The Francia estate was sprawling, the kind of venue that whispered old money with every gilded accent, every carefully manicured lawn. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the garden ceremony. Rows of white chairs were arranged neatly, their occupants buzzing with the hushed excitement of a high-society gathering. The scent of fresh roses mingled with the crisp autumn air, and the sound of a string quartet floated through the space like an enchanting spell.
When the ceremony ended and the guests were ushered toward the reception tent, I stood near the edge of the garden, pretending to admire the cascading lights strung across the tent, my fingers skimming the edge of my champagne flute. The cool night air caressed my bare shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to calm my racing thoughts.
Then, I felt it.
A presence—strong, commanding—loomed behind me. Warmth radiated against my back, and a soft exhale of breath fanned over the nape of my neck, sending a ripple of goosebumps down my arms. My heart lurched in my chest, and for a moment, I was frozen, my mind scrambling to make sense of the sudden awareness that prickled my skin.
I turned slowly, almost unwillingly, as though I already knew who it would be.
And there he was.
Zane Moretti stood inches away, close enough for me to see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw and the faint gleam in his dark, piercing eyes. His gaze met mine, a quiet intensity there that made my stomach flip.
He wore a black suit that looked as though it had been tailored by gods, the fabric clinging perfectly to his frame. The crimson tie he wore was bold, a statement against the otherwise understated tones of the evening. But it wasn’t just the suit. It was the way he carried himself—with an air of control so effortless it bordered on arrogance.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice smooth, velvet and rich, with just the faintest undertone of amusement.
I swallowed, willing my pulse to steady. “Good evening,” I replied, my tone even, though the words felt like they caught in my throat.
“You looked like you needed rescuing,” he continued, the corner of his mouth lifting into a teasing smile. “Too much small talk, or are you just avoiding someone?”
And what makes you think I need rescuing?” I said raising my eyebrow
His smile deepened, and he leaned in slightly, just enough to close the distance without making it suffocating. “You’ve been standing here for the last five minutes pretending to care about the lights. Unless you’re secretly an event planner, I’d say you’re trying very hard not to be noticed.”
Brianna narrowed her eyes, but there was no bite to her expression. “Or maybe I’m just enjoying the peace and quiet.”
Zane chuckled, low and rich, the sound curling in her ears like a melody she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. “Fair enough. But I’m not so sure someone like you is built for the background. You don’t exactly blend in, Brianna Castellano.”
Author's note:
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Little Flame
Romance*MATURE CONTENT* 18+ She's the most beautiful woman the mafia has ever laid eyes on-an ethereal presence with sharp features and a grace that silences every room she enters. Her eyes are captivating, full of mystery and a quiet strength that no one...
