2. MARCO RUSSO

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Question for You: Would you run when something pulls you in—or step closer and dare to burn? □ Run. It's safer that way. □ Step closer. What's life without danger?

She didn't expect me to be here. I caught her looking at me.

Not the usual kind of look—girls glance at me all the time. It's something you grow up with when you're born a Russo, and then again when you earn it for yourself. Wealth. Looks. Control.

But this look was different.

It wasn't want. It wasn't admiration. It was curiosity, wariness, something locked behind thick glass that I suddenly wanted to shatter with my bare hands. She was flustered, yes—but she covered it like a goddamn professional. That intrigued me. Most people—men, women, investors, competitors—they all crack eventually. This one? She regained her composure like muscle memory.

I wasn't expecting to find a diamond tonight, but here we were.

Dahlia Christian Harper.

It had been... what? Almost  five or eight years? I remembered her vaguely. A fleeting face at some event.  But now?

Now she was a woman. Fully grown. Poised. A body draped in liquid-black silk, cut just enough to show collarbones like delicate blades, slivers of olive skin peeking through, daring the eye to misbehave.

And those eyes—fuck. Whiskey. The sharp, haunting kind that tasted like a sin you'd commit twice.

I didn't believe in love at first sight. I still don't. But I believe in fixation. And I believe in possession.

And right now, standing on the polished travertine floors of my family's villa, I wanted her like I wanted my next breath.

The kind of want that makes men reckless. The kind of want that makes me dangerous.

Something about her was beautifully out of place, like a violinist playing the right melody on the wrong street. It didn't fit—but that only made me want to drag her closer until she did.

I had only come outside to drag Josephine back in before our mother started hyperventilating again. Two hours gone without check-ins? That's enough to start a Russo family meltdown. Or rather my mum's meltdown. But this? Finding her?

Worth the chaos.

After greetings, after the polite nods to Sofia—whose hair caught the light like a halo—and to James—polished, gentlemanly James—I kept one thing steady: my focus on her.

Sofia was beautiful. No denying it. That gown alone could kill a lesser man. But she lived in a world of lights, music, and people telling her she was special since she was sixteen. That does something to a person. Her laughter was light, sincere, maybe even kind—but rosy. Pink-lensed. This world wasn't pink. It was steel grey, sharpened edges under velvet gloves.

James? He wore his charm like another custom suit. Good guy. Smart. Knows when to bluff and when to strike in business deals. I'd seen him play tennis at Valhalla with the same precision he used negotiating at shareholder meetings. I trusted him—but I didn't like trusting people.

And then there was her. Dahlia. Everyone else faded to grayscale.

I let Josephine do most of the talking. She carried the group well—social, warm, diplomatic, the perfect hostess. It made me proud, honestly. She'd grown up so well. Even after all these years. I'd only seen her briefly when I graduated from Thayer five years ago, before I left for Switzerland. First the family business, then that Master's at Geneva. And now—now I was back, sharper than before. More ruthless. Hungrier.

And apparently, that hunger had a name now.

Dahlia.

The party slowly mellowed as the older guests started drifting away, champagne glasses half-finished, gossip trailing after them like perfume. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Text from Taehyung.

Can't make it. Something came up. See you soon, brother.

Of course. That bastard. My best friend, my worst nightmare. Son of Uncle Kai. Always unpredictable. Either perfectly punctual or a fucking ghost.

As I made my way up the marble staircase toward my wing, I heard soft footsteps behind me. And then—

"Marco, could you assist me, dear?"

My mother's voice. Elegant. Softened by red wine and candlelight. Her skin, pale like fresh cream, glowed under the sconces, a slight rosy flush blooming across her cheeks.

"Mum," I greeted, hiding a smirk. "Need rescuing from bored aristocrats again?"

"Charming as ever, my darling." She looped her delicate hand through my arm. "You always were my most handsome one."

"I'm your only son, Mum."

"Details," she murmured, smiling up at me.

"How may I serve your Highness tonight?" I teased lightly, falling into the familiar rhythm of our banter.

Her expression turned slightly more serious then. "Dahlia is staying with us for the week. Josephine's busy managing things, and I have meetings. Would you be a dear and show her to her room?"

My stomach tightened with a kind of feral satisfaction.

Now that was an assignment.

"Playing matchmaker, Mother?"

"No," she said too quickly. Then sighed. "Well. Maybe a little."

"I'll do it," I said without hesitation.

Her gaze sharpened with that maternal warning. "But don't behave like your father."

"I can't promise that," I said, smirking. "But I'll behave however she needs."

"Marco..." she warned.

"I'll be good," I lied.

"How charming you are, my dear boy," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. 

 "I am a man, not a boy." I grumbled under my breath, but I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at her compliment. 

 "I heard that, and hey, you will always be my little boy, no matter how old you get," she said with a laugh, squeezing my arm affectionately. 

 "I have a reputation of being dangerous, Mum."

 "So what? Your dad has that too, but look how he becomes a teddy bear for me when he's around. You'll always be my charming little baby who stole my heart from the very first second." She looked at me with pride, "How much time it has been since I saw you? You dad made you work hard."

"He knows its the best. He worked hard to be where he is too. He says, not get things, but earn them." 

"And he is right. Speaking of my husband, let me go to him." And she walks away. "Or he will work himself away in this party too. God knows how much he works."

Well, considering how much you love Dad's behavior, I'd say it worked out pretty well. You have me and Jo, after all."

She flushed, visibly flustered. "Marco!"

"Just saying." I grinned, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

My mother might be the queen of this estate, but she still can't win against my teasing. I love her for that. For always being soft when I needed softness and strong when the world got ugly.

As she walked away, I turned toward the grand staircase.

My gaze found Dahlia again—leaning slightly against a marble column, her curls falling in waves over her bare shoulder, her lips slightly parted like she was about to whisper something dangerous.

Thanks mom for giving me the task!