Chapter 88 CHAPTER 088

Chapter 88 CHAPTER 088
The morning light sliced through the gap in the curtains—a blade of gold driving straight into Vincenzo’s skull.

Slowly, he stirred awake, dragging an arm over his eyes to block it out.

A groan tore from him, low and guttural, echoing inside his head.

Pain pulsed behind his temples, sharp and relentless, as though someone were hammering against his skull from the inside.

“I really should stop drinking,” he grumbled.

The words hurt his throat as he said them.

Drinking had become a habit. A bad one, he knew.

But it helped him cope with the pressure—the deals, the threats, the need to always stay in control.

For a few hours, it let him forget everything.

But it never lasted.

The hangover always hit the next morning, hard and sometimes unbearable.

And each time, he regretted it more than the last.

He lay on the bed for a while longer, letting the pounding in his head settle just enough to move.

Eventually, he pushed himself up, rubbing a hand over his face as if he could wipe the hangover away.

“I better go wash my face,” he muttered under his breath.

Slowly, he turned his head on the pillow, and his gaze landed on Anna sleeping beside him.

She lay on her side, facing him, lips slightly parted, her dark hair spread in a soft tangle against the white pillowcase.

The morning light traced the delicate arch of her brow, the sweep of her lashes against her cheek, the quiet curve of her mouth.

She looked angelic, ethereal, a creature of pure beauty that made his chest tighten despite the pounding in his head.

He paused, the urge to move slipping away as he simply watched her like he was lost in a daze.

Anna’s beauty was what had pulled him across the crowded club the first night he saw her.

She was unlike any woman he had ever laid eyes on.

Even though, she was drunk something about her stood out.

What struck him most was her simplicity, that quiet, unpretentious honesty and her charisma.

She wasn’t performing, wasn’t trying to be seen. And in his world, that was the rarest thing of all.

He lifted a hand, his fingers trembling slightly from the effort, and reached toward her face.

A stray lock of hair had fallen across her cheek, and he had an overwhelming urge to brush it back, to feel that skin that looked so soft.

His fingertips hovered just short when her eyelids fluttered.

Anna stirred awake, a small sound slipping from her lips as she woke.

Her eyes opened, still heavy with sleep, and for a fleeting second she looked at Vincenzo without her usual defenses.

He jerked his hand back as if her skin had burned him.

He checked his watch and muttered, “Fucking hell.”

He pushed himself out of bed in one sudden movement, so fast it made his head spin.

With jerky movements, he pulled off his watch and set it on the nightstand.

He could feel Anna’s gaze on his bare back, and it stirred something in him he couldn’t quite name.

He fixed his face into a mask of cold composure and turned to her.

“Get dressed,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re coming with me to a lunch meeting.”

Without waiting for a response, he pulled off his pants, grabbed his robe from the rack, and shrugged it on before walking into the bathroom.

The door closed behind him with a firm click.

Anna sat up on the bed and ran a hand through her loose curls, arranging them absentmindedly.

“I guess he doesn’t remember what happened last night,” she murmured to herself.

Her hand drifted to her stomach as Vincenzo’s words from the night before replayed in her mind.

A wide smile spread across her lips before she could stop it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“There is no way in hell you are putting that on to follow me to the meeting,” Vincenzo grunted, his gaze dragging from the top of Anna’s head to her bare feet, a frown settling on his face.

Anna looked down at her dress, then back at him, a crease forming between her brows.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because the dress is horrible,” he said bluntly. “And you look fucking terrible in it.”

A flush of color rose to her cheeks. “That’s harsh,” she murmured, looking away.

“Don’t you have something better to wear?” he asked.

She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the floor.

He let out a long, exasperated sigh and pulled his phone from his pocket.

Then his attention shifted back to her.

His eyes moved over her slowly, deliberately, starting at her bare ankles and travelling up the length of her, lingering on the curves the simple dress failed to conceal, the round swell of her belly.

His gaze was dark, intense, almost predatory, like he wanted to swallow her whole

Anna’s skin prickled with an uncomfortable heat.

An irrational urge rose in her to wrap her arms around herself and hide.

“What’s your size?” he asked, his thumb hovering over the phone screen.

“Huh?” she breathed.

He dragged a hand over his forehead. “Your clothing size,” he clarified. “What is it?”

“Size ten,” she said quietly.

He typed it into his phone in a few quick taps, then slipped it back into his pocket.

Crossing the room, he lowered himself onto the couch and smoothed the lapels of his black suit jacket, settling into a posture of rigid authority.

Anna stared at him, confused.

“Are we not going anymore?” she asked.

“We are,” he replied, not looking at her.

“Then why aren’t we leaving?” she pressed, gesturing toward the door.

He finally turned his head, meeting her gaze with an unreadable expression.

“We’re waiting for the clothes I ordered for you to arrive.”

Anna opened her mouth to protest, a dozen questions already forming on her lips, but Vincenzo cut her off with a single look.

“Go sit and wait,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a resigned sigh, she crossed the room and sank into the chair beside him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hours later, Anna stood on the sidewalk before a colossal hotel, a structure of gleaming gold metal and reflective glass that pierced the sky.

