The First Game
The Moretti estate dripped with wealth—the kind that didn't need to be flaunted but did anyway. It wasn't just money that built places like this; it was power, old and deep-rooted, woven into the very bones of the mansion.
The grand ballroom was a spectacle of excess, a gilded masterpiece where opulence met vanity in a carefully choreographed display. Crystal chandeliers loomed overhead, dripping with cut glass that refracted the golden light in dazzling shards. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath the soft hush of designer heels and Italian leather shoes. The air carried the delicate scents of fresh-cut roses and aged bourbon, but beneath that, beneath the music and the chatter, something darker lingered.
A quiet, lingering threat.
Adrian DeLuca stood at the periphery of it all, watching.
He was a contradiction—refined but edged with something raw, something untamed. The kind of man who could charm a senator at dinner and have their spine snapped in an alley by midnight. His black suit was impeccable, a testament to both wealth and taste, draped over broad shoulders and cut in a way that moved like a second skin. He made no unnecessary gestures, no wasted movements—every shift, every glance, was measured, calculated.
The onyx and silver mask covering the upper half of his face concealed little. If anything, it only enhanced what was already there: the sharp angles of his jaw, the piercing blue of his gaze, the quiet, predatory patience of a man who knew how to wait for his moment.
Then there was the silver.
A glint at his ears—small hoops, subtle but deliberate. A quiet rebellion in a world of polished appearances. An acknowledgment that, beneath the tailored suits and immaculate control, there was something restless.
He belonged here.
And yet—he didn't.
Like a blade mistaken for an ornament.
Then he saw her.
She wasn't just beautiful.
That word felt too small, too simple, too human.
She was gold.
Not just in color—though the dress clung to her like molten metal—but in the way she moved. Effortless. Controlled. The kind of movement that turned heads without needing to try. The fabric sculpted her body with ruthless precision, dipping at the waist, curving over hips, flaring just enough to hint at movement before it even happened.
But it was the slits that had the room holding its breath.
Twin cuts up the sides, scandalously high, flashing glimpses of smooth, toned thighs with every shift of her body. A deliberate choice. A message.
She didn't just walk—she commanded.
She moved like the music had been written for her alone, like the orchestra followed her lead.
She was a threat wrapped in silk.
And she was dancing.
Adrian felt something tighten in his chest. Not just attraction—though that was there, potent and immediate. No, this was something deeper. Something darker.
Beside him, Nikolai let out a low whistle, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
"Now that," he murmured, watching her with a slow smirk, "is something I'd like to take apart piece by piece."
Adrian didn't answer.
His grip tightened around his drink, fingers pressing into the cool glass as he studied her, dissected her.
A delicate mask of gold filigree covered just enough of her face to make her a mystery. But it couldn't hide the curve of her lips—half amusement, half challenge.
She was waiting.
For what, he wasn't sure.
But he intended to find out.
He set his whiskey down.
And stepped onto the dance floor.
Valeria felt him before she saw him.
A shift in the air.
A weight.
The kind of presence that made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end.
And when she turned—he was there.
He moved like a shadow. Silent, sure. His suit sharp, his presence sharper. Up close, she could feel it—the controlled energy, the quiet watchfulness. And beneath all that smooth, well-tailored refinement? Something wilder.
Her breath caught—just for a second. Not in surprise.
In recognition.
Their eyes locked.
She knew.
He wasn't just another man.
He was something else.
He extended a hand. No words. No hesitation.
A demand disguised as an offer.
She let him wait.
Just long enough to make him feel it.
Just long enough to make him want it.
Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his.
His grip was firm. Warm. Controlled.
The music shifted, deepened. Slow and sultry.
And they danced.
Adrian led, his palm pressing against the small of her back, guiding her with the kind of precision that only came from certainty. But Valeria wasn't the kind of woman to be led blindly.
She didn't follow.
She matched him.
Step for step.
Breath for breath.
A game of control and surrender.
Her body brushed against his, just enough to tease, just enough to make his fingers tighten at her waist. The fabric of her dress whispered against his suit, sequins flashing like firelight, moving with a rhythm of their own.
His hand slid lower.
Just a fraction.
Just enough to skim bare skin between the slits of her dress.
A question.
A dare.
Valeria's nails traced lightly along the back of his neck in response. Barely there.
A silent invitation.
He exhaled sharply. Not in frustration.
In intrigue.
They were close now.
The air between them charged with something unspoken, something crackling and alive.
Adrian dipped his head, his breath warm against her ear.
"You don't belong here."
Her lips curved. Just enough to show teeth. "And where do I belong?"
His fingers flexed against her spine, his touch burning through the fabric.
"Somewhere less dangerous."
She laughed softly, tilting her head so her lips hovered just near his ear.
"And yet," she murmured, "here you are."
His lips twitched. "Maybe I like danger."
Her nails traced a slow line down the column of his throat, barely grazing skin.
"Then you should be careful."
His breath hitched. So slight, so brief, anyone else would've missed it.
Not her.
His fingers pressed deeper into the curve of her waist. His body betrayed him, even as his control remained steady.
She liked that.
Adrian exhaled slowly, his head tilting, lips just near her ear.
And then, just as the final notes of the song faded, he whispered:
"Adrian."
A name. A claim.
Valeria smiled.
But she didn't give him hers.
Instead, she took a slow step back, letting the cool air slip between them like a blade.
Held his gaze for just a second longer, amusement dancing in her eyes.
And then she turned.
Adrian watched her.
And for the first time in a long time—he wanted.