Chapter 4: Dinner With the Devil
2282 Words
The invitation sat on Ariana's kitchen counter all night.
By morning, it was still there.
Mocking her.
Waiting.
Demanding a decision she wasn't ready to make.
Ariana stood in front of the coffee machine and glared at the cream-colored envelope.
The envelope, unsurprisingly, didn't care.
"You are ridiculous," she muttered.
The invitation remained silent.
Ariana groaned.
This was what Adrian Vitale had done to her life in less than forty-eight hours.
She was arguing with stationery.
The coffee machine beeped.
She grabbed the mug and headed toward the small dining table.
The invitation remained exactly where she'd left it.
Elegant.
Simple.
Dangerous.
Just like the man who had sent it.
The realization irritated her immediately.
Why was she thinking about him this much?
She barely knew him.
He was simply the solution to a problem.
A very large problem.
A five-million-dollar problem.
Nothing more.
Her phone rang.
Mia.
Ariana answered.
"Please tell me you're calling with good news."
"Depends."
"On?"
"Are we talking about business good news or attractive-man good news?"
Ariana nearly dropped her coffee.
"There is no attractive-man news."
Mia laughed.
"Oh, there definitely is."
Ariana rubbed her forehead.
"How are you still talking about that?"
"Because mysterious flowers from a man whose initials are A.V. is literally the most exciting thing that's happened in months."
"It isn't exciting."
"It is."
"It isn't."
"It is."
Ariana ended the call.
Immediately.
Mia called back.
Ariana ignored her.
Some friendships required boundaries.
---
The day passed painfully slowly.
Every customer seemed determined to ask impossible questions.
Every supplier wanted an answer.
Every design she worked on felt wrong.
By five o'clock she had redesigned the same evening dress three separate times.
And hated all three versions.
Her concentration was gone.
Completely gone.
By six-thirty she finally admitted defeat.
The dinner was at eight.
Which gave her just enough time to go home and get ready.
Unfortunately, deciding what to wear proved surprisingly difficult.
Not because she cared.
She absolutely did not care.
But because Adrian Vitale lived in a mansion that looked like it belonged in a magazine.
Showing up underdressed felt like surrender.
Showing up overdressed felt equally terrible.
After twenty minutes of frustration, she settled on a dark emerald dress.
Simple.
Elegant.
Professional.
Not a date dress.
Definitely not a date dress.
At seven-fifty-five, a black car arrived outside her apartment building.
Of course it did.
Adrian apparently operated with military precision.
The driver opened the rear door.
"Miss Bellucci."
Ariana climbed inside.
The ride to the estate was quiet.
Outside the window, the city lights blurred together.
Inside the car, her thoughts refused to cooperate.
By the time they reached the estate, her stomach was tied in knots.
The gates opened automatically.
The massive property stretched before her.
Every time she saw it, it looked more intimidating.
The car stopped.
Ariana stepped out.
A staff member immediately approached.
"This way, Miss Bellucci."
She followed him through the enormous entrance hall.
Everything about the estate reflected Adrian.
Elegant.
Controlled.
Powerful.
Nothing felt accidental.
Nothing felt careless.
Every detail had purpose.
The staff member opened a set of double doors.
"The boss is waiting."
Ariana entered.
And immediately forgot what she was about to say.
Adrian stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens.
The city lights glowed in the distance behind him.
He wasn't wearing a suit tonight.
Instead, he wore a dark charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Simple.
Yet somehow even more intimidating.
His attention shifted toward her.
And for a second, neither spoke.
Ariana hated the sudden awareness that settled between them.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Warmer.
More intimate.
"You're late."
She blinked.
Then looked at the clock.
8:01.
Ariana glared.
"One minute."
"Still late."
"I already regret coming."
A faint smile appeared.
Gone almost immediately.
But she saw it.
And strangely, she liked seeing it.
Dangerous thought.
Very dangerous.
"Sit."
Ariana sat.
The dining table looked capable of seating twenty people.
Yet only two places had been prepared.
One at each end.
As if Adrian had intentionally created distance.
The realization surprised her.
Most powerful men she had encountered preferred making people uncomfortable.
Adrian seemed to prefer giving them room.
Dinner arrived shortly afterward.
For several minutes they ate in comfortable silence.
Eventually Ariana placed her fork down.
"I'm here for answers."
"I know."
"Good."
She folded her arms.
"Because I have questions."
"I expected that."
His calm confidence was infuriating.
"Do you ever get nervous?"
The question escaped unexpectedly.
Adrian looked genuinely surprised.
