My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 283

Chapter 283

My stomach dropped.

The Costellos. My father had done a lot of business with the Costellos.

“And,” Claire whispered, a wicked little glint in her eye as we started climbing the steps, “I’ve invited a few very specific guests just for you. There are two art collectors from Milan, brothers. They are young, very cute, and they haven’t stopped asking who the girl in the black dress was all night.”

Claire led me through a door that opened onto the rooftop. The night air was cold, biting at my bare shoulders. The rooftop was beautiful, lit up with strings of small white lights that twinkled like fallen stars against the black sky.

“Come on,” Claire whispered, her hand still tight on mine.

We walked straight toward a circle of men. The conversation died instantly. They turned as one, their eyes sharp. Claire leaned right into Vincenzo’s arms, though she kept her other hand locked on mine.

“Alright, boys,” she said with a proud smile, “The show is over. Time to get to the table for dinner. I made everything myself with love to celebrate the night.”

She looked over at Silvio, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Silvio, Allie was asking for you,” she added with a grin.

Silvio rolled his eyes toward the sky, “Why? Tell her I don’t need her fake ass anymore.”

Claire laughed, the sound bright against the cold wind, “Yeah, you tell her that yourself.”

“What about the agent?” Raphael’s voice cut through the air. It was low, but it stopped everyone, “Is Vivianne Kane here as well?”

My eyes snapped to him and then back at Claire.

Viviane who?

I felt less than. I felt small. I felt like the woman in the painting, trapped behind bars, not just by my father, but by what was inside my own head that wouldn’t let me be the kind of woman everyone would truly respect.

“Gianna?” Claire nudged me, noticing I had gone quiet, “Come on, let me introduce you to Manuel.)

She pulled me toward the long dining table. The air was warm from the candles, and the smell of expensive wine and roasted meat was everywhere.

Standing by one of the velvet chairs was Manuel. He was tall, with skin the color of deep bronze and hair that was perfectly messy, like he had just run his fingers through it. He looked like he belonged on a boat in the middle of the ocean. He wore a crisp white shirt with the top three buttons open, showing off a glimpse of a gold chain against his chest. When he saw me, his entire face changed.

“So,” he said, “This is the woman who has been making the gallery feel so much brighter tonight.”

He didn’t just shake my hand. He took it in his, his palm warm and slightly rough, and bowed his head and kissed

“I’m Manuel,” he whispered. His thumb traced a slow, lazy circle over the back of my hand, sending a tiny spark of heat through my skin. “And I think I’ve just lost interest in every other piece of art in this building.”