Ishani had two coping mechanisms:
Excessive sarcasm.
Copious amounts of caffeine.
Unfortunately, neither seemed to be working today.
She sat in a corner of the swanky office, flipping through the guest list on her tablet. There were over two hundred names—CEOs, royalty, and enough billionaires to fund her entire therapy bill for the next fifty years.
“So much for a simple event,” she mumbled, tapping her pen against her chin.
Nothing stood out—no shady pseudonyms or obvious criminal mastermind names. Honestly, it was all rather boring. Unless…
Her eyes paused on one name. Alessandro Moretti.
“Why does that sound like a villain in an action movie?” she muttered.
“You talk to yourself a lot.”
Ishani jumped, nearly dropping her tablet. She spun around to find Dante standing in the doorway, his dark gaze pinned on her.
“Jesus! Ever heard of knocking?”
“I own the door,” he said dryly, stepping inside.
Right. Of course he did. Because this man probably owned half of Europe.
“I was just… cross-checking the guest list,” she said, recovering her composure. “By the way, is there a reason I’m doing FBI work? Should I be worried? Are we secretly part of ‘Mission Impossible’?”
Dante didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked over to the desk, leaning against it in that effortlessly dominant way he always did.
“You found something.” It wasn’t a question.
Ishani hesitated. She should probably keep her mouth shut. But, alas, her filter had been broken since birth.
“Alessandro Moretti,” she said, tapping the screen. “Isn’t he—like—bad news? Or did Google lie to me again?”
His expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something cold. Calculating.
“You’re very observant,” he murmured.
“Yeah, it’s a curse,” she shot back. “Also, if you’re planning to hire me as your full-time detective, I’m gonna need a raise. And hazard pay.”
For a second—a brief, heart-stopping second—she swore his lips twitched. Like he was trying not to be amused.
“Stay out of it, Ishani.” His voice was smooth, but there was steel underneath. “Your job is to keep this event running. Nothing else.”
“And here I thought you liked my curiosity,” she quipped.
“I don’t.”
Rude.
“Duly noted, Bossman,” she muttered, getting up. “Anything else? Or should I return to my thrilling job of making sure the champagne glasses are aligned?”
His silence was her cue to leave.
The Luca Situation (a.k.a. No Peace Ever)
Ishani barely made it five steps down the hallway before Luca popped up like the human embodiment of mischief.
“Miss me?”
“Always,” she deadpanned. “What do you want, Luca?”
He fell into step beside her, hands casually tucked in his pockets. “Word on the street is—”
“Oh God, here we go.”
“—you’re getting cozy with Dante.”
Ishani choked on absolutely nothing. “I AM NOT!”
Luca’s grin widened. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just saying… He doesn’t usually let people get close. Yet here you are, playing detective on his orders.”
“Yeah, well, I’m talented.” She flicked her hair dramatically. “And apparently, very annoying.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed,” Luca said, winking. “But, hey, if you ever want out, I’ll smuggle you away in the trunk of my car. Free of charge.”
“You’re all heart.”
“I try.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. As much as he got on her nerves, Luca made things… easier. Lighter. And when you worked for a man like Dante Valenti, that was a rare thing.
Still, something about this whole situation gnawed at her gut. Because for all his teasing, even Luca seemed a little too watchful.
And if he was concerned—she probably should be too.
Later That Evening
Ishani stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, triple-checking the seating arrangements. The elite of the elite were trickling in—dressed to kill and dripping in wealth.
Everything was perfect. Almost.
Her gaze flicked to the entrance. Dante had yet to make his grand entrance. But when he did? Yeah—good luck to everyone else trying to look remotely impressive.
“Looking for someone?”
Ishani sighed. “Luca, if you pop up one more time—”
“Relax. It’s just me.”
Her heart did an involuntary lurch. Because this time, it wasn’t Luca.
It was Dante.
He stood beside her, towering over her like he had every right to invade her personal space. His cologne—dark and rich—wrapped around her senses, making her brain short-circuit.
“No,” she blurted, clearing her throat. “I mean, yes—I’m making sure everything’s in place. Don’t want your fancy guests throwing a tantrum.”
Dante’s gaze swept over the ballroom, but his face remained unreadable. “Good.”
“You’re welcome,” she muttered.
He turned slightly, and for the briefest moment, their eyes locked—an electric pulse hanging between them.
“You shouldn’t trust everyone here,” he said quietly.
Ishani blinked. “Wow. Great pep talk. Very comforting.”
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “I’m not here to comfort you, Ishani.”
Of course, he wasn’t. That would require human emotions.
Still, his words stuck with her long after he disappeared into the crowd—because deep down, she knew…
This was just the beginning.
TBC.
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