacteristically tender, filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

The stray pieces of hair framing his face softened his otherwise sharp features. For a fleeting moment, I saw not the ruthless Silvio Argento, but a man—flawed, complex, and perhaps carrying burdens I would never fully understand. He looked remarkable.

“I'm surprised he hasn’t killed her yet,” a woman muttered to her companion as they walked past us.

The words cut through the moment like a blade. My head whipped around, following the sound of their retreating footsteps, but Silvio gently turned my face back toward him with a firm yet gentle touch.

“Focus on me, Mrs. Argento,” he said, his voice low and commanding, his words carrying an undeniable weight.

A lump formed in my throat as I struggled to respond. The heat radiating from his body seemed to envelop me, making it impossible to think clearly. Before I could compose myself, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the curve of my neck in a gesture so intimate it sent shivers cascading down my spine.

“You could make a man drop dead in this outfit,” he whispered, his tone playful yet dangerously intoxicating. “Did you plan to do that?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the rare, boyish grin that followed. It was a striking contrast to the ruthless man I knew. For a moment, I didn’t recognize him, and that unfamiliarity made my pulse race even faster. My gaze drifted to his lips without my permission, and my fingers clutched the lapel of his suit for stability.

He leaned in again, his breath warm against my skin, and I felt myself tilting toward him, drawn to him in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Martina?”

The familiar voice shattered the trance I hadn’t realized I’d fallen into. The world, which had narrowed to just Silvio and me, suddenly expanded as the noise of the grand ballroom returned in full force.

I turned to see Serafina approaching, tugging a reluctant Antonio behind her. Relief flooded through me at the sight of my siblings, their presence grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

“Serafina!” I exclaimed, rushing to embrace her. Despite the six-year gap between us, we had always been as close as twins.

“You look amazing, Martina,” she said, spinning me around with a grin. Her floral, floor-length dress perfectly complemented her blonde hair and delicate features, making her look like she had stepped out of a painting.

“You look breathtaking, Serafina,” I replied earnestly, marveling at her effortless beauty.

“Thank you for noticing me too, Martina,” Antonio interjected with mock jealousy, his lips curling into a playful pout.

I laughed, turning to him. “You look breathtaking as well, Antonio. Don’t worry.”

His faux pout quickly gave way to a grin, but the playful atmosphere shifted when their eyes lingered on me, their expressions growing serious.

“Did—did he hurt you in any way, Martina?” Serafina finally asked, her voice soft but laced with worry.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I shook my head. “No, he didn’t. He’s actually not—”

“You don’t have to lie to us, Martina. Did he hurt you?” Antonio interrupted, his tone sharp, his protective instincts on full display.

I stepped back and spread my arms. “You can inspect me. See for yourself.”

Antonio studied me for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Well, if you say you’re alright, I have no choice but to believe you.”

The tension eased, and the evening passed quickly, filled with laughter and playful bickering as we reminisced about simpler times. It felt like a balm to my soul, a fleeting taste of the familiarity and comfort I had been craving.

Eventually, they had to leave, called back by an emergency at the Moretti estate. I watched them go, my heart aching with the longing to keep them by my side.

As I scanned the room for Silvio, I found no sign of him. My pulse quickened, unease creeping into my chest like a dark shadow.

“Looking for someone?”

Startled, I turned to find a young woman seated at a nearby table. Her sharp features were softened by a friendly smile, but something about her presence felt… calculated. She looked to be about my age, her dark hair styled elegantly, framing her face in soft waves.

“Yes, my husband. I don’t know where he vanished to,” I admitted, the word husband still feeling foreign and awkward on my tongue.

“Silvio Argento?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

My own eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes. How did you—?”

“It’s not hard to tell,” she interrupted with a light chuckle. “I saw him leave with a few of his men. I think something came up.”

“Oh,” I murmured, disappointment and unease swirling within me.

She gestured to the chair beside her. “You should sit. Have a drink. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Reluctantly, I accepted her offer, lowering myself into the chair. She slid a glass of champagne toward me, but I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to be cautious.

Sensing my hesitation, she picked up the glass and took a large gulp. “See? I haven’t messed with your drink,” she said with a laugh, her snort betraying her amusement at my paranoia.

“In this world, you have to be careful who you trust,” she added, her tone casual but her words chilling.

Her expression remained friendly, but her words held a deeper meaning, one I couldn’t ignore.

“I’m Isabella,” she said, extending a hand.

“Martina,” I replied, shaking her hand cautiously as my mind churned with questions. Who was she, and why did it feel like her words were a warning wrapped in silk?