“I don’t know. I must have missed it.” My response was sarcastic, and he didn’t like it at all if his narrowed gaze was anything to go by.

“Then let me remind you. Stay the fuck away from him.”

“I told you before, and I’ll say it again: I’m an Abelli, not a Russo. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I’m growing tired of you not showing me the respect a don is due,” he bit out.

“And I’m fucking tired of men!”

His gaze grew lethal. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

I couldn’t believe what I had said, but I was drunk, frustrated, and just damn tired of trying to force myself not to feel a certain way. I could still taste the curse word on my tongue and it felt strange, sinful, liberating.

“No Christian.”

Two words. He expected me to listen to those two commanding words.

I shook my head. In my mind, it was Christian or Oscar. The easiest decision I’d ever had to make.

“No.”

He slipped the cigarette in his pocket, and my pulse leapt when he took a step toward me.

I backed up and was only aided when a soft yet consuming grip came to my throat and he lightly pushed me. I fell back a step until I hit the wall. It was an aggressive move, but the way he did it so gently, so absolutely, made something flutter in my chest and spread throughout my body. Want. Need.

He stepped closer until his vest brushed my dress, and my breasts tightened in anticipation. I couldn’t breathe with him so close, his hand around my throat, and the idea that anyone could come down this hall. People were drinking; they’d have to use the restroom.

He braced a palm on the wall beside me, and I’d never felt so consumed in my life. His head lowered, lightly resting on top of mine.

What is happening?

My heart burned.

“Nicolas,” I breathed. “This is inappropriate.”

His thumb caressed my neck, causing my pulse to hitch.

“Platonic,” he rasped.

My insides melted, my lips parted, and my vision grew hazy. I wanted to taste that word straight from his mouth. A laugh from around the wall filtered through the buzz in my ears. I shook my head to clear it, but his face was so close to mine I couldn’t think.

“No,” I panted. “It’s not. Please let me go.”

“No. Christian.” His tone wasn’t nice, even though his touch remained so. It was a strange play on my senses.

And then I realized what this was.

Blackmail.

He was going to hold me here until I complied. He knew being caught like this would unnerve me more than it ever would him because of my past.

Frustration tightened in my lungs. The longer we stood here—him holding me in an intimate way—the further the panic spread through my blood, itching and chafing. I pushed against his chest in a last-ditch effort, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

“Okay,” I whispered. “No Christian.”

He must have been satisfied with my answer, because he stepped back.

A second later, someone came around the corner. Ice crawled up my throat. Benito stopped when he saw us, his eyes narrowing to slits.

Nicolas and I stood a couple feet apart now, though we were both alone, and my wide doe eyes had to give everything away. I forced a smile, and Nicolas gave my cousin a look of dark indifference before I sprinted into the bathroom.

Leaning against the door, I exhaled a breath of relief.

I was not going to marry Oscar Perez.

Now that I knew there was an out, I let myself hope for the best. And I wasn’t going to lose the chance because of Nicolas Russo.

I used the restroom, went straight to the terrace beside the pool, took my gin and tonic from Christian, who must have noticed I liked them—a good quality in a man—and swallowed a large drink for courage.

Then I talked to him. Animatedly. Like it was 100 percent my choice and not done by my father’s interference. Like I hadn’t gotten blackmailed not to.

Christian was amused by it all, appearing to know everything I did, and I wouldn’t doubt it. He was perceptive, and hot. He only got hotter the more I drank, but, for some illogical reason, I couldn’t push Nicolas out of my mind for a second. I was continually aware of his presence, even with this insanely attractive man’s avid attention.

My gaze caught on Nicolas’s through the glass. He watched me, his hands in his pockets, while talking to Luca. His expression was unexpected: indifferent and calm. Like the exchange in the hall hadn’t happened.

What a confusing man.

He’d told me he didn’t bluff, and unfortunately, I would soon learn he really didn’t.

Five minutes later, my cheeks felt hot from my fifth drink of the night, and I was beginning to think I’d imagined Nicolas’s temper as well. Christian was easy to talk to, though I wondered how much of what he said was the truth. I listened as he told me about a cabin he owned in the Rockies, where the stars were incredibly bright.

“Sounds beautiful,” I commented. “I would love to see it.”

“See what?”

My shoulders tensed at Nicolas’s deep voice behind my back.

“My cabin in Colorado,” Christian responded, while I said, “None of your business,” at the same time.

“You sound angry, Elena.” Nicolas’s voice was tainted with something dangerous. “Maybe you should cool off.”

My brows knitted. “What? No—”

I never got to finish what I had to say.

Because, with one hand on my side, Nicolas pushed me into the pool.

OceanofPDF.com

“What is drama but life with the dull bits cut out.”

—Alfred Hitchcock

WHILE I CLIMBED OUT OF the pool, soaking wet, they stood a foot apart staring at one another.

Christian’s lips tipped up as he brought his drink to his mouth, but his gaze never left Nico’s.

“Elena!” Mamma gasped, running onto the patio. “What happened?”

Everyone’s eyes touched my skin through the glass, and it felt like I was on display at the zoo.

My teeth clenched. “I fell.”

“Madonna! How much have you drunk?”

“Apparently more than I thought,” I muttered.

Her hesitant gaze ran to Nicolas and Christian, who were the two most ungentlemanly men I’d ever met—the former for pushing me into the pool, and the latter for not helping me out.

Gianna came rushing outside with a towel, and Christian flicked a slow gaze to her over his glass, like the glance was equal parts involuntary and unwanted.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, accepting it.

“I think I have something for you to wear.” She grabbed the heels I’d pulled off so I could get out of the pool. I should have thrown them at Nicolas’s head, but by that time I had the entire party’s attention.

As I followed Gianna inside, everyone stared at me with wide eyes—well, all the women. I expected the worst from my papà, but he wasn’t even looking at me. His attention was on the two men on the patio, his expression darkening.

My stomach dipped.

How many had seen that it was Nicolas who pushed me in? And why would he do something like that? I guessed Russos did what they wanted when they wanted. Papà should have known from the beginning not to get involved with Nicolas.

I followed Gianna into a room that looked like a spare, while drying my hair with a towel. She dug through a bag on the bed, and something twisted in my chest. Was she planning on spending the night? Ugh, why did I even care? Nicolas had pushed me into a damn pool. I didn’t like him at all.