Sinfully Yours

Chapter 5: Unspoken

The entrance to Romano Palace was a flood of golden light and murmured Italian greetings. Stepping inside was like stepping into another world. Champagne flutes shimmered under the glow of crystal chandeliers, their golden bubbles rising like tiny celebrations. The air was thick with expensive perfume, the faint tang of polished marble, and the hum of quiet power that came from men who made decisions over empires and women who could make them crumble with a smile.

Antonio stood beside her, tall and impossibly composed, a figure carved from the kind of confidence that couldn’t be faked. His devilishly charming eyes swept the room like a man who already owned it, their dark intensity catching in her peripheral vision no matter how she tried to look away. Black silk hair, glossy under the chandelier light, was pulled back neatly, revealing the sharp four-corner hairline that framed his arresting features. The faint scent of his cologne reached her, warm and clean, with a dangerous edge, and for a breath, she hated how it pulled at her senses.

His hand settled lightly at the small of her back, guiding her forward. Heat curled beneath her skin at the unexpected contact, but she masked it with a neutral smile, scanning the crowd as if she hadn’t felt a thing.

Everywhere she looked, there were men in tailored suits and women in gowns that cost more than most cars. Conversations drifted in and out, deals were made over glasses of Barolo, and laughter masked negotiations.

But as they moved deeper into the hotel, she realized this wasn’t the hushed, dignified “gathering” she had imagined. The further they walked, the heavier the bass grew, until it pulsed faintly in her chest. They stepped past a gilded archway into a grand lounge that had been transformed into something between a private gala and a club. Low crystal chandeliers glittered above a polished dance floor. The bar gleamed, its surface lined with bottles worth more than some apartments.

“Keep your composure,” Antonio murmured, his voice brushing her ear. “Every eye in this room is measuring you.”

Katherina’s lips twitched in defiance. “Let them measure. I didn’t come here to shrink.”

His reply was quiet, cutting. “Then don’t make the mistake of thinking your voice carries weight tonight. Stay close and let me do the talking.”

Her gaze snapped to his, steady and unflinching. “I’ll speak when I choose, Antonio. You don’t own my silence.”

His grip on her back tightened just a fraction, a warning she felt all the way down her spine. “Sure I don’t. But tonight, you’ll use it to say ‘yes, Antonio,’ and nothing else.”

She glanced at him for the first time, her hazel eyes meeting his, a challenge in their depths. “I’ll try.”

They moved deeper into the hotel, the bass from a private club pulsing faintly in her chest. They stepped past a gilded archway, and Katherina’s eyes widened slightly.

“This is your business meeting?” she muttered, the low-lit lounge feeling more like a cage than a gala.

“Networking,” he said, his gaze sweeping the crowd. “And the best place to do that is where everyone feels they can let their guard down. The only one who can’t tonight is you. Watch your back, Katherina. And don’t make a scene.”

His hand never left her lower back, a constant, light pressure that claimed her as his property. They wove through the crowd, Antonio greeted with handshakes and murmured respect. Whenever he introduced her, it was always the same.

“My wife.”

The words felt like a collar tightening around her throat.

They reached a semicircle of velvet couches where several men and women lounged. A man with sandy hair and a smile that came too easily stood to greet Antonio.

“Antonio,” the man said, “you’ve been hiding your biggest asset.” His eyes lingered on Katherina. “And who is this beautiful woman?”

“My wife,” Antonio repeated, his arm tightening fractionally around her waist. “Katherina De Luca.”

She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The man’s gaze was intrusive. Her irritation simmered like a low flame when Antonio’s thumb traced a proprietary line over her hip. To others, it might have seemed affectionate, but to her, it was a subtle, calculated warning.

The conversation flowed around her, but Antonio never released her. His hand shifted when she shifted, as if he was attuned to her every small movement. At one point, she reached for a glass from a passing tray.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his hand blocking hers. He plucked a fresh glass of champagne himself and handed it to her. “You don’t take anything unless I give it to you. That goes for drinks, too.”

When a sultry song began to pulse through the lounge, Antonio’s gaze cut to hers. Without asking, he took her hand and drew her toward the dance floor.

“I’m not dancing,” she said, pulling back. “You won’t force me to do that too, will you?”

“You are my wife,” he murmured, his hand at her hip. “And a wife dances when her husband asks her to.”

“We both know what I am,” she retorted, her voice low. “And it’s not a wife. It’s a deal, a pawn.”

He pulled her closer, his hand guiding her hips just enough to keep her locked against him.

"Pawn or not, you’re mine. Every eye in this room is on us, Katherina. They’re all waiting to see you stumble. I don’t bloody care if you give them the pleasure.”

She kept her chin high, refusing to look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, devouring, digging in, testing how long before she broke her composure.

He dipped his mouth near her ear, the scent of his cologne, dark spice and cedar, mixing with the faint heat of champagne on his breath. “You clean up well,” he murmured, his voice velvet and a threat all at once.

Before she could bite back a retort, a figure broke from the crowd, tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit. His dark hair gleamed under the chandelier light, and those unmistakable sea-blue eyes locked on her like a predator spotting prey.

Her breath stalled. Her gaze fell on his, and she felt a shock like a physical blow. She’d once known the man who lived behind those sea-blue eyes. The man who had listened to her dreams and seen a future far removed from the cold grip of family duty.

“Matteo,” she said, the name a soft gasp that was barely audible above the music. It was a name that should have remained a ghost, buried with a past she had sworn to forget.

Antonio’s head snapped toward her, his hand tightening at her waist until the pressure was almost painful. “You know him?” he growled, the question a demand, not a request for information.

Matteo’s mouth curved in a slow, wolfish grin. “That’s right... she knows me.” His gaze never left hers, and the shared memory in that look was a challenge all its own. “We have a certain... history.”

The air between them thickened, laced with the sharp scent of memory and the unspoken defiance in Matteo’s words. Katherina felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. She could feel the way Antonio’s jaw hardened, his entire body going rigid with possessive rage he couldn’t yet show. This was exactly what Matteo wanted.

Matteo finally turned to him, offering a handshake that looked more like a challenge. “Antonio De Luca,” he said smoothly. “I didn’t expect to see your… wife here tonight.” He let the word roll off his tongue, turning a simple title into a private joke between him and Katherina.

Antonio clasped his hand, the tension in his shoulders visible. “And I didn’t expect you in my city, Moretti.”

Matteo’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes glinted with something darker. “Your city? Careful, amico. We both know Sicily isn’t yours.” He laughed, a short, humorless sound.

When his gaze slid back to Katherina, it softened, dangerously. “You look even more beautiful than the last time, Kat.” His tone made “beautiful” sound like a forbidden secret, a quiet conversation that excluded everyone else in the room. Katherina felt her cheeks flush despite herself. It was a cruel reminder of a time when his words had been a comfort, not a weapon.

Antonio’s grip on her hip tightened, a silent warning that made her wince. “We should move on,” he said, his voice a low growl of finality.

Matteo leaned slightly closer to her, his voice low enough that only she heard. He wasn’t whispering; he was claiming. “We’re not finished, Kat.”

“That’s enough,” Antonio said, his voice a low growl. “She’s with me now.”

Matteo’s wolfish grin returned. He took a slow step back, his eyes moving over Katherina’s face as if committing it to memory.

“Is she?” he asked, his voice a quiet taunt.