Kidnapped by The Mafia Prince

Chapter 2: Just Ivy (Part 2)

Ivy~

“Bellissima,” Dante’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

He was already crossing the lobby, his gaze sweeping over me and lingering a second too long. His steps faltered before he recovered, his cheeks reddening as he stopped in front of me.

“You look... stunning,” he said, fumbling over the words as though he wasn’t sure how to say them.

“Thank you, Dante” I replied, forcing a smile as I adjusted the strap on my shoulder.

“Nathaniel told me to meet you here,” he said, clearing his throat, though his eyes stayed on me. “He’s tied up.”

Of course, he was. Typical.

“I’m glad to see you first,” I said curtly, stepping past Dante toward the ballroom entrance.

“Lucky me,” he replied, his smile tilting into something a touch more thoughtful. “Though, I think I’m the one who’s glad.”

That was Dante—always so easy to talk to, so genuine. He had this knack for making you feel like the only person in the room, but without any of the weight that came with it.

At the door, a woman checked her list, her smile polite but distant.

“Welcome Mrs. Graves,” she said, looking up briefly.

“Just Ivy,” I corrected, sharper than I intended.

Dante arched a brow at my tone but stayed silent. The pause that followed felt heavy, like he wanted to say more but didn’t.

Finally, I turned to him.

“What?”

He hesitated.

“Italy suits you, cara mia. Like it was always meant to.” His voice was warm, but there was an edge of something unspoken, his eyes briefly searching mine before he glanced away. “You should let it in.”

The ballroom was an explosion of wealth wrapped in glitter and garlands. The gambling tables lined one side of the room, packed with intense faces and piles of chips. A low buzz of tension filled the air as people whispered bets and threw down fortunes like it was pocket change.

As we approached the entrance, a server handed us each a champagne glass. I barely muttered a “thanks” before downing mine in one go. Dante raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Starting strong, are we?” he teased.

“Needed a buffer,” I muttered, feeling the bubbles settle my nerves. “This place feels like I’m undercover in a James Bond movie.”

Dante grinned, grabbing a second glass from a passing tray and handing it to me.

“You’re not supposed to question it. Just drink and pretend you belong.”

And then there was Nathaniel.

Fun was over.

He was waiting near the dance floor, his sharp blue eyes locking onto me the second I stepped inside. His gaze dragged over me, his jaw tightening visibly. By the time I reached him, my earlier confidence had slipped away entirely.

Here we go.

“Ivy,” he said, his voice tight as he looked me up and down. “What are you wearing?”

I stiffened under his scrutiny, the empowerment I’d felt moments ago slipping through my fingers like sand.

“A dress,” I replied, forcing a calm tone.

He scoffed, his lips curling into a faint sneer.

His eyes narrowed.

“I told you it’s inappropriate,” he hissed, stepping closer. “You’re supposed to represent the firm, not... whatever this is.”

“It’s just a dress,” I repeated, forcing my voice to remain steady, though my chest felt tight.

“It’s not” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Always a way to test how far you can push me.”

Before I could respond, Dante cleared his throat loudly, the sound cutting through the tension.

“Vicenzo De Luca coming our way” He whispered.

Nathaniel stiffened and turned his head sharply, following Dante’s pointed glance.

Vincenzo De Luca was striding toward us, his presence cutting through the crowd like a knife. Dante shifted slightly beside me, his easy demeanor faltering as the tall, imposing figure approached.

Nathaniel straightened, his tone immediately smoothing into something more diplomatic.

“Vincenzo,” he greeted, his earlier irritation masked with an air of practiced politeness.

Vincenzo barely acknowledged him, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly before they landed on me. He looked like Caleb in some ways—the dark hair, the sharp cheekbones—but that’s where the similarities ended. His eyes weren’t stormy or dangerous. They were calculating, cold, as if weighing everything he looked at with detached precision.

His gaze lingered on me, scrutinizing in a way that made my skin crawl.

“Congratulations,” I said finally, forcing a polite smile as I gestured to the room. “On the engagement.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe—but he didn’t correct me. Instead, his lips curled into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was stiff, forced, and made me feel like I was being silently mocked.

“Congratulations to all of us,” he said smoothly, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Viva la famiglia.”

