Later that evening, I emerge from my room, dressed in a stunning one-shoulder asymmetric Organza cloque dress. The bodice is adorned with shimmering white and gold beads. Anticipation hums through my veins as I make my way to the living room to meet Stefano.

He stands by the door, an Adonis in a perfectly tailored navy tuxedo that molds to his muscular frame like a second skin. As I approach, he glances up from his Rolex, and I watch as his eyes widen, a flicker of appreciation sparking in their green depths as they trail over my form.

His lips move, forming a word that I can't quite catch. Hello? Bella? The latter seems too intimate, too revealing of a side of Stefano I've never been privy to. Surely, he wouldn't see me as beautiful, not when our relationship had always been one of antagonistic banter and begrudging alliance.

"Stefano," I say, waving a hand in front of his face to break the spell.

He blinks, seeming to come back to himself. "Yes, yes. You're ready to go?"

I nod, curiosity prickling at the back of my neck. What thoughts had him so enraptured? But I push the question aside as he leads me to the car, his hand a brand of heat against the small of my back.

A few minutes later, we arrive, and as we enter the ballroom, I feel the weight of countless gazes upon us, assessing, speculating. Stefano's grip on my waist tightens, his fingers flexing possessively against the delicate fabric of my gown. We make the rounds, exchanging pleasantries with his acquaintances, but the air between us is charged, electric, with a tension I can't name.

Just as I'm about to lean in and ask Stefano to procure me a drink, a tap on my shoulder startles me. I turn, coming face to face with a ghost from my past.

"Thomas," I breathe, a genuine smile breaking across my face at the sight of him. He is Stefano's younger brother but an older sibling to Aurora and her sister Melissa. He is the second child born to Lorenzo and Katherine.

Beside me, Stefano stiffens, his hand falling away from my waist. "Is everything set?" he asks, his tone clipped.

Thomas nods, a silent confirmation of some plan I'm not privy to. Stefano leans in, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. "I'll be back," he murmurs, and then he's gone, melting into the crowd and leaving me bereft of his warmth.

Thomas pulls me into a hug, his familiar scent enveloping me like a comforting embrace. "How are you, il tesoro? I've missed you," he says, the endearment slipping out effortlessly. Thomas has always been the charmer, quick with a smile and a flirtatious quip.

"Good. I've missed you too," I reply, returning his embrace warmly, grateful for his presence in this moment of uncertainty.

We fall into easy conversation, catching up on lost time as he leads me to the dance floor. The soft glow of chandeliers casts a warm haze over the room. Thomas pulls me close, his arm encircling my waist as the first notes of a classical waltz fill the air. As we sway to the melody, I feel an intense gaze boring into me. Glancing over, I see Stefano locked in serious conversation, yet his piercing eyes remain fixed on me, unwavering. A shiver races down my spine under the weight of his stare.

Bidding farewell to his companion, Stefano strides purposefully towards us. He taps Thomas on the shoulder. "Mind if I cut in, Brother?" His deep voice sends my heart racing with surprise and anticipation.

"Of course," he replies, his arm slipping away as he drops his hand from my waist. "See you later, Amore." Thomas brushes a tender kiss on my cheek before stepping back.

"Bye, Thomas," I murmur, returning his peck on the cheek with a tender smile.

In one fluid motion, Stefano takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. His other arm snakes around my waist, his palm radiating heat through the thin fabric of my dress. Startled by the sudden intimacy, I tense for a moment. But as his warmth seeps into my body, I melt into his embrace, a sense of comfort and electricity mingling in my veins.

It's different from Thomas's familiar arms. Stefano draws me flush against his chest until I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my cheek. Blood rushes in my ears, my own pulse quickening to match his rhythm. Confusion swirls in my mind at this unexpected closeness until he speaks.

"There's been a change of plans. I need your help," Stefano breathes into my ear, his warm breath igniting sparks across my skin as it fans down my neck with each word. Delicious shivers race along my spine, my body responding instinctively to his closeness.

"Anything," I whisper, tilting my head slightly to meet his intense gaze, our faces mere inches apart. "What do you need?"

"I tried talking to Mr. Carter, the man who sells the bullets. But he won't give me any information on the buyer." Stefano's eyes darken with frustration, his jaw clenching. "I need to get into his office and look through his records to find out who bought them." His hand tightens on my waist, urgency radiating from his touch.

"How can I help?" I ask breathlessly, my heart pounding against my ribs as I'm drawn into the web of his plan.

"Keep Mr. Carter occupied so I can slip into his office unnoticed." Stefano's gaze bores into mine, a silent plea mixing with the determination in his expression.

"But how? I don't even know who he is," I point out, worry creasing my brow.

"I heard you and Mr. Carter went to the same university. Use that. Talk about old times, shared experiences, anything to hold his attention. I'll introduce you." His fingers flex on my hip, a silent plea.

