The one that got away

Chapter Three

I hated the way the Romano estate looked like a palace. And I hated even more knowing I would be moving in soon. Did the heir expect me to have s*x with him? YUCK. Yeah no way, I’ve slept with bike messengers, bin men straight after a shift (I was extremely drunk) to the mayor’s son but I would never stood as low as this evil beast.

Tall wrought-iron gates, manicured gardens, a fountain in the shape of a lion spitting water into a marble basin. It was gaudy, intimidating, like they were desperate to remind the world who ruled this side of the city. The black car carrying me and my parents pulled up to the front steps, the mansion looming like a predator waiting to devour me whole.

My stomach twisted, but I schooled my face into calm. If this was the battlefield my father had thrown me into, then I wasn’t about to walk in looking like prey.

Beside me, Sofia squeezed my hand. “Don’t let them see you’re nervous,” she whispered, her dark eyes wide with worry.

“I’m not nervous,” I lied, tugging my hand free to smooth the skirt of my black dress. “I’m pissed.”

The heavy doors opened before we could knock, and we were ushered inside by men in suits who might as well have had bodyguard tattooed across their foreheads. The air smelled of expensive cologne and old money. My heels clicked against polished marble as we were led through the vast halls, every painting and chandelier screaming power.

When the double doors of the study opened, I stepped in behind my father, shoulders squared. And then I saw him.

The son.

He was leaning casually against a desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that looked infuriatingly deliberate. His eyes—sharp, cold, calculating—lifted to mine, and for the briefest second, the world stilled.

Then his mouth curved, slow and mocking.

“So this is the famous Angelina DeLuca,” he drawled, his voice silk wrapped in steel. “I was expecting… more.”

Heat flared in my cheeks, not from embarrassment but fury. My lips parted in a smile sweet enough to rot teeth.

“And I was expecting less,” I shot back. “Imagine my disappointment.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by Marco—the man at his side—stifling a laugh.

His eyes glittered, amused. “Feisty. I like it.”

“I’m not here to be liked.”

“Good,” he said, straightening to his full height, his presence filling the room. “Because I don’t like people easily.”

Papa cleared his throat, a warning look flashing in my direction, but I barely noticed. My gaze was locked on him, this man who thought he could size me up like merchandise and dismiss me with a smirk.

He circled me once, slow, predatory, like a wolf inspecting prey that had the audacity to bare its teeth.

“Tell me, princess,” he said finally, stopping just behind me so close I could feel the heat of him. “Can you do anything besides glare and spit venom? Or are you just good at shopping and pouting?”

My body stiffened. He wanted to provoke me. And damn him—it was working. I turned sharply, chin tilted high.

“I can do plenty,” I hissed. “Like breaking noses. Want a demonstration?”

Marco outright laughed this time, and the Romano heir’s snapped his head toward Marco before turning back at me grin widening, sharp and dangerous.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to damage your perfectly manicured and pampered hands.”

My pulse jumped, half in anger, half in something I didn’t want to name. I hated that he could rile me so easily, that his amusement only grew with every insult I threw at him.

“I’ll stick this perfectly manicured hand right up your-“

Papa’s voice cut in, firm and commanding. “Enough. This is not the time.”

But the damage was done. The air between us crackled, thick with unspoken challenge.

As we sat down around the table to discuss terms, I kept my gaze fixed on the polished wood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another glance. But I could feel his eyes on me, burning holes through my resolve.

And though I would never admit it aloud, one thing became terrifyingly clear.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to slap him… or if I wanted him to push me further and as dinner went on, I found myself smirking at my future fiancé begging for more.