49. Shattered Reflections

CHAPTER 49

Shattered Reflections

ILEANA

It terrifies me how easily he reads me, how effortlessly he strips me bare until there’s nothing left but his will and my need. The way he touches me, the things he makes me feel, the intensity of it all. It’s like he’s unraveling me piece by piece. Shame, fear, and desire twist together inside me, leaving me breathless. I want to fight it. I want to fall headlong into it.

He reaches into his pocket and presses play on his cell phone. Music fills the room—dark, haunting, wrapping around us like a spell. Every inch of my body tenses, resisting him, but his hands are firm on my waist, guiding me into motion.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. “You know how to move. Let go.”

I hesitate, the instinct to fight still there, regardless of everything else. He pulls me closer, his hands sliding over my hips, his fingers pressing in just enough to remind me who’s in control.

“I have something else for you.” He lifts one hand. There’s a folded piece of paper between two of his fingers. “Take it.”

I do as he says, unfolding it. My breath catches.

Alias established for James Charleston. Disappearance linked to incident.

The words make no sense, but he doesn’t give me a chance to ask.

“Your father had another name once,” he says, his voice almost lost in the music. “Another life. Agent Charleston, deep undercover in the Rossi family.”

He spins me, his hands never leaving my body, his touch possessive, commanding.

“Dance, pretty Ballerina.” His hand smoothes up my back, each tremor of mine echoing through his touch. “Show me how desperately you want to know the truth. Show me how much you want to know about the private plane that brought three people here. About the FBI operation that made careers and destroyed empires. About why Daddy’s so afraid of cameras and credit cards.”

My movements are awkward, stiff, caught between flight and need, confusion and desire. He guides me through each step, his hands never leaving me, his touch a constant reminder of who I belong to now.

But there’s a spark of rebellion in me, one he’s brought to life. And for one moment, I hate how easily he gets under my skin.

“Maybe it’s you who needs to prove something to me.”

His eyes flash, that wicked grin that heats my skin curling his lips. “Careful, Ileana.”

But I don’t stop. My movements grow smoother, until I’m not just following him, I’m matching him. Testing him. His hands tighten on my hips, and then he’s kissing me, his lips stealing my breath. A sound escapes my throat, but instead of pulling away, I lean into it, meeting him halfway. When his hands move to guide me again, I push back, twisting in his hold just enough to force him to adjust to me.

“Every part of you is mine.” He pulls me back against his chest.

The music swells, the haunting melody filling the room as I let my body take over, surrendering to the dance, but not to him. Not entirely. His hands roam over me, claiming every inch of me. And I don’t stop him. I don’t pull away. I arch under his touch like a cat being petted.

My fingers find their way to his shirt, curling into the fabric, but instead of clutching it for support, I use it to pull him closer. Rising up onto my toes, my teeth graze his bottom lip, surprising us both.

“You’re playing with fire.” He breathes the words against my lips.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” I whisper back .

He spins me again, pulling me back so quickly that my breath catches. His forehead presses to mine, and for a moment, the intensity between us is almost too much. But I don’t break eye contact. I don’t look away.

His hand moves to my throat, and I tip my head back, enjoying the way his fingers flex. “You think you have the power here, pretty Ballerina?”

I drag my hands up his chest, his throat, until my fingers can stroke the line of his jaw. “Maybe more than you want to admit.”

For a moment, the tension in the room shifts. It’s his breath that catches, his eyes that darken. I let my fingers trail down to the neckline of his shirt, feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my touch, and for the first time, I become aware that I’m affecting him as much as he’s unraveling me.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His voice drops lower, darker. “How right this is. How completely you belong to me. How much you need what only I can give you.”

His words invade my mind, and when he pulls me back again, his lips crash against mine. The kiss is pure possession, domination. A promise of what’s to come.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips. “Every secret. Every fear. Every surrender. Everything you are, and everything you’ll become belongs to me now.”

He spins me again, the dress flaring out, baring my legs. He catches my wrist, bringing me to a stop, then reaches out to pull the elastic from my hair. It falls wild around my face. The last of my defenses slipping away.

“You think you’ve won something. But this only makes you mine even more.”

“Maybe.” My heart is racing. “But you can’t deny it. I’m under your skin now, as well.”

The words hang between us. He pulls me closer, his hands moving over my back, my hips, but there’s a new intensity to his touch. It’s hungrier, more urgent .

“Keep dancing. Let’s see how far you’re willing to take this.”

I’m losing myself—in the movement, the music, the dark promises he whispers against my skin … and I don’t care. I want it all.

“Did you know Operation Rossi Crown was the FBI's crowning achievement?” His fingers trace patterns over my bare back, leaving heat in their wake. “The same week your family appeared here?”

His words throw me off balance, my moment of strength fading. My steps falter, but he doesn’t let me stop. He keeps me moving.

“So many coincidences, pretty Ballerina. So many questions you’ve never thought to ask about who you really are. About why everything from your past was erased so completely.”

I spin, my body flowing through the motions, but as I turn back, he catches me, his hands firm on my hips, pulling me against him. His erection presses against my stomach, and he holds me there, one arm wrapped around my waist. A tremor runs through me, my breath stuttering, tension tangling between us.

“Do you feel it now? You’re mine, even when you fight it. Especially when you fight it.”

Another turn, spinning me away, only to pull me back, his hand pressing at the small of my back, flush against him.

“Your parents kept secrets. But I see everything. I know every hidden part of you.”

A shiver runs through me, his forehead pressing against mine, his hand lifting to my throat, his thumb stroking over my racing pulse.

“You can’t escape me. No matter how hard you try. I warned you that day in the cafeteria. I told you not to attract my attention.”

He tilts my chin up, his lips finding mine in a hard, demanding kiss. I gasp, my fingers curling into his shirt, my breath shuddering as I lean into him. His hand tightens on my waist, pulling me closer until there is nothing left between us .

“Every part of you is mine.”

The haunting melody continues to swell, and he guides me through each step, his hands never leaving me, his touch keeping me tethered to him. My movements grow fluid, my body giving in, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I dance.

My chest rises and falls, gaze locked on his. He pulls me into him, his lips hovering just above mine, his breath hot against my skin, and I lean in, wanting him to kiss me again. Willing him to kiss me.

The dance … it isn’t just a dance. It’s something deeper, something that’s unraveling me in more ways than one. With each step, each turn, Wren is peeling away my defenses, exposing me in ways I’ve never allowed anyone to. And I finally let myself accept the truth.

I crave it. I want to be seen by him, want to be understood in that dark, twisted way, only he can.

By the time the music fades, I’m trembling in his arms, broken open, ready to be remade.