11. Mia

Chapter 11

Mia

The Venetian Rooftop Terrace is unrecognizable. What was a blank canvas just days ago now glows with opulent décor, soft lighting casting a golden hue over the elegantly draped tables and the polished stone tiles. Floral arrangements—bold yet understated—adorn every corner, their fragrant blooms perfectly complementing the luxurious setting. The shimmering lights of the Las Vegas Strip provide a dramatic backdrop, reflecting in the glass panels that frame the terrace.

I step onto the terrace, the murmur of guests mingling blending with the gentle strains of a live quartet. The atmosphere is charged with energy, a mixture of awe and expectation that makes the air hum.

I take a moment to absorb the scene, pride swelling in my chest. This is my work, my vision brought to life. Every detail, from the flickering votive candles to the seamless flow of the seating arrangements, speaks to weeks of meticulous planning.

Bianca spots me from across the terrace, her dark curls bouncing as she makes her way over. She throws her arms around me in a hug so tight it almost knocks the air from my lungs.

“You did it, Mia!” she exclaims, pulling back to beam at me. “I knew you could.”

“Thanks, Bianca,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and for the first time tonight, I allow myself a real smile.

She squeezes my shoulders before stepping back. “Seriously, it’s perfect. Even Daddy will have to admit it.” With a wink, she spins on her heel and disappears into the crowd, her laughter trailing behind her.

I let out a breath and glance around, my attention darting from one detail to the next. Guests are arriving in a steady stream now, their designer suits and shimmering gowns adding to the sense of grandeur. Among them are high-profile figures I recognize from the guest list—politicians, business magnates, and members of prominent families. Their presence sets my nerves buzzing, but I remind myself that this is exactly what Carlito wanted.

Carlito.

The thought of him stirs something in me, a mixture of anticipation and unease. I haven’t seen him yet tonight, but I know he’s here somewhere, watching, waiting.

I catch sight of Leo near the entrance, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the crowd. His presence, like always, is a quiet reminder of the stakes. Security is tight, but the memory of the stranger from the meeting the other day lingers at the edge of my mind.

Shaking off the unease, I refocus on the task at hand. A waiter passes by with a tray of champagne flutes, and I take one, the cool glass grounding me as I sip. Tonight is about celebrating the success of this event, a culmination of everything I’ve worked for.

As I move through the crowd, nodding politely to guests and checking on the staff, I can’t help but reflect on how far I’ve come. Just weeks ago, I was sitting in Bianca’s penthouse, clutching a folder of notes and wondering if I was in over my head. Now, I’m standing at the center of an event that could solidify my career.

But it’s not just my career on the line tonight—it’s my heart.

I’m making a mental note to check in with the catering team when I feel it—a shift in the atmosphere, subtle but undeniable. Conversations lower by a fraction, and heads turn almost imperceptibly toward the entrance.

Carlito Marcelli has arrived.

I glance up just as he steps onto the terrace, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. Dressed in a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly, he moves through the crowd with a confidence that’s both effortless and deliberate. Guests part for him instinctively, their deference a testament to the weight his name carries.

My heart pounds against my ribcage as his dark eyes scan the room, unerringly finding mine. He holds my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, and something electric passes between us, a connection that feels both exhilarating and dangerous.

He approaches slowly, nodding to a few key figures as he makes his way across the terrace. When he reaches me, the noise of the crowd seems to fade, leaving only the steady thrum of my pulse in my ears.

“Mia,” he says, his voice low and deliberate.

“Carlito,” I reply, trying to keep my tone steady despite the way my nerves flare under his intense gaze.

He looks around briefly, as if to ensure the audience he’s gathered is paying attention, before turning his full focus back to me. “This is impressive. You’ve done exceptional work.”

His words carry weight, not just because of who he is, but because of the quiet authority in his tone. It’s not just a compliment—it’s a declaration.

“Thank you,” I say softly, my cheeks warming under the scrutiny of the nearby guests. “It means a lot coming from you.”