She felt a wave of vertigo looking up at it.

She was wearing the dress Vincenzo had ordered for her. It was a red, glittering bodycon gown that clung to her body like a second skin.

It revealed a hint of her cleavage and hugged the rounded curve of her stomach, which made her acutely self-conscious.

Vincenzo had noticed her discomfort and silently cursed himself for not getting her a less revealing dress.

He draped his black suit jacket over her shoulders before they left the car.

She clutched the lapels, finding a strange comfort in the scent of him—sandalwood and whiskey—that clung to the fabric.

As Anna stood there, still mesmerized by the hotel, Vincenzo took her hand in his, his fingers strong and warm as they interlaced with hers.

She looked up to find him beside her, his expression impassive, his gaze already fixed on the hotel’s grand entrance.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

She nodded.

He led her forward, and they passed through the revolving doors into a lobby of soaring marble ceilings and the soft chime of a grand piano.

A staff member guided them to a private elevator, where the doors slid shut in silence.

It opened onto a quiet corridor that led into a vast dining room.

Inside, a long table stretched through the space, draped in white linen and set with sparkling crystal.

Men and women of obvious wealth and status surrounded it, their clothes expensive, their jewelry dazzling.

The air was filled with polished conversation and the soft clink of glasses.

Anna’s anxiety, which had been a low thrum in her veins, spiked.

Suddenly, she felt profoundly out of place—like a cheap flower in a garden of exotics.

Vincenzo noticed and gave her hand a quiet squeeze.

He leaned into her ear and whispered, “Don’t be scared.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

A bald middle-aged man at the head of the table spotted them and rose from his chair, a wide smile splitting his face.

“Oh, look! The man of the hour is here!” he called, his voice booming across the room.

Every head in the room turned. Dozens of eyes landed on Anna and Vincenzo.

Her anxiety spiked instantly.

A tremor ran through her hands and quickly spread through her body until she was trembling like a leaf.

Vincenzo’s grip on her hand tightened, not painful but firm and unyielding.

A silent anchor that said without words, I’ve got you.

He pulled her forward, guiding her to two empty chairs at the table.

He drew out her chair for her, a gesture so unexpected it caught her off guard, and she sank into it.

Around them came a wave of greetings, a mix of “Mr. Romano” and “good to see you.”

Vincenzo gave a brief, controlled nod of apology.

“Sorry we’re late,” he said smoothly. “We got held up in traffic.”

The bald middle-aged man who had first called out, seated directly across from them, waved a dismissive hand with a chuckle. “Come on, it’s fine.”

The elegant woman beside him, draped in emeralds, nodded in agreement, her smile composed. “Yes, besides, it hasn’t been long since we all arrived anyway,” she added.

Anna let her gaze move around the table, her heart still hammering.

A pattern became clear. Beside every man sat a woman.

Some leaned in close, laughing softly with their partners, possibly their wives, girlfriends, or sponsors, while others maintained a polished, practiced composure.

It was obvious. This wasn’t just a business lunch. It was a display.

A cold realization settled in her stomach. This was why Vincenzo had brought her.

“Oh my God, girl, you look so pretty,” the woman beside her whispered, leaning in.

She was younger than the others, with kind eyes and a warm, genuine smile.

Anna turned to her, the compliment easing some of the tension in her chest.

“Thank you,” Anna said, managing a small smile.

“What’s your name, darling?” the woman asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

Anna opened her mouth. “An—”

“I don’t think there’s any need to know her name,” Vincenzo cut in.

The woman’s smile faltered before she quickly smoothed it over with a brittle laugh.

“Possessive, are you?” she teased lightly.

Vincenzo didn’t look at her. Instead, he shifted his attention back to the table, his posture already settled into command.

“Shall we eat?” he asked, his voice carrying cleanly across the room.

They all agreed, a chorus of “yes” rippling around the table.

The man at the head of the table signaled to a line of waiting staff, who moved forward with laden trays, placing plates and dishes with quiet, practiced efficiency.

Just as they began to eat, a booming laugh cut through the room.

“La bestia,” the man known as Mr. Dom said with a mocking chuckle, leaning forward. “I’ve never seen you with this woman before. Who is she?”

The table fell silent, all eyes turning to Vincenzo and Anna.

Vincenzo cleared his throat and set down the glass of water he had just picked up.

“Mr. Dom,” he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “I didn’t know you were interested in my personal affairs.”

Mr. Dom let out a laugh, raising his hands slightly. “Oh no, nothing like that. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

Vincenzo gave a small nod. “Alright. Since you asked, I’ll let you know.”

He turned his head toward Anna. “This pretty woman beside me is my wife.”

A wave of murmuring rippled through the room.

Guests turned to one another, whispering behind their hands, eyes widening with surprise.

Mr. Dom’s eyebrows lifted. “Your wife?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Vincenzo replied.

He took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze moving between Vincenzo and Anna. “Well, that’s odd.” He set the glass down with a soft click. “I thought Miss Camilla was your wife?”