I'M HIS ALONE

CHAPTER 14

THE GALA

The annual Romano Foundation Gala was one of the most prestigious social events in New York. A black-tie affair held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it brought together politicians, celebrities, business tycoons, and crime lords under the guise of charity. The Romano family had been hosting it for decades, using it as both a public relations exercise and a subtle display of power.

And this year, Dante was bringing Bella.

"Are you sure about this?" Bella asked, standing before the full-length mirror in her room, nervously adjusting the strap of her gown. "People will talk. They'll ask questions."

"Let them talk," Dante said from behind her, his reflection in the mirror showing a man who looked like he had stepped out of a fashion editorial. His tuxedo was perfectly tailored, his bow tie precisely knotted, his dark hair swept back to reveal the sharp planes of his face. He was devastatingly handsome, and the look in his eyes as he watched her made Bella's stomach flutter. "Let them wonder. Let them speculate. I don't care what anyone thinks, as long as you're beside me."

The gown he had chosen for her was exquisite—a midnight blue silk that clung to her curves and flowed to the floor in a waterfall of fabric. The neckline was plunging but elegant, the back nonexistent, the slit up one leg revealing just enough to tease. Diamond earrings and a matching pendant completed the look, along with heels that made her legs look endless.

She looked, she had to admit, like Dante Romano's woman.

The thought both thrilled and terrified her.

The gala was everything Bella expected and more. The Met's Great Hall had been transformed into a wonderland of crystal and candlelight, with a string orchestra playing Vivaldi and waiters circulating with champagne and canapés. Five hundred of New York's elite mingled beneath the soaring ceilings, their jewels sparkling, their voices a cultured murmur that belied the cutthroat nature of their business dealings.

Dante's presence caused a stir. Whispers followed them as he guided her through the crowd, his hand possessively at the small of her back, his expression cool and commanding. People approached to pay their respects—politicians who owed him favors, businessmen who partnered with his legitimate enterprises, socialites who wanted to be seen with the city's most eligible bachelor.

And then there were the others. The men who watched Dante with wary respect and Bella with assessing eyes. The women who looked at her with jealousy and speculation, wondering who she was and what she meant to the powerful Don.

"Dante, darling." A tall blonde in a red gown materialized from the crowd, her smile sharp as a knife. "I didn't expect to see you here with... company."

"Valentina." Dante's voice was cool, his posture subtly shifting to place Bella more firmly under his protection. "Allow me to introduce Bella Marchetti. Bella, this is Valentina Rossi. An... old acquaintance."

"Charmed," Valentina said, her eyes sweeping over Bella with obvious disdain. "And how did you two meet?"

"Bella is my guest," Dante said, his tone warning. "She's staying with me at the estate."

"How... quaint." Valentina's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Tell me, Bella—what do you do? Are you in fashion? Entertainment?"

"I'm an art history student," Bella said, her chin lifting. "At NYU."

"A student." Valentina laughed, a tinkling sound that grated on Bella's nerves. "How refreshing. Dante usually prefers women with a bit more... experience."

"Valentina." Dante's voice dropped to a dangerous register. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"Am I?" The blonde's eyes flashed. "Or are you embarrassing yourself, parading your little college girl around like she's something special? People are talking, Dante. They're saying you've lost your edge. That you've gone soft. That taking a child bride is a sign of weakness."

Bella felt Dante tense beside her, felt the lethal anger coiling in his body. But before he could respond, Bella stepped forward, her own anger rising to meet the challenge.

"I'm not a child, Valentina. And I'm not Dante's bride—at least not yet." She let the words land, enjoying the shock on the other woman's face. "But I am the woman he chose. The woman he wants. And if that bothers you, well..." She smiled sweetly. "That's really not my problem, is it?"

Valentina's face went white, then red with fury. "You little—"

"Valentina." Dante's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Leave. Now. Before I forget that we're in public."

The blonde stared at him, her eyes widening at the implicit threat. Then she gathered her dignity and swept away, her heels clicking angrily on the marble floor.

Dante turned to Bella, his expression a mixture of amusement and admiration. "That was magnificent."

"She was rude."

"She was jealous." Dante pulled her closer, his hand settling on her hip. "As she should be. You outshine every woman here, Bella. By miles."

"She called me your child bride."

"You're not a child. And if you were my bride—" His eyes darkened. "Well, that would make me the luckiest man in this room."

Bella's heart skipped a beat. "Dante—"

"Don't worry, little one. I'm not proposing. Not yet." He smiled, mysterious and tantalizing. "But when I do, you'll know. The whole world will know."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of introductions, conversations, and the constant, electric awareness of Dante beside her. He introduced her to senators and CEOs, artists and actors, each introduction carrying an unspoken message: This woman is mine. Respect her, or answer to me.

By the time they left, Bella's feet ached and her head spun with names and faces. But as Dante helped her into the Rolls Royce, his hand lingering on her waist, she felt something she hadn't expected—pride. Pride in being on his arm, in facing down his ex-lovers and his rivals, in holding her own in a world that should have overwhelmed her.

"You were perfect tonight," Dante said as the car pulled away from the museum. "Every man in that room wanted you. Every woman wanted to be you."

"I only care what one man thinks," Bella admitted, surprising herself.

Dante's eyes flared with heat. "And what does he think?"

"He thinks..." She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "He thinks he's going to have the best night of his life when we get home."

Dante's groan was the only answer she needed.

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