Page 85 of Prince of Vice
Despite the captivating surroundings, I can't help but search for Primo. My heart skips a beat when I finally spot him, standing by the bar. He's the picture of a perfect man – tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome. His high-end tuxedo fits him like a glove, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His hair is slicked back, giving him an air of sophistication that makes my breath catch in my throat.
Our eyes meet across the room, and I feel a jolt of electricity run through me. His gaze is intense. But then he notices Isaac at my side, and his expression darkens with anger. I realize, in that moment, that maybe I've made a big mistake.
"Isabella, would you like a drink?" Isaac asks, oblivious to the storm brewing between Primo and me.
"Sure," I mumble, hoping against hope that Primo won't cause a scene. But as he strides toward us, his jaw set and his eyes burning with fury, I know that tonight is about to take a turn I hadn't anticipated.
Primo approaches us, his anger tightly controlled just beneath a veneer of civility. "Isabella," he murmurs, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to my cheek. The heat of his touch sends arousal coursing through me like wildfire.
"Primo," I manage to say, my voice betraying none of the turmoil roiling within me. "This is Isaac, my date for the evening."
"Isaac," Primo replies, shaking his hand with an iron grip that belies his polite tone. "What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a doctor," Isaac answers.
"Ah," Primo says, feigning interest. "And how long have you known Isabella?"
"Only a short while," Isaac admits.
"Interesting. What are your intentions toward her?" Primo's eyes bore into Isaac now, and I can see my date starting to squirm under the pressure.
"Primo, that's enough," I interject, unable to take the interrogation any longer. "I need to use the restroom. Excuse me."
As I slip away from the two men, I make my way toward the restrooms but quickly find myself veering off course. The familiarity of the mansion tugs at my heartstrings, and I find myself wandering through the halls I once complained about.
I end up outside Primo's office, the door slightly ajar. The same dark wood furniture dominates the room, and his meticulously organized desk remains untouched. It feels odd to be standing here alone, without him by my side.
Continuing my solitary journey, I reach the room where I used to sleep. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight before me – everything is still in perfect order, as if I had never left. The soft sheets on the bed are folded neatly, and even my favorite book lies on the nightstand, a bittersweet reminder of the nights I spent here.
Unable to resist the pull any longer, I find myself outside Primo's master bedroom. As I push open the door, his scent overwhelms me – that intoxicating mix of cologne and masculinity that used to drive me wild. Memories of our passionate encounters flood my mind, the darkness we explored together both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as the weight of everything I've lost comes crashing down upon me. I really do miss him. But I know I can't go back to the life we once shared – not when he's chosen crime over the possibility of a future with me.
I wipe away my tears, steeling myself to return to the party below. As I turn to leave, there he stands – Primo, in all his dark, irresistible glory, blocking the doorway.
"Isabella," he says softly, his voice tinged with pain and longing. "Why did you come tonight?"
"Primo," I whisper, my heart aching with the love I still feel for him. "I don't know."
Chapter Forty
Primo
The hours of the evening stretch on, like tendrils of darkness creeping through my very soul. I stand by the grand fireplace, trying not to let my gaze linger too long on the door, as if Isabella might walk in at any moment. My heart is a hummingbird trapped within a cage of anticipation.
"Relax," Giovanni murmurs, his voice low and calming. "You're making yourself sick with all this waiting."
"I know," I whisper, but even my own voice sounds foreign to me. "But I can't help it."
"Take a breather," he suggests, his eyes flicking to the bar across the room. "Grab a drink, try to ignore the clock ticking away in your head."
I nod, finding solace in his wisdom, and make my way over to the bar. The amber liquid swirls in the glass as I sip my whiskey, forcing myself to look forward and away from the guests. Time becomes an elusive concept, slipping through my fingers like sand.
And then, I hear her voice.
It feels like a siren's call, drawing me out of the tempest of my thoughts. I turn to look at her. She is a marvel in a blood-red silk dress that hugs her curves. The gown falls off one shoulder, baring her smooth skin to my hungry eyes. It cinches at her waist before flowing down to the floor in a river of crimson, leaving a trail of desire in its wake. Seeing her in it makes my body ache with arousal.
My breath catches in my throat, but then my arousal is quickly filled by anger as I see that she has come with a date. There's no holding myself back. I stride over to them, each step fueled by the fire of jealousy and possessiveness.