His gaze dropped to my neck. For a moment, I thought I imagined the way his eyes widened, the subtle stiffening of his jaw.

“Where did you get that?” he asked sharply, his tone cutting through the air like glass.

“It was... a gift,” I said hesitantly.

“A gift?” Vincenzo repeated, his voice tighter now. His sharp gaze flicked toward

Nathaniel, who was now staring at me with a mixture of confusion and irritation.

“What gift?” Nathaniel demanded.

I hesitated, unsure if I’d said something wrong, but before I could dwell on it, I saw him.

He stepped into the light, his black suit perfectly tailored, though his appearance was far from polished. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and the sleeves of his jacket were pushed back, revealing the inked patterns curling over his forearms. The tattoos only added to the air of power that clung to him effortlessly, as if he thrived in chaos.

He was striking. Alluring. Dangerous.

My breath hitched as his stormy gray eyes locked onto mine from across the room. A devilish smirk spread across his face; his expression unbothered as if he were oblivious to the tension unraveling in front of me.

Vincenzo followed my gaze, his shoulders stiffening as Caleb raised his glass in a mock toast. The smirk deepened, and with a wink at his brother, Caleb tipped the glass back, downing the drink like he had all the time in the world.

Was. He. Mocking. All of us?

I felt a flush creep up my neck as the weight of both Vincenzo’s and Nathaniel’s attention bore down on me.

“Excuse me,” Vincenzo said abruptly, his voice colder now. Without another word, he turned on his heel, striding toward Caleb with rigid tension in every step.

Nathaniel muttered a curse under his breath, his grip on my arm tightening as he pulled me aside, his fury barely restrained.

“How could you do this to me?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. “You always act impulsively, never thinking about the consequences.”

His hand shot toward the necklace at my throat, his words sharper now.

“Take it off. Now.”

“No.” I yanked my arm back, my voice sharper than I expected. “I’m not changing.”

Nathaniel’s irritation darkened, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re drunk,” he said coldly, leaning closer.

“Drunk? No. Just done.”

The tension between us cracked as the lights dimmed suddenly, the crowd shifting with anticipation. Guests parted toward the ballroom's center, couples gathering for the first dance.

I exhaled shakily, trying to shake off Nathaniel’s words, but I felt it—a gaze cutting through the crowd. My breath hitched as I turned and met Caleb’s stormy gray eyes. He was watching me again, like he always was.

He moved toward the dance floor with Elena DiMarco, her hand resting lightly on his arm. She looked like she owned the room, and him. Her black dress clinging to her figure like it was made for her. Every turn she made was polished perfection, her dark brown hair gleaming under the chandeliers, her smile razor-sharp.

They looked perfect together. Polished. Untouchable. Everything I wasn’t.

Why did it twist in my stomach like this? Why did it feel like every spin Caleb shared with her was a jab aimed directly at me? Was this all a game to him—the dress, the necklace... me?

Nathaniel’s hand on my arm snapped me back to the moment.

“We’re dancing,” he said flatly, dragging me toward the floor.

I tried not to look at Caleb anymore, but my eyes betrayed me. Every time our gazes locked, questions flared to life in his stormy gray eyes.

Nathaniel leaned down, his voice biting.

“You need to learn from Elena,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “Look at her. That’s elegance, not... desperation.”

The words hit harder than they should have, but I forced myself to hold my head high.

“Take it off. Now,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous.

“Back off. You’ve already taken enough from me.”

“I’ll rip it off if I have to,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “I don’t want to make a scene.”

“Don’t you dare—” I started, but the words were cut short when he reached for the necklace.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, a shadow moved—silent, deliberate, unstoppable.

A hand gripped Nathaniel’s wrist with a force that froze him mid-motion, the dominance in the gesture unmistakable. At the same time, another hand—a different hand—found my throat, warm and steady, like it had always belonged there. The touch was firm but not harsh, pulling me back with a precision that felt almost intimate.

My body moved without thought, leaning into the safety of that grip as if it were the answer to every unspoken plea I hadn’t dared to voice.

Strong fingers curled around my waist, pulling me close as a voice, low and calm but brimming with danger.

“Careful, Graves,” Caleb said, his gaze locked onto Nathaniel’s. “Touch something that doesn’t belong to you, and you might lose the hand.”