Chapter 62

Chapter 62
Vito's POV
A sharp knock echoed through the room.
"Damn it."
The curse slipped from my lips before I could stop it, low and rough in the silence of my study. The taste of Isabella still lingered on my tongue, her scent still clung to my skin, and every nerve in my body was screaming for more.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I'd just had her spread across my desk like a feast, had made her come apart under my hands and mouth, had watched her beautiful face contort with pleasure as she called my name. And instead of feeling satisfied, instead of feeling like I'd finally claimed what was mine, all I could think about was how desperately I wanted her again.
The intensity of my need for her was becoming dangerous.
She's getting under my skin in ways I never expected.
I'd started this marriage as a business arrangement, a duty to my family and a way to secure the alliance with the Cohens. Isabella was supposed to be a beautiful accessory, a well-bred wife who would give me heirs and attend charity functions with appropriate grace. But the woman currently scrambling around my study, her hair mussed and her lips swollen from my kisses, was nothing like the shallow, self-centered socialite I'd been expecting.
She was fire and defiance wrapped in silk and propriety. She was medical knowledge and sharp intelligence hiding behind those long lashes. She was tenderness toward her injured brother and fierce loyalty to those she loved, even when it cost her everything.
And she was making me lose my goddamn mind.
The sound of her bare feet padding across the Persian rug drew my attention back to the present. She was hunting around the room with growing desperation, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she searched for something.
"Where did I—?" she muttered, lifting cushions and peering behind furniture with increasing agitation.
That's when I noticed what she was looking for. The delicate silk robe she'd been wearing when she first entered my study was draped over the back of my leather chair, forgotten in the heat of our encounter.
She's shy.
The knock came again, more insistent this time, and I could hear Tony's voice through the heavy oak door.
"Boss? Mrs. Romano? Sorry to interrupt, but there's someone here to see you."
"Just a moment," I called out, my voice rough with controlled desire. To Isabella, I said more quietly, "Get dressed, tesoro. We have company."
She practically dove for the silk robe, wrapping it around herself with shaking hands while I straightened my shirt and ran my fingers through my hair to restore some semblance of order. Even disheveled and clearly rattled, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
Mine, the possessive voice in my head whispered. She's mine now, whether she admits it or not.
"Come in," I called once Isabella had secured the robe's sash around her waist.
The door opened to reveal Maria Castellano, looking elegant as always in a cream-colored dress that complemented her delicate features. Her blue eyes moved between Isabella and me with what might have been calculation, though her expression remained perfectly pleasant.
"I apologize for the interruption," she said with a graceful smile. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything important."
You have no idea what you just interrupted.
"Not at all," I replied smoothly, though I had to fight the urge to pull Isabella closer to my side. "What brings you here so late, Maria?"
Maria moved into the room with practiced ease, her wheelchair gliding silently across the floor. "I received an interesting invitation today and wanted to discuss it with you. The Mercy Foundation has asked me to speak at their annual charity gala next week."
The Mercy Foundation. I knew about their work—they operated several rehabilitation centers throughout New York, focusing primarily on helping teenagers recover from drug addiction. It was worthy cause, one that the Romano family had supported financially in the past.
"They want me to speak about recovery," Maria continued, her voice taking on a tone of earnest purpose. "About second chances and the importance of hope. They think my story might inspire some of the young people they're trying to help."
I could see why they'd chosen her. Maria's journey from addiction to recovery wasn't just inspiring—it was exactly the kind of success story that opened wealthy donors' checkbooks. Her beauty and articulate speaking style wouldn't hurt either.
"The event includes both a speaking portion and an auction," she went on, glancing meaningfully at Isabella. "Some of the most influential families in New York will be attending. It's quite prestigious."
Of course it is. The Mercy Foundation's annual gala was one of the most exclusive charity events in the city. The kind of gathering where million-dollar donations were made with casual handwaves and where being seen was almost as important as the cause itself.
