He was confident, casually powerful—very different from Valentino's ruthless, raw edge. Carmello's white suit was pristine, a striking contrast against the dark leather interior of the car. It wasn't just a suit; it was a statement, a declaration of his own finesse.
Unlike Valentino, Carmello wore his power lightly, with a kind of amused detachment.
I felt his gaze slide toward me occasionally, a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction, as if he was perfectly content to have me there as his unexpected guest.
When we pulled up to the restaurant, I realized it was one of the city's most exclusive spots—hardly the kind of place anyone strolled into on a whim. Crystal chandeliers glimmered through the towering glass windows, illuminating plush velvet seats and polished mahogany tables.
Patrons, dressed in designer suits and glittering jewelry, glanced over as Carmello strode through the entrance with his usual quiet authority, me trailing in his wake. I felt like an outsider crashing a scene I had no business in, yet there I was, letting this unpredictable man lead me into his world.
We walked through the grand dining room, past private booths shielded by frosted glass walls, until we arrived at a smaller, more secluded VIP section.
The room was intimate, walled with sleek, tinted glass that offered a panoramic view of the city, overcast skies draping everything in a moody, shadowed light. The space felt like a cocoon, separate from the bustling restaurant outside, with only the faint clinking of cutlery and muted conversations as a distant backdrop. Carmello exchanged a quiet word with the staff, then shrugged off his coat and handed it to one of the men standing guard.
He moved with a languid grace, unhurried, his suit perfectly tailored to his tall frame. Once seated, he gestured to the chair beside him. "Please, sit," he said, his voice soft, inviting but with a note of command that left little room for refusal.
I hesitated, glancing around the opulent, dimly lit room. Carmello's relaxed demeanor was unsettling, especially given the circumstances. He was as enigmatic as Valentino, but in a different way. Where Valentino commanded with cold precision, Carmello's power lay in his nonchalance, his ease that belied a ruthless, calculating mind.
I sank into the plush chair, acutely aware of his gaze lingering on me, appraising, almost as if he could read my thoughts. I could feel a bead of nervousness trickling down my spine, but I maintained my calm, trying not to let him see any sign of unease.