My pulse quickens at the thought of the deception, but I nod. "Alright, I can do that," I agree, my voice barely above a whisper. Anticipation and nervousness war within me, sending tingles racing across my skin.

Stefano's lips curve into a slow smile, his eyes gleaming with approval and a hint of something more profound, more intense. "Perfect. Stay with him until I give you the signal to leave his side."

"No problem," I respond with a firm nod. His hand lingers on my waist for a moment longer, the warmth of his touch searing through the fabric of my dress before he reluctantly pulls away.

We approach a group of four engaged in conversation. Two young men who appear to be in their mid-20s stand out, their youthful faces alight with laughter. They are classically handsome, one with wavy blond hair and blue eyes, the other with short brown hair and an infectious grin. Beside them is a stunning woman around the same age, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her red lips curved in a smile that could stop traffic.

The fourth member of the group is an older gentleman who appears to be in his late 50s or early 60s, with distinguished salt-and-pepper hair and warm, intelligent brown eyes the color of aged whiskey. Despite the lines etched into his face, he exudes a rugged attractiveness and an air of confidence that comes with experience.

"Mr. Carter, I'd like to introduce you to my date, Andrea Lopez," Stefano says in a smooth, charming tone as we reach the group. The older gentleman turns to face us, his gaze settling on me as I realize he must be Mr. Carter.

I extend my hand, a polite smile gracing my lips. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carter."

He takes my hand in his, his skin cool and dry against mine. He raises it to his lips, brushing a gentlemanly kiss across my knuckles. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Andrea." His eyes, a striking caramel brown, twinkle with mischief as he adds, "If you don't mind me asking, my dear, what is a beautiful woman like you doing with a man like Stefano?"

Stefano clutches his chest in mock offense, a playful grin tugging at his mouth. "What's that supposed to mean, old man?"

"You know exactly what I meant, boy," Mr. Carter retorts, waving a dismissive hand at Stefano. "Now, shush, I'm trying to talk to the lady."

I bite back a laugh at their banter, the easy camaraderie between them evident. It makes me wonder why Mr. Carter won't share the information about the bullets with Stefano if they're such good friends.

"We're business partners, nothing more," I explain, the lie rolling smoothly off my tongue.

Mr. Carter nods, a knowing glint in his eye. "Ah, that makes sense why a beautiful lady like yourself would be involved with someone like Stefano." He leans in conspiratorially. "So tell me, my dear, where are you from?"

"Miami," I reply, feeling Stefano's phone vibrate against my side. He slips it out of his pocket, staring at the screen.

"Excuse me for a moment," he murmurs. "I need to take this call. I'll be right back." He steps away, leaving me alone with Mr. Carter.

I turn back to the older gentleman, determined to keep the conversation flowing. "So, Mr. Carter, how do you know Stefano?" I ask, genuinely curious about their history.

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, we go way back. I've known that boy since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Always getting into trouble, that one."

We fall into easy conversation, swapping stories and discussing topics of mutual interest. Mr. Carter is a wealth of knowledge, with a sharp wit and a talent for storytelling that keeps me engaged. Time seems to slip away as we chat, the party fading into the background.

I'm so engrossed in our discussion that I barely notice when Stefano returns, his phone tucked back into his pocket. He slides up beside me, his hand finding the small of my back once more.

"I hate to interrupt," he says, his tone apologetic, "but I'm afraid we need to get going, Andrea. We have an early start tomorrow."

I nod, reluctantly pulling myself away from the fascinating conversation. "Of course." Turning to Mr. Carter, I extend my hand. "It was an absolute pleasure talking with you, Mr. Carter. I hope our paths cross again soon."

He takes my hand, his grip warm and firm. "The pleasure was all mine, my dear. And please, call me James. Mr. Carter makes me feel old." He winks, drawing a laugh from my lips.

With a final round of goodbyes, Stefano and I take our leave, weaving through the crowd towards the exit. My mind is still buzzing with the engaging conversation, but a part of me is eager to hear what Stefano discovered during his search.

As we step out into the cool night air, I turn to him, the question already forming on my lips. "So, did you find what you were looking for?"

Stefano's jaw tightens, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. "I did. Well, not exactly who, but I have an idea."

"Who are you guessing?"

"The records show the bullets were purchased by a Russian gang, but they didn't specify which one. But there was a stamp on the deal, a lion eating its cub. I only know of one gang that uses that seal."

A chill runs down my spine at the dark look that crosses his face. "Which gang?" I breathe.

"The Kazan gang. But that's impossible. I wiped them out years ago." He says, heading outside to the car.

Questions burn on my tongue, desperate to spill forth, but I swallow them back -- sensing that this is not the best moment to press further. I make a mental note to revisit this conversation and probe for more details come tomorrow morning.