Chapter 14: Playing with Fire

Isla could feel the weight of Valeria's gaze on her even as Alessandro guided her further into the dinner party. The air was thick with curiosity, with skepticism, with something darker she couldn't quite name.

She knew she had just inserted herself into something bigger than she understood—something tangled in Alessandro's past.

But she wasn't about to back down.

"You handled that well," Alessandro murmured as they moved toward their table.

Isla lifted her chin. "I'm good at pretending."

His smirk was slow, knowing. "Are you?"

Before she could respond, they arrived at their seats—one of the most prominent tables, of course, because Alessandro never settled for anything less than the best.

The conversation around them flowed effortlessly—discussions of mergers, investments, power moves. Isla knew this world, knew how to navigate it.

And yet, there was an undercurrent of tension running through the room.

Alessandro's grip on her waist was firm, a silent claim, a message to anyone watching.

Including Valeria.

The woman hadn't stopped watching them from across the room.

Isla hated how aware she was of it. Hated that she even cared.

With deliberate ease, she turned to Alessandro, leaning in just enough to let her lips brush the shell of his ear.

"If you wanted to make someone jealous," she murmured, her voice dripping with challenge, "you could have just told me."

Alessandro didn't tense, didn't react—not visibly, at least. But his fingers flexed slightly against her hip.

"Jealousy is a useful tool," he murmured back, his breath warm against her skin. "Would you like me to prove it?"

Her pulse stuttered.

She pulled back, meeting his gaze head-on. "I think I'm proving it for you."

Alessandro chuckled lowly, a dark, amused sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Careful, cara mia. You're playing my game now."

Isla arched a brow, ignoring the way her heart pounded. "Who says I wasn't always playing?"

His eyes darkened, and for a split second, she swore she saw something in them—something dangerous. Something hungry.

But before either of them could say another word, a voice cut through the air.

"Mind if I steal your fiancée for a dance, Romano?"

Isla turned just as a man stepped up to their table—tall, effortlessly charming, with sharp blue eyes that held too much interest.

Alessandro's expression didn't change, but his grip on her tightened.

"Ethan." His tone was smooth, unreadable. "I didn't know you danced."

Ethan smirked, glancing at Isla. "For the right company, I make an exception."

Isla felt Alessandro's tension like a live wire, thrumming beneath his perfectly composed exterior.

And suddenly, she saw an opportunity.

A way to tip the balance.

She smiled sweetly, reaching for her wine glass. "Well, if Alessandro doesn't mind…"

His jaw ticked.

He minded.

She could see it in the way his fingers curled slightly against the tablecloth, in the way his gaze flicked briefly to Ethan before locking onto her.

But Alessandro Romano never lost control.

So instead of stopping her, he merely leaned back in his chair, his smirk lazy, calculated.

"By all means, cara mia," he said smoothly. "Enjoy yourself."

A challenge.

A test.

Isla met his gaze for a lingering second before rising to her feet.

She slid her hand into Ethan's outstretched one, letting him lead her toward the dance floor.

But she didn't need to turn around to know—

Alessandro was watching.

And he wasn't happy.