Redline

You’re making headlines

His gaze slowly traveled down Valentina’s black dress before shifting toward Olivia.

“Interesting strategy,” he finally said.

Olivia raised an amused eyebrow.

“Which one exactly?”

“Psychologically destroying half of Barcelona.”

Adrian immediately burst out laughing.

“Thank you. I’ve been trying to explain that for the past hour.”

Valentina rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck.

“Men are so dramatic.”

“Ruiz, there was literally a German banker ready to abandon his family ten minutes ago,” Adrian said.

“That sounds more like his problem.”

“And you,” Dante continued, now looking at Adrian, “you left them alone on the dance floor?”

Adrian frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“There were at least seven idiots surrounding them. I counted.”

Olivia immediately started laughing.

“You counted?”

Dante took a sip of whiskey without the slightest hint of shame.

“One of them was wearing white loafers. Clearly a threat.”

Valentina let out a laugh before she could stop herself, and honestly, that was the strangest thing that had happened all night.

Dante Moreau was making jokes.

Not cruel sarcasm. Not sharp comments. Actual jokes.

The alcohol had clearly lowered his defenses just a little, and the result was disarmingly charming.

“I’m going to defend myself by saying they both seemed to enjoy destroying male egos,” Adrian said.

“Very much,” Olivia replied proudly.

“One of them asked me if I believed in astrology,” Valentina added. “Honestly, he deserved to suffer.”

Dante let out another low laugh, barely shaking his head.

God.

That was still incredibly strange.

Because when Dante genuinely smiled, the world around him seemed to shift slightly. As if you suddenly remembered that beneath all that constant anger, there was someone else.

The conversation continued with ridiculous jokes, absurd bets from Adrian, and Olivia telling a story about an English aristocrat who had tried to impress her by buying a polo pony that was “spiritually compatible” with her.

The alcohol continued to loosen the surrounding atmosphere, and, strangely enough, Dante seemed comfortable there. He wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. He wasn’t arguing with anyone. He wasn’t reacting as if the entire world were preparing to attack him.

He was simply sitting there with them.

Even Valentina was beginning to forget who Dante Moreau really was outside the cameras.

“This is dangerous,” she murmured without thinking too much about it.

Dante turned his head slightly toward her.

“What is?”

“You act like a nice person. It’s confusing the population.”

Adrian nearly spit out his drink laughing, but Dante simply held her gaze for a few seconds before answering.

“Maybe I’m making an effort.”

His tone was light, almost amused.

That night, talking to him didn’t feel like stepping into a constant war zone. It felt easy.

And then the photographers appeared.

Two men managed to get close enough to the VIP area before security stopped them completely. Their cameras immediately started going off as soon as they recognized the table, and several people nearby turned to look at them curiously.

“Perfect,” Olivia muttered as soon as she saw the flashes. “We’ll be all over the internet again tomorrow.”

“What a relief,” Valentina replied. “I was afraid we’d go more than twelve hours without any fake rumors.”

One of the photographers shouted something asking for a group photo, and Adrian immediately raised his glass toward the cameras as if he’d been waiting for that moment all night.

“Novak enjoys this way too much,” Dante said dryly.

“Novak was born for media chaos,” Olivia corrected.

The flashes continued going off around the table, and Valentina instinctively turned her face toward the cameras, smiling with the effortless elegance she had learned since childhood.

Then she felt Dante’s hand.

Firm.

Natural.

Dangerously natural.

It settled directly on her bare thigh, just above her knee, while he continued looking toward the photographers as if he hadn’t just sent Valentina’s entire nervous system into overdrive.

It was a simple gesture. Small, even.

But it wasn’t innocent, because Dante wasn’t an innocent man.

And she immediately understood what he was doing.

Marking his territory.

The warm pressure of his fingers remained there for a few seconds longer as another flash went off in front of them, and Adrian, sitting across from them, slowly raised both eyebrows as if he had just witnessed a plane crash in real time.

Olivia simply smiled like a psychopath.

Valentina kept her expression calm only thanks to years of training herself to maintain her composure in front of cameras, although her heart had suddenly started pounding far too hard against her ribs.

Dante didn’t even look at her right away. He continued talking to Adrian as if absolutely nothing was happening.

That was the worst part.

The naturalness of it.

The way he seemed completely comfortable touching her like that in front of everyone.

“Moreau, did you just create three hundred articles for tomorrow, or am I exaggerating?” Adrian asked, amused.

“You’re exaggerating,” Dante replied calmly.

Another flash exploded directly in front of them.

Adrian burst out laughing.

“Yeah, you’re definitely making headlines.”

Only then did Dante turn his head slightly toward Valentina, and for a second, she held that dark gaze—far too calm, far too self-aware.

“Does it bother you?” he asked quietly.

His hand was still resting on her leg.

Valentina should have said yes immediately.

Instead, she gave him a small, crooked smile.

“Not as much as it should.”

And for the first time that night, Dante looked slightly surprised.

Security eventually forced the photographers away, and the sound of cameras slowly faded beneath the club music. Adrian was still laughing about something Olivia had just said, completely oblivious to the small, silent disaster unfolding between the two of them on that white couch.

Or at least pretending to be oblivious.

Because Olivia was definitely filing away every second of it to torment her with later.

Dante’s hand remained on her leg for a few more seconds before slowly sliding away, but as he did, he leaned slightly toward her.

Just enough for the woody scent of his cologne and the whiskey in his breath to hit her all at once.

“I’m surprised by how calm you are with the press,” he murmured near her ear.

His low voice sent a shiver all the way down her back.

Valentina turned her face slightly toward him, trying to maintain her composure as she felt the warmth of his breath far too close.

“I grew up surrounded by photographers,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “You learn quickly, or you end up crying on some yacht.”

That made Dante smile faintly.

Then his eyes traveled over the black dress again.

Slowly. Without trying to hide it.

And when he looked back at her, something in his relaxed expression from earlier had become slightly darker.

More personal.

“Besides,” he continued softly, “it would be a waste to hide you when you’re dressed like this.”

Valentina’s heart slammed so hard against her ribs that she was certain Olivia could hear it from across the table.

Dante held her gaze for another second before leaning toward her again.

This time, much closer.

Close enough that Valentina felt the faint brush of his lips against the sensitive skin beside her ear when he spoke again.

“And I don’t care what rumors show up tomorrow,” he murmured slowly.

The air left Valentina’s lungs.

Because as he spoke, Dante’s hand slowly moved back toward her, his thumb barely brushing the bare skin of her open back, tracing a slow line down her spine in a soft, dangerous touch—far too intimate for someone who technically hadn’t even kissed her yet.

The contact immediately raised goosebumps along her skin.

Dante felt it.

Of course he did.

And before pulling away, still far too close to her ear, he added in a low, deep, devastatingly calm voice:

“You look beautiful tonight.”

A shiver ran down Valentina’s entire back as she tried to remember how to breathe normally.

The club was still exploding with noise around them. Adrian was arguing about something ridiculous with Olivia, and flashes still appeared occasionally from different parts of the terrace, but for one second, everything felt dangerously far away.

There was only Dante, impossibly close to her, the warmth of his body against hers, and that hand slowly tracing her back as if he already knew exactly how every touch could affect her.

As if telling her something like that was the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you always flirt like this after a few whiskeys, or should I feel special?” she finally asked, proud that her voice barely trembled.

Dante’s smile appeared slowly this time.

Real.

Masculine.

Terribly beautiful.

“You should definitely feel special.”