A Dance with Danger

Chapter Sixty

>>Tiberius POV<< 

I watch Estelle laugh with one of the guests, a sharp, unfamiliar irritation curling in my chest. The man—Roman Vasilyev, a smug bastard with too much charm for his own good—leans in closer, saying something that makes her smile. My jaw clenches. 

I don’t like it. 

I don’t like the way he looks at her. I don’t like the way she tilts her head just slightly, her amusement genuine. I don’t like that I’m standing here, discussing business with men I barely tolerate, while he gets to have her full attention. 

"Are you even listening?" Dante quirks an eyebrow at me, amusement lacing his tone. The men surrounding us—our business partners, or at least temporary allies—turn their attention to me. 

I exhale slowly, forcing my focus back to the matter at hand. "I'm listening," I say, my voice smooth, controlled. "You were talking about the shipment arriving next week." 

Dante studies me for a beat, his smirk widening as if he knows exactly where my thoughts had been. "Good," he says, swirling his drink. "Because this shipment isn’t just any shipment, Tiberius. It’s the one that will determine whether certain alliances hold... or break apart." 

My gaze flickers back to Estelle, who is still engaged in conversation with Roman. The easy way she laughs, the slight tilt of her body—it does something to me, something primal. 

Dante follows my gaze, chuckling under his breath. "You look like you’re about to break his jaw," he muses. "Careful, Tiberius. You wouldn’t want to cause a scene at my party, would you?" 

I glance back at him, my expression unreadable. "I don’t cause scenes," I say. "I end them." 

The men around us shift slightly, some exchanging glances. They know better than to take my words lightly. 

Dante, however, looks entertained. "Relax," he says. "She’s just talking. Roman flirts with anything that breathes. I doubt he even means half of what he says." 

That doesn’t make it any better. 

My fingers twitch at my side, but I don’t move. Not yet. 

The conversation around me continues, but my focus is split. I listen, offering responses when needed, but my attention is still on Estelle. 

Then Roman does something that makes my blood run cold. 

He leans in, closer than necessary, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

I move before I even think about it. 

The glass in Dante’s hand is halfway to his lips when I step away from the group, my strides deliberate, controlled. The air around me shifts, people taking notice. The hum of conversation dims just slightly as I approach. 

Roman sees me coming, but he doesn’t move. Instead, his lips curl into a lazy smirk. "Tiberius," he greets, his voice smooth, amused. "I was just keeping your lovely companion entertained." 

I stop in front of him, my stance relaxed but radiating something far less friendly. Estelle’s eyes widen slightly, as if sensing the shift in the air. 

"Roman," I say, my tone cool. "I don’t recall asking you to do that." 

Roman chuckles, unfazed. "Didn’t think you’d mind. She’s got a sharp tongue—makes for interesting conversation." 

My gaze doesn’t waver. "If you enjoy having that tongue intact, I’d suggest keeping your hands to yourself." 

The smirk on his face falters for a fraction of a second. He knows I’m not bluffing. 

Estelle, to her credit, doesn’t back away. Instead, she crosses her arms, tilting her head at me. "Tiberius, I can handle myself," she says, voice even. 

I glance at her, my expression unreadable. "I know," I say. "That’s not the point." 

Roman chuckles again, but this time there’s a wary edge to it. "No need for hostility," he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I was just being friendly." 

"You and I have very different definitions of friendly," I reply smoothly. 

The tension lingers for a moment longer before Roman finally steps back, giving Estelle some space. "Enjoy the party," he says with a wink before disappearing into the crowd. 

Estelle watches him go before turning back to me, her eyes searching mine. "Was that really necessary?" she asks, arching a brow. 

"Yes," I say without hesitation. 

She exhales, shaking her head. "You’re impossible." 

I don’t argue. I simply offer her my arm. "Come with me." 

She eyes me warily but takes it. I guide her away from the main floor, toward the yacht’s upper deck where fewer people linger. The cool night air brushes against us, the scent of the ocean crisp and clean. 

"That wasn’t just jealousy, was it?" she asks after a beat. 

I glance at her, my jaw tightening. "Roman isn’t harmless, Estelle." 

She frowns. "He didn’t seem dangerous to me. Just... annoying." 

"That’s because he’s good at what he does," I say. "He plays it off like he’s all charm and no threat, but men like him? They don’t flirt without an agenda. He wanted something from you." 

She hesitates. "And you think I can’t handle that?" 

I stop walking, turning to face her fully. "I know you can handle yourself," I say, my voice quieter now. "That doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and watch while men like him try to manipulate you." 

Her expression softens slightly, but she still looks like she wants to argue. 

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but when it comes to people like Roman—or Dante, for that matter—trust doesn’t exist. Everything is calculated. Everything is a game." 

She studies me for a moment before nodding. "Okay," she says finally. "I get it." 

I hold her gaze, searching for any sign of resentment, but all I find is understanding. 

The tension in my chest eases slightly. 

Before I can say anything else, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, my stomach twisting as I see the message. 

Dante:Meet me in my office. We have a problem.

I exhale sharply. Of course. 

Estelle notices the shift in my expression immediately. "What is it?" 

I look at her, debating for a second before making my decision. "Come with me." 

She nods without hesitation. 

As we move toward Dante’s private office inside the yacht, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever we’re about to walk into... 

It’s not going to be good.