"No."
Ariana sighed dramatically.
"Must be nice."
Something warm flickered in his eyes.
Not amusement.
Something softer.
Then it vanished.
"Ask your questions."
Right.
Business.
Focus.
Ariana cleared her throat.
"Why me?"
His expression didn't change.
"You already asked that."
"I'm asking again."
For a moment, Adrian studied her.
Carefully.
As if deciding how honest to be.
Then—
"Because you're strong."
The answer caught her off guard.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Ariana stared.
That wasn't what she'd expected.
Not even close.
"Strong?"
"Most people would have accepted immediately."
His gaze remained fixed on hers.
"You didn't."
A strange flutter appeared in her stomach.
She ignored it.
"You barely know me."
"I know enough."
The words settled between them.
Heavy.
Meaningful.
Dangerous.
And suddenly Ariana wasn't sure she wanted to hear any more.
Because every answer Adrian gave seemed to make him more complicated.
More human.
More difficult to hate.
And that was becoming a serious problem.
Especially because she hadn't noticed how close they had become in conversation.
Or how easily the evening was passing.
Or how often she found herself looking at him when he wasn't speaking.
Until Adrian quietly asked:
"Are you afraid of me, Ariana?"
The question stole the air from her lungs.
Because the honest answer wasn't simple.
And for the first time since meeting Adrian Vitale—
She wasn't sure she knew it herself.
The question lingered between them.
Are you afraid of me, Ariana?
Ariana stared at Adrian across the table.
The answer should have been easy.
Everyone was afraid of Adrian Vitale.
The newspapers were full of stories.
Business rivals avoided crossing him.
Politicians respected him.
Criminals feared him.
Even hearing his name was enough to make people lower their voices.
And yet...
"No."
The answer surprised even her.
Adrian didn't look surprised.
He simply watched her.
Waiting.
"You should probably be afraid of me," he said.
Ariana rolled her eyes.
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"The mafia boss act."
A faint smile appeared.
"Mafia boss act?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Adrian leaned back in his chair.
"Enlighten me."
Ariana pointed her fork at him.
"The mysterious looks."
His eyebrow lifted.
"The intimidating silence."
Another eyebrow lift.
"The dramatic entrances."
This time he actually laughed.
The sound caught her off guard.
Again.
Because Adrian Vitale laughing felt wrong somehow.
Like discovering a lion enjoyed knitting.
"You're making fun of me."
His eyes darkened slightly with amusement.
"Maybe."
"You definitely are."
The laughter faded.
But something lighter remained behind.
The atmosphere shifted.
For the first time since arriving, Ariana relaxed.
Just a little.
Enough to breathe normally.
Enough to forget where she was for a moment.
Enough to remember she was talking to a man.
Not a title.
Not a reputation.
A man.
The realization unsettled her.
Because the more time she spent with Adrian, the less he matched the image she'd created in her head.
That image had been easier.
Safer.
The real Adrian was complicated.
And complicated people were dangerous.
"Tell me something."
The words left her before she could stop them.
Adrian looked interested.
"What?"
"What's your family like?"
The question clearly wasn't what he'd expected.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
Brief.
Gone almost instantly.
"My family?"
"Yes."
"You want to know about my family?"
Ariana shrugged.
"We're discussing marriage."
The word marriage still sounded strange.
Unreal.
Yet neither of them reacted this time.
As though they were slowly becoming accustomed to the idea.
"My mother worries too much," Adrian finally said.
The answer surprised her.
"My father worries too little."
Ariana smiled despite herself.
"Interesting."
"My younger sister thinks she's smarter than everyone else."
"Is she?"
"Unfortunately."
That earned a laugh.
A genuine one.
And for the first time that evening, Adrian's smile lingered.
Long enough for Ariana to realize something.
He was handsome.
Ridiculously handsome.
Dangerously handsome.
The realization hit her like a truck.
And she hated it immediately.
Because attraction complicated everything.
Everything.
She looked away first.
Pretending to focus on her water glass.
Across from her, Adrian noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Nothing escaped him.
"So."
His voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Your turn."
Ariana frowned.
"My turn?"
"Tell me about your family."
The warmth immediately faded.
Just like that.
Her stomach tightened.
"My family isn't very interesting."
The lie sounded weak.
Both of them knew it.
Adrian remained silent.
Waiting.
Ariana sighed.
"My mother was wonderful."
His expression softened slightly.
"She loved this boutique more than anything."
A pause.
"Besides me."
Her voice grew quieter.
"She taught me everything."
The memories hurt.
Even now.
