Chapter 30: Party

Carla's POV

The elevator to Alessandro's penthouse seemed to climb forever. I shifted uncomfortably, hyperaware of the devices Lilith had provided now concealed beneath my black evening dress. The discreet vibrator pressed against my most sensitive areas, currently silent but serving as a constant reminder of what I'd agreed to.

When the doors opened, Alessandro was waiting in the foyer, impeccable in a black tuxedo. His dark eyes swept over me appraisingly, and I wondered if he could somehow tell what I was wearing underneath the elegant facade.

"Punctual," he observed. "I appreciate that quality."

"You said to bring what we discussed," I said quietly, my cheeks warming.

"Indeed. The contract is on my desk. Shall we?"

His study was dimly lit, papers spread across the mahogany surface. The contract was several pages long, written in precise legal language that outlined every detail of our arrangement.

I picked up the fountain pen he offered, scanning the terms one final time. Everything was there as we'd discussed.

As I leaned forward to sign, Alessandro's hand moved to something in his pocket. Suddenly, the device inside me came to life with a gentle vibration. I gasped, my hand jerking and leaving an ink blot on the margin.

"Problem?" Alessandro asked innocently.

I gritted my teeth and repositioned the pen. "No problem."

But as I began writing my name, the vibration intensified. I couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped my lips, my signature becoming an unsteady scrawl across the paper.

"Excellent," Alessandro said. "We have an engagement tonight. A charity gala for children's hospitals."

"Tonight?"

"The family is expected to maintain certain social obligations. Beatrice was supposed to attend with me, but she declined at the last minute. Something about being too concerned with Ricardo's recovery to engage in frivolous social events." "You'll accompany me instead."

The limousine ride to the Metropolitan Museum was a study in contrasts. Alessandro sat beside me, perfectly composed in his tuxedo, while I tried to ignore the device that would occasionally spring to life without warning. Each pulse made me grip the leather seat, fighting to maintain my composure.

As we passed through Central Park, I noticed children's playgrounds lit by streetlamps, their swings and slides empty in the evening darkness. A few late joggers passed by, and I could see nannies pushing strollers along the walking paths.

"Tell me about your childhood," Alessandro said suddenly, following my gaze toward a playground.

The question caught me off guard. "My childhood? Why?"

"Curiosity. What was it like growing up as the daughter of legitimate businesspeople?"

I considered how much to reveal. "Quiet. Stable. My parents worked hard but were always home for dinner. Sundays we'd go to church, then have lunch at my grandmother's house. Very traditional Italian-American."

"How quaint."

"What about yours?"

"Different. My father was frequently away on business. When he was home, he was usually meeting with associates in the study. Mother spent most of her time managing household affairs and preparing for social obligations."

"That sounds lonely for a child."

"Loneliness was the least of my concerns. When I was eight, I witnessed my first execution in our basement. A man who'd stolen from the family. Father wanted me to understand the consequences of betrayal early."

The casual way he delivered this information made my stomach clench. "Eight years old?"

"Old enough to learn. By ten, I was sitting in on business meetings. By twelve, I was accompanying Father on collections. Ricardo was considered too gentle for such education. He was allowed to paint and attend regular school like a normal child."

I began to understand the dynamic between Alessandro and Beatrice. She'd protected her younger son from the family's darker realities while Alessandro had been groomed as the heir apparent, forced to grow up fast in a world of violence and moral compromise.

"Beatrice loved you both," I said carefully.

The limousine pulled up to the museum's grand entrance. Photographers lined the red carpet, capturing images of New York's elite as they arrived for the charity gala.

Alessandro helped me from the car, his hand settling at the small of my back. "Smile," he murmured. "You're representing the family now."

The museum's Great Hall had been transformed into an elegant ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over hundreds of guests in formal attire. Politicians mingled with business leaders, society matrons air-kissed celebrities, and everyone pretended the vast sums being donated weren't often earned through questionable means.

"Alessandro!" A silver-haired man approached us. "Good to see you, though I was expecting Beatrice tonight."

"Mother had other obligations," Alessandro replied smoothly. "May I present Carla, Ricardo's wife. Carla, this is Senator Morrison and his wife Helen."

The introductions continued for what felt like hours.

Midway through a discussion about hospital funding with a pharmaceutical heiress, Alessandro turned to me with a slight smile. "Would you mind lighting this for me?"

He offered me his lighter and a cigarette, though smoking was clearly prohibited inside the museum. The request seemed designed to test my obedience rather than satisfy any actual need for nicotine.

I took the lighter, my hands steady despite everything. As I flicked it to life, Alessandro leaned closer, his cigarette almost touching the flame. At that moment, he activated the device inside me again. I noticed his phone in his other hand, finger moving across the screen. The sudden vibration made my hand tremble, the flame dancing.

"Careful," he said softly, steadying my wrist with his fingers. "We wouldn't want an accident."

My cheeks burned with embarrassment and arousal. Several nearby guests were watching our interaction with polite interest, completely unaware of what was really happening.

I managed to light his cigarette successfully, though my breathing had become noticeably shallow. Alessandro took a satisfied drag and smiled at me with apparent affection that masked the dominant control he was exercising.

"You're flushed, darling," he observed loud enough for others to hear. "Perhaps some fresh air?"

Before we could move toward the terrace, a familiar voice interrupted. "Cousin Alessandro! And the beautiful Carla."

Luca appeared beside us. He'd somehow managed to procure an invitation to this exclusive event, probably through one of his society connections.

"Luca," Alessandro's acknowledgment was barely civil.

"I was just thinking how lovely it would be to dance with the expectant mother," Luca said, offering me his arm. "If her husband's brother doesn't object, of course."

He was testing Alessandro's claim over me, probing the boundaries of their family dynamic.

Alessandro's hand tightened almost imperceptibly on my back. "I'm afraid Carla promised me the next dance," he said with deadly quiet courtesy. "Perhaps another time."

Without waiting for Luca's response, Alessandro guided me toward the dance floor, leaving his cousin standing alone among the glittering crowd.