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Across the room, a group of men occupied the VIP booth.

They looked young and rich, and were loud enough to draw attention from a few heads at nearby tables.

I recognized one of them. Luca Bellandi. Son of Silvio Bellandi.

He was an arrogant little snake. In his late twenties, he had too much money and not enough spine.

Daddy’s money, for sure.

He caught me looking and raised his glass, smirking.

I looked away.

Bianca sighed into her glass. “That one’s trouble.”

“They all are,” I reminded her.

“No,” she said. “Please stay away from him.”

“As long as he stays away from me, he’s safe.”

The music shifted to a slower, dirtier beat. Bodies pressed tighter together on the dance floor.

Bianca nudged me.

“Dance?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” she pouted.

“You know I don’t dance.”

She rolled her eyes and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone. Which was exactly how I liked it.

The bartender refilled my glass without asking. That was one of the perks of being a Ventresca. Or dangers, depending on how you looked at it.

I took a sip just as I heard male laughter rise behind me. I ignored it. Nothing to do with me.

Until I heard my name.

I turned to find Luca Bellandi standing three feet away, two of his friends behind him. They were way past drunk and looked stupid.

Luca smiled, though there was nothing warm about the way his lip curled. It was more predatory.

“Ayla Ventresca,” he announced.

I remembered my promise to Bianca. I stared but said nothing, choosing to ignore him.

He stepped forward and leaned against the bar beside me like we were old friends. We weren’t. Far from it.

“I heard your father’s dying.”

He went straight for the jugular. There was no grace, no class.

I took another drink and said nothing still, hoping he’d go away. Luca smirked, believing my silence meant his words had gotten to me.

“That estate’s going to collapse the second he does.”