The garden was silent except for the wind sighing through the roses.
Adriana lingered where Damian had left her the night before, her hand still trembling from the heat of his confession. Her lips still tasted of him, her heart still raced with his vow. She should have been terrified, but all she felt was a dangerous calm.
I belong to him.
The thought alone could have her father hang her, could have Luca put a bullet in her skull. But it was no longer something she could deny.
She brushed her fingers across the nearest rose, red velvet petals cool against her skin. A thorn pricked her fingertip, a bead of blood rising bright against her pale hand.
Blood and roses. Beauty and pain. Her world now.
---
By dusk, the villa hosted another gathering — smaller, but no less tense. The Rossis
