CHAPTER 31
CHRISTIAN'S POV
After getting dressed, a convoy of bulletproof SUVs were waiting for us outside. Engines idled in disciplined unison, black paint gleaming under the Tuscan evening sky like a procession of controlled violence.
I was about to enter one of them when Valentino stopped me.
"No! Not that one!" He shook his head.
I shrugged my shoulders and made a confused face, my eyes moving up my eyelids before landing back into place.
He began walking to the very last car where two McLarens were parked. Sleek. Low. Loud in their silence.
"This is our ride!" He smirked, taking pride in his collection.
The cars were obscene in the way only wealth can be — aerodynamic bodies sculpted like weapons rather than vehicles.
"Isn't this reckless, I mean our enemies can spot us unprotected!" I said as the convoy began moving without waiting for us. The SUVs rolled out like a decoy parade.
"Damn, now we're gonna travel unprotected?" Reginald clenched his teeth, jaw ticking with irritation.
Valentino adjusted his cufflinks slowly, deliberately. "Rest assured, gentlemen. This is the safest option. Play the game, never let the game play you or you'll be a pawn!"
Wise words.
"People will expect us to travel in nothing short of a well-protected convoy. And by people, I mean everyone. They wouldn't expect two Mafia Dons riding in McLarens, without an escort! So let's lead them astray, have them think that we're in one of those cars."
Reginald and I shared a look — the silent acknowledgment of strategy done right.
This motherfucker ain't that dumb after all.
We got in the cars and drove off.
The Tuscan roads curved like quiet secrets through rolling vineyards. The sun was lowering, staining the sky in burnt amber and bruised purple. Cypresses stood tall and narrow like sentinels guarding centuries of bloodlines and wine.
I didn't pay much attention to the exterior of the house that hosted the event. All I remembered was that there was a vineyard around it — aren't all houses in Tuscany that way?
Still, it stood out.
The exterior was elegant. Stone walls weathered by history. Arched windows trimmed with iron balconies. Lanterns flickered to life along the courtyard. It looked like a negotiation between eras — old money bones wrapped in new money indulgence.
"Now, act natural and enjoy the…" Valentino's eyes went from us and way behind, "…enjoy the evening!" His gaze had detached from his sentence entirely.
He hurried past us toward whatever had captured him.
We turned.
I let a laugh loose when I saw why he was so distracted.
"I bet you a thousand bucks that once this party ends, there'll be news of him getting a new wife!" Reginald held out his pinky finger.
Yes, it's childish. No, I don't care.
I scoffed. "Bet!" I locked my pinky with his.
Our pinkies were still locked when something shifted.
An air of unspoken chemistry settled heavily in the room. It was subtle at first — a ripple in conversation. Then it thickened. The kind of silence that doesn't demand attention, but commands it.
The room held its breath.
On the stairs, a woman stood still.
Potent. Prominent. Important.
The epitome of beauty.
She did not fidget. Did not seek approval. She stood as if the architecture had been designed around her.
Too bad I couldn't see her full face — but what was seen was enough to know that she was heavenly. The lower half of her face was sculpted in quiet defiance. Her posture alone spoke lineage.
As she began moving, something inside me tightened.
She seemed oddly familiar.
Not in a surface way.
In a way that disturbed.
Like muscle memory recognizing what the mind had not yet processed.
Maybe it was just the instant attraction I felt when I saw her. The only females I knew in Italy were Valentino's wives and other members of the group.
But this… this felt older.
My eyes followed her until she melted into the figures of the party.
"A damsel…" Reginald's jaw was open, "If she looks like that with half her face covered, just imagine how her entire face looks!"
Like a possessed soul, he shifted in her direction.
Good luck to you, man, I silently said.
The evening unraveled very delicately. It was one of those parties that were civil. Very coordinated. Very Italian. Conversations were layered with subtle power plays disguised as compliments. Laughter never rose too high. No one revealed too much.
Huge wooden bowls were brought into the party and placed on the ground. The scent of fresh grapes filled the air — sweet, thick, intoxicating.
"The sole purpose of this event, as you all know, is to celebrate this year's abundant harvest!" A tall lady in insanely high heels spoke into a microphone, her voice slicing neatly through the crowd.
Everyone applauded.
"Every year, we conclude this party with the barrel dance — this year won't be any different! As you can all see, the huge bowls are filled with grapes and they are large enough to accommodate two people. Now this activity is to be done with a partner. To know your partner, there will be glass jars that you'll be required to pick up a paper from. The paper will consist of a number, and the barrel number. That will determine your partner.
Now there are rules to this thing, ladies and gentlemen. You smash the grapes with your feet. The last pair standing will win the contest!"
The room roared into applause.
At the snap of her fingers, waiters began circulating with jars. I picked up a paper and unfolded it.
11–12.
If not for one thing, I wouldn't be playing this stupid game.
I made my way to the barrels.
Then I stopped.
She was standing on a barrel numbered 12.
My barrel.
The excitement crawled into me — slow and deliberate. Suddenly, I was glad to be at this party. I straightened my face, suppressing the grin that threatened to betray me, and approached.
"May I?" I offered to help her into the barrel, using my best Italian accent.
As our eyes locked, time did something strange.
It folded.
The noise dimmed. Figures blurred into shadows. The music receded as though someone had lowered the volume of reality itself.
Those eyes.
Too familiar.
Not just attractive.
Recognizable.
Everything and everyone dissolved into background irrelevance. It was just me… and this perfect stranger.
Deja vu.
Like I had stood here before.
Like I had looked into these same eyes under very different circumstances.
Her gaze did not waver.
She was searching too.
She looked too much like—
No.
No, no, no.
What was I thinking?
Everything about this woman reminded me of her.
It was like I was standing in front of her, only this time we were in a different lifetime. No past. No betrayal. No history.
Just a future.
And a fresh start.
"You may… Begin!" the game host shouted.
Reality snapped back into place.
The stranger took my hand.
The contact was brief.
But electric.
We stepped into the barrel together. The grapes were cool and slick beneath our feet. The skins burst with soft pops, releasing juice that stained our ankles crimson.
We began crushing them in rhythm.
Our eyes barely left each other's.
The air between us felt charged — not lustful. Not innocent.
Recognizing.
There were questions in my eyes. I could tell she was feeling something too. Her breathing was slightly uneven. Mine wasn't much better.
Was I falling in love?
Fuck no.
But something was happening.
And whatever it was… it was not casual.