"I think it sounds wonderful," I said, and I meant it. "I'll be happy to escort you to the event. The Romano family has always supported their work."
Maria's smile brightened at my immediate acceptance. "I was hoping you'd say that. But actually, I had another idea as well."
She turned to Isabella, who had been listening to our conversation with quiet attention while trying to look like she hadn't just been thoroughly ravished on my desk.
"Isabella, you studied art at Juilliard, didn't you?" Maria asked with apparent innocence. "I remember reading that in one of the society pages."
Isabella nodded carefully. "I did, yes."
"Perfect." Maria clasped her hands together as if struck by sudden inspiration. "The auction portion features several exceptional pieces—contemporary art, vintage jewelry, rare manuscripts. They could really use someone with your background to provide commentary and context for the bidders."
Where is she going with this?
"What I'm suggesting," Maria continued, her voice growing more enthusiastic, "is that Isabella could serve as the evening's art consultant and auctioneer. It would be the perfect opportunity to introduce the Romano family's new matriarch to New York society in an official capacity."
The words hit me like a physical blow. She was talking about Isabella's first public appearance as my wife, her debut as the new Mrs. Romano. The realization sent something fierce and protective surging through my chest.
She wants to put Isabella on display.
The thought of Isabella standing before a room full of powerful strangers, being scrutinized and judged, made every protective instinct I possessed roar to life. But at the same time, I could see the logic in Maria's suggestion. Isabella would have to make these kinds of appearances eventually—it was part of her role as my wife. And an art auction at a charity gala was actually a relatively gentle introduction to New York's elite social circles.
"The auction pieces are really quite remarkable," Maria pressed on, apparently taking my silence as encouragement. "Renaissance sketches, contemporary sculptures, even some pieces from emerging artists. Someone with Isabella's education and eye for beauty would add so much credibility to the presentations."
I could see Isabella processing the suggestion, her intelligent eyes moving between Maria and me as she weighed the implications. This wasn't just about giving speeches or looking pretty at charity functions—this was about establishing her place in our world, about proving she belonged among the most powerful families in the city.
Is she ready for this?
Isabella's first public appearance as Mrs. Romano would set the tone for how society viewed her, how they viewed our marriage, and how they viewed the Romano family's future. If she stumbled or seemed out of place, the sharks would circle immediately.
But if she succeeded—if she commanded the room with the same quiet confidence I'd seen in private moments—she would establish herself as a force to be respected.
"What do you think, Isabella?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral despite the storm of protectiveness and pride warring in my chest. "Are you ready for something like this?"
The way I phrased the question made it clear that the choice was hers. I wouldn't force her into the spotlight before she felt prepared, no matter how beneficial it might be for family politics. But I also couldn't hide the fact that I wanted to see her succeed, wanted to watch her claim her place beside me with the grace and intelligence I knew she possessed.
Isabella was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently adjusting the silk belt of her robe while she considered the implications of Maria's suggestion.
"It would be a significant responsibility," she said carefully, her voice steady despite the magnitude of what was being proposed. "The people attending these events expect a certain level of... expertise."
"Which you have," Maria interjected smoothly. "Your education speaks for itself, and I'm sure Vito would be happy to provide any additional context about the specific donors and their preferences."
Smart. Maria was offering Isabella both the spotlight and the support system she'd need to succeed. It was a calculated move, but not necessarily a malicious one. Having Isabella make a successful debut would benefit everyone involved.
"The timing is also ideal," Maria continued. "Next week gives us enough time for proper preparation, but not so much time that anticipation becomes anxiety."
She was right about that too. Quick action would be better than letting Isabella overthink the situation or allowing society gossips time to build up expectations.
I found myself studying Isabella's face, looking for any sign of the panic or reluctance I'd expect from someone being thrust into such a high-pressure situation.
"If you're willing to do this," I said, my voice carrying more weight than a simple question, "then I'll make sure you have everything you need to succeed."