He steps closer, just enough that the space between us feels charged. I catch the faint scent of his cologne, warm and heady, and it sends my thoughts tumbling back to that night in his penthouse. His hands, his breath, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

I force myself to focus as he speaks again, his voice dropping slightly. “You’ve proven you can handle pressure. That you can excel under it.”

There’s something in the way he says it, an undercurrent of pride that feels almost personal. I glance up at him, my hazel eyes meeting his dark ones, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away.

But then the sound of laughter nearby pulls me back to reality, and I take a step back, creating a sliver of distance between us.

“I should check on the staff,” I say, my voice a little too rushed. “Make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

“Of course,” Carlito replies, his expression unreadable but his eyes still locked on mine. “You have a gift for that.”

I nod and turn to leave, but I can feel his gaze lingering on me as I move through the crowd. My skin tingles under the weight of it, the memory of his presence staying with me long after I’ve walked away.

---

The evening moves at a measured pace, the kind that’s both satisfying and nerve-wracking. Guests laugh and mingle, the quartet plays seamlessly, and the caterers work like clockwork. Yet, despite the event’s success so far, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

I glance around, half-expecting to see the stranger from the vendor meeting lurking in the shadows. Instead, I find Carlito, standing near the edge of the terrace. He’s speaking with Leo, his posture relaxed but his expression serious.

The sight of him brings a rush of emotions I’m not ready to unpack. His presence has always been magnetic, but tonight, there’s something else—a vulnerability beneath the surface that makes my chest tighten.

I shake my head, willing myself to focus. This is a professional triumph, a night I should be proud of. But the closer I get to Carlito, the harder it is to separate the personal from the professional.

It’s a bit later in the evening when Carlito finds me again. I’m standing near the edge of the terrace, watching as the quartet transitions into a livelier tune, when his voice cuts through the noise like a thread pulling me back to him.

“Mia.”

I turn, and there he is, his dark eyes steady as they lock onto mine. He’s close enough now that I can feel the faint heat of his presence, and it takes all my focus to keep my breath even.

“Carlito,” I reply, my voice softer than I intend.

“The gala is flawless,” he says, his tone low but resolute. “You should be proud.”

“Thank you,” I say, though the words feel inadequate against the weight of his gaze. “It means a lot to hear that from you.”

For a moment, the world around us seems to blur. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—all of it fades, leaving only the charged silence between us.

“I need a moment with you,” Carlito says suddenly, his voice quieter now, almost intimate.

Surprised, I glance around at the crowd. “Now?”

He nods, his expression unreadable but his intent clear. “Now.”

Without waiting for my response, he gestures for me to follow him. My pulse quickens as I fall into step behind him, weaving through the glittering sea of guests until we reach a quieter corner of the terrace. The view here is breathtaking, the lights of the Strip stretching endlessly beneath us.

Carlito turns to face me, his expression softer now, though no less intense. “I wanted to thank you,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “Not just for tonight—for everything. You’ve done more than I ever expected.”

There’s something in his tone that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not just gratitude—it’s something deeper, something raw.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, though my voice wavers slightly. “This is my job.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You always say that. That it’s just a job. But I see the way you work, Mia. The way you care about every detail. That’s not just professionalism—that’s passion.”

His words strike something deep within me, and I look away, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear. “I just wanted it to be perfect,” I admit quietly. “For you.”

He steps closer, and when I look up, he’s only inches away. The tension between us is palpable now, a magnetic pull that neither of us can seem to resist.

“It is perfect,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between us is electric, charged with the memory of that night in his penthouse. My skin burns under his gaze, and my heart pounds as he lifts a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek.

“Mia,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name feels like both a question and an answer.

I don’t respond, my breath hitching as he leans in slightly, his dark eyes searching mine. But just as the moment stretches toward something inevitable, he stops, his jaw tightening as he steps back.

“There’s something I need to show you later,” he says, his tone shifting back to its usual control, though his eyes remain softer. “A surprise.”

“A surprise?” I echo, my voice trembling slightly as I try to recover from the intensity of the moment.

He nods, his expression enigmatic. “You’ll see.”

Before I can press him further, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone with the glow of the city lights and the storm of emotions he’s left in his wake.