Chapter 3

Adrianna’s POV

“And on to “Business Headlines”, Billionaire investor Lance Hamilton has been acquitted of the murder charges at the trial held on Monday...”

I sit in the penthouse suite of Marina Hotel, owned by the Lombardi family—the family my fiancé belongs to. I am not surprised to hear that Lance was acquitted of the murder charges—he has some of the best lawyers. I haven't been able to feel much of anything since Howard’s death.

I’m getting married next week. It’s a bit of a shotgun wedding. The Lombardis are sworn enemies of Lance’s. The feud had begun about ten years ago for reasons neither side was ready to talk about but there has been an unspoken truce for about a year and a half. I am planning my life on the line by betting that he won’t want to hurt me and risk inviting the Lombardi’s wrath.

Getting revenge against someone who put him in jail isn't that important. I hope.

“Adrianna!” I recognize Mario’s voice as he walks into the suite. He pulls me into his arms and I am assailed by the scent of a mix of made cologne and stored female perfume.

Mario—my fiancé—is the quintessential, cliché fuck boy. Fast cars, easy money, fast women. He is the second son of Luca Lombardi, the patriarch of the Lombardi family. He is spoiled and willful, forcing his parents to fix whatever mistakes he makes with money. So far, they have covered up a bullying scandal, a hotel scandal, and several assault and sexual harassment cases. He is handsome in a boyish way and he has long, thin limbs. His blue eyes are usually unfocused and look washed out. His mother says it's stress but the tabloids attribute this to another cause.

Crystal meth.

I am not under any illusions while marrying him—his family wants him to get married to a woman who can mother him and take care of him and turn the other way to his behavior. I, on the other hand, need protection from the family. There is no love involved. I hate the way he stares down my blouse when I wear v-necks, I hate the giant rock he has placed on my finger, and I hate the way he stares at servers and downright harasses them. I have to apologize to the staff whenever we have to eat out.

“Mario.” I greet him, pushing him away softly but firmly.

“Are you ready?” He asks. I nod.

We have set up a masquerade ball to announce our engagement and make it public— technically, his mother has. I am wearing a plain blank dress with a boat neckline and a slit riding up my thigh. My black mask is secured to my face by some string.

There is a lot of dancing at the masquerade, which I am not very keen on. I don’t want to talk to any of the girls here because I’m sure that Mario has slept with a great number of them and it is common knowledge that he’s not faithful to me. I don’t want to listen to the snide remarks about how I’m about to be miserable in this marriage. I just stand in a corner, leaning on a pillar.

Mario is dancing with someone now. A blonde in a blue dress. He has her pressed up against him and is whispering into her ear. Whatever he's saying must be funny because she's giggling and smiling up at him. Will she be the one to sleep in his bed tonight?

I don't give a fuck. I’m just happy it's not me.

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise and I freeze. I feel my purse to make sure the revolver I had gotten some time after Howard’s death is still there. I feel its barrel and I feel a small sense of security. Better safe than sorry.

“Your continuous lack of regard for my abilities hurts my pride, red.” I hear a voice that I would recognize even if I was dead. The smooth, deep voice of a man that covers my skin with goosebumps. The nickname that sounds sensual rolls off his lips.

A sense of panic hits me and I make to open my purse. His large hand covers mine, stopping me dead.

“If you pull out that gun,” He says, his voice a clear warning. “someone's going to die, but it's not me.”

I snatch my hand away from his and turn. Lance is in front of me, so close that our breaths mingle. He is wearing a mask, but I would recognize the man who has gained my dreams for quite some time anywhere. I can smell the woodsy cologne he wears as a signature scent on his black suit. He isn't wearing a tie over his black dress shirt, leaving the column of his neck bare.

His eyes are piercing and intuitive as I remember.

“What are you doing here?” I shove through gritted teeth.

“Wishing you a happy engagement,” Lance says plainly. “Who knows,” his knuckles graze my bare arm ever so lightly, sending his electricity up my arm and to my fingers. “maybe my first class will be held today.”

“You want to kill me in front of my fiance’s family? Do you think you'll get away with that?”

“The sheer amount of things I could get away with would surprise you.” He says dryly. “and I don't think your fiancé would mind, seeing as he has a very beautiful woman pressed against him.”

“He’s dancing with her.” I correct.

He pulls me to the dancefloor and presses my body close to him, so my breasts are pressed against the hard wall of his chest. I shove against his chest to push him away but he doesn't do much as budge. I look to the side and his lips graze the shell of my ear, sending shivers through me.

“So you're the kind to look the other way?” Lance whispers. “I would never have imagined it.

“You don't know me,” I say, hating the way my voice sounds breathless. I feel his smile against my temple.

“I assumed that the fire in your hair meant something. Or that a woman audacious enough to pose as a lawyer to seduce me—”

“I never seduced you!” I whisper angrily.

“Yes. Thanks to that pesky arrest warrant we never really got to finish that.” He says with regret in his voice. He spares Mario a look and makes a “tsk” sound.

“He's got his tongue so far down her throat she just might choke on it.” He says, disgust evident in his tone. “He’s stupid.”

I agree, but I can't let Lance know that. “I’d appreciate it if you didn't speak about my fiancé that way.”

“Reserve this loyalty for a man who will take the time to dance with you at your engagement.” He says, staring into my eyes. “Who can't take his eyes off you? Who undresses you with his eyes.”

His lips move closer to my ear, caressing. I feel a lounging pool in the pit of my stomach. “Who can't wait to be alone with you? Who lets you drive him crazy.” His hands rest on my waist, his thumbs skimming the underside of my breasts slowly. I wonder if he notices my nipples beading up underneath the dress.

“Who can make you climax.”

I gasp and pull away, trying to hit him. He grabs my forearms and pulls me close again. “When you realize that that man cannot do any of this for you and decide to get rid of him,” he tucks a complimentary card in my clenched fist. “Give me a call.”