MY HEART RACES AS I go to answer the door, but my mother beats me to the punch. Her expression is unreadable as she chats with Antonio, the sight completely foreign to me. It's like watching two halves of my world collide. I smooth my hands over my black skinny jeans, paired with a dark red button-down. The wine-red button-down is silky and oversized, one button undone at the collar. Casual, but hopefully it passes as Parisian chic enough to go unnoticed in the city. After all, despite what I might have said... Well, it is a date. But I'm not trying too hard—at least, I don't want to look like I am.

Really, Christina? I think you know this man well enough after going on multiple dates with him and falling in love with him.

Shut up. I have a right to be nervous. How do you look a guy in the eye after he killed his father for you, you immediately rejected his marriage proposal, and took off on his private plane shortly after?

"Christina, Thyra and I are going to go wait in the hallway," my mother says, looping her arm through my best friend's as they exit, despite Thyra's muffled protests. I have no doubt they will do a plethora of eavesdropping in the next ten minutes.

He raises an eyebrow, eyes skimming over my outfit. Antonio studies me, and maybe I'm only making it up in my mind, but he seems just as apprehensive as I am.

I clear my throat. "It's good to see you. Again."

"Red looks lovely on you." He pairs the compliment with a cough into his fist. I've never seen him appear so unsure of himself, rubbing the nape of his neck.

I tear my gaze away from the gold floral carpet and look up at him, leaning against the writing desk. The mahogany is cool beneath my palm, digging into my hip. "Thank you."

Smirking, he seems to gain back some of his usual suaveness. "What, no, 'I know' this time?"

The reminder of what I said to him on that ballroom floor which seems so long ago, makes me flush. Now that we're on an equal playing field, I'm not sure how to feel around him, how to act. "I'll save that for when I'm mad at you."

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen again, then." He brushes a hand through his hair. Against the creamy yellow walls with white wainscoting, Antonio looks out of place in his black suit and matching silk tie. But I don't mind standing out all that much, tonight. The way he's looking at me fills me with a sudden surge of boldness, and I release my grip on the desk.

"Never again?" I say, tilting my head back and taking a step toward him. "That's an audacious promise, Mr. Cavalli."

At the expression on his face, the way his eyes take me in, a rope seems to loop itself snugly around my heart and tug me toward him. Antonio Cavalli stares at me like I'm the most precious thing in the world; like he lost me before and would do anything to have me back; like he would die for me and live for me all at once.

"Come to think of it," he says. "You're right. Perhaps I should commit to making you mad once a day instead. That sounds far easier."

A laugh escapes me. "My mom and Thyra are waiting for us."

Violin music plays distantly from under the hotel room door. I think Thyra is playing a romantic playlist from her phone to "set the mood" as she mentioned before, and I bite back my snort.

Antonio offers me his arm and we exit the hotel room. Thyra pipes up as she glances up from her phone, smiling without a care in the world as her gaze darts between the two of us. "So, Mr. Cavalli, where are you taking us for dinner?"

Love and exasperation are present in my mother's eyes as she looks at us. She chastises my best friend like she's her own flesh and blood daughter. "Thyra!"

"Like you weren't wondering," Thyra says, tossing her curls over one shoulder. She's dressed to kill in a black gown with a high neckline and thigh-high lace panels in the skirt.

"I wasn't wondering," I say, but that might be due to the fact that I'm too nervous to have much of an appetite.

"The hotel's rooftop restaurant," he says. "I didn't think it would be wise to go very far..."

"Why is that?" My mother looks suddenly suspicious of him, their tentative alliance fading quickly as it blossomed.

"Well, for starters, it appears if your daughter is being followed." He clears his throat, and my fingers curl around his bicep through the thick fabric of his suit, feeling suddenly cold.

"What?" Mom turns toward me, one eyebrow rising. "You didn't tell me that, Christina."

"I didn't think it was a big deal..." I half-shrug. Now that I'm saying it out loud, it makes my life feel even more surreal. It wasn't a big deal that I was being followed by a group of strange men? "I mean, they never threatened me... or hurt me... I thought they were from you, actually."

Antonio frowns, shaking his head. "I never sent anyone after you. All my father's men--all the Cavallis and their affiliates--have disbanded. I wouldn't know where to find most of them now, anyway."

"Then..." My throat closes up, going dry. "Then, who is it?"

Thyra stares down at her bangle bracelets, avoiding my gaze.

My mom looks like she might murder somebody. Never get on the wrong side of my mother, that's for sure. "How could you not tell me that someone was stalking you, Christina?"

"I think..." Thyra looks up. "It was the Martells."

"The Martells?" Antonio's eyebrows shoot up into his hair. He stops walking, streams of people going around us in the elegantly decorated Shangri La lobby. "What would they want with you? Isn't your father dead?"

Thyra glances at her chipped nails. "They may have... made contact... with me..."

"What?" Now it's my turn to feel betrayed, and by my own best friend to boot. "You never said anything."

"I didn't think it was that important..." Thyra twists a strand of hair nervously. "They said they just wanted to keep you safe. Since you're the daughter of a French mafia boss... even if he is dead."

"Who did you talk to?" Antonio demands. As much as I appreciate his overprotectiveness from time to time, I can take care of myself. Mostly.

"Yeah, was it Priscilla?" I say, leaning against an armchair in the lobby.

"I don't know her name." Thyra sighs. "She had brown hair, brown eyes... she was kind of scary-looking..."

"Definitely Priscilla Martell, then." But why would she care about me? Am I special to her, or is she waiting for me to make a wrong move and she'll send her men to kill me?

"What do these men look like, Christina?" Antonio scans the lobby, his expression hardening as though he's about to find an assailant and beat the living daylights out of them. I eye his suit jacket, wondering if he has a gun under it.

"One of them has a tattoo of a heart on his neck. The other one has a really long beard..." My voice trails off. "They're hard to miss, and they're not here. Actually, they haven't made an appearance since you two showed up."

"Antonio must have scared them away." Thyra's voice is painfully chipper, with an undercurrent of nerves.

I survey the lobby: a few armchairs in rococo style are scattered around, clustered next to dark mahogany tables. The centre of activity is focused on the front desk, where the concierges are helping people check-in and take their luggage to their rooms.

"I don't see them." My stomach twists. "Maybe they disappeared. And we're going to dinner--why let them ruin that?"

My mother scowls. "The dinner would be ruined if you were shot in the head by a Martell assassin."

"If they follow us to the rooftop, we'll see about that," Antonio offers. "I have a gun."

"And we have several trained on you."

My blood freezes over at the sound of that voice. I spin around, and look Priscilla Martell in the eye.