Isabella’s POV
The moment Alessio’s hand touched my shoulder, I wanted to slap him. No, I needed to slap him. The smugness in his eyes as he looked down at me like I was his favorite plaything lit a fire under my skin. But I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Instead, I met his smirk with a glare and, without hesitation, raised my middle finger right in front of his face.
His chuckle was low, the kind that said you’ll regret that, and before I could react, his hand slid down to my wrist, pulling me to my feet. The room seemed to hush, and I hated how his presence demanded attention, even when it wasn’t wanted.
“Careful, Isabella,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear as he led me to the dance floor. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“You started it,” I hissed, but my pulse betrayed