Especially now.
Three years hadn't changed that.
Some losses stayed sharp.
Forever.
"She sounds remarkable."
Ariana smiled sadly.
"She was."
Silence settled briefly.
Then Adrian asked,
"And your father?"
The warmth vanished completely.
Just hearing the question was enough.
Ariana looked down at her hands.
Thinking.
Searching.
Trying to find the right answer.
Eventually she gave up.
"There isn't much to say."
Adrian didn't believe that.
She could tell.
Neither did she.
"My father wasn't always terrible."
The confession surprised her.
Because it was true.
Before the gambling.
Before the lies.
Before the debts.
There had been moments.
Good moments.
Family vacations.
Birthday parties.
Movie nights.
She remembered those things.
Sometimes she wished she didn't.
Because remembering made everything harder.
"Something changed."
Adrian's voice was quiet.
Not demanding.
Just observing.
Ariana nodded.
"After my mother got sick."
The words felt heavy.
Painful.
"He couldn't handle it."
She laughed bitterly.
"At least that's what he says."
The room fell silent.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Adrian said something unexpected.
"You don't have to defend him."
Ariana blinked.
"What?"
"You keep trying to."
She stared.
Because he was right.
Even now.
Even after everything.
Part of her still wanted to protect her father.
To excuse him.
To explain him.
Why?
She honestly didn't know.
Maybe because he was all she had left.
Or maybe because letting go felt too much like giving up.
The thought lingered.
Uncomfortable.
Painful.
Real.
A servant entered carrying dessert.
The interruption was welcome.
Very welcome.
Ariana needed a moment.
Needed distance from thoughts she didn't want to examine.
The dessert looked incredible.
Chocolate.
Strawberries.
Some kind of pastry she couldn't identify.
It smelled amazing.
"You remembered I like strawberries?"
The question slipped out accidentally.
Immediately she realized what she'd said.
Adrian looked at her.
Calm.
Steady.
"Yes."
Ariana froze.
"What do you mean yes?"
His expression remained completely serious.
"You mentioned it during our first conversation."
Her stomach performed an alarming little flip.
No.
Absolutely not.
He did not remember something that insignificant.
That was unfair.
Extremely unfair.
"You remember that?"
"Of course."
The answer came naturally.
As though remembering details about her was normal.
Ariana suddenly found the dessert fascinating.
Far more fascinating than Adrian.
Or his eyes.
Or his voice.
Or the fact that he apparently listened when she spoke.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
By the time dinner ended, nearly two hours had passed.
Two hours.
Ariana couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed a conversation that much.
The realization followed her as Adrian walked her toward the entrance.
Neither spoke immediately.
The estate was quiet.
Peaceful.
The gardens outside glowed beneath soft golden lights.
For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Then Ariana remembered nothing about this situation was normal.
Absolutely nothing.
They reached the front doors.
The car waiting to take her home was already outside.
She should leave.
Immediately.
Instead, she hesitated.
Adrian noticed.
Of course.
"What are you thinking?"
The question caught her off guard.
Ariana looked up.
Directly into his eyes.
And for one terrifying second, she considered telling the truth.
That she didn't understand him.
That she couldn't figure him out.
That every answer seemed to create more questions.
Instead she said,
"I still haven't made a decision."
Something unreadable crossed his face.
Gone before she could identify it.
"I know."
The answer was simple.
Yet somehow disappointing.
Ariana wasn't sure why.
Neither moved.
The silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable.
Just...
Aware.
The kind of awareness that appeared whenever they stood too close.
Whenever they looked at each other for too long.
Whenever the conversation became too honest.
Ariana's pulse quickened.
She hoped Adrian couldn't hear it.
Judging by the look in his eyes—
He probably could.
Finally, she stepped back.
Creating distance.
Needing distance.
Because something about this man made her forget herself.
And that was dangerous.
"I'll think about it."
Adrian nodded.
"Good."
No pressure.
No threats.
No demands.
Just trust.
As though he genuinely believed she'd come back.
The confidence should have annoyed her.
Instead, it unsettled her.
Because a small part of her was beginning to suspect he might be right.
The driver opened the car door.
Ariana climbed inside.
Then looked back.
Adrian remained standing exactly where she'd left him.
Watching.
Not possessively.
Not aggressively.
Simply watching.
The image stayed with her the entire drive home.
And later that night.
And even after she climbed into bed.
Because no matter how hard she tried, one question refused to leave her mind.
What if saying yes changed her life?
But an even more frightening question followed.
What if she wanted it to?
- Writer
