Annalise shifted her weight, trying to relieve the pressure on her heel. The movement was small, barely a flinch, but the sharp sting of the blister made her wince.
Angelo's gaze dropped instantly. He didn't just glance; he locked onto her foot like a hawk spotting prey.
Before she could blink, he went down on one knee.
The gesture was so sudden, so out of place for a man of his stature, that the nearest guests stopped talking. Heads turned, eyes widening at the sight of the ruthless Angelo Molina kneeling at the feet of the Knowles heiress.
Annalise's heart slammed against her ribs. Panic flared, hot and immediate. She jerked her foot back. "Mr. Molina!"
He looked up, his blue eyes pinning her in place. The command in them was absolute. "You need to change your shoes."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was a statement of fact, delivered in that low, gravelly voice that brokered no argument.
Annalise froze. The only man who had ever paid attention to her feet was Greggory, and that was only to complain that she was walking too slow, that she was embarrassing him by lagging behind. He had never offered to help. He had never cared.
A strange, complicated emotion twisted in her chest, but she crushed it immediately. Sentiment was a liability.
"I'm fine," she said, forcing a bright, dismissive smile. She tried to pull her foot away again, but his hand was firm on her ankle.
Without breaking eye contact, Angelo simply raised a hand, making a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture toward the far side of the room. Less than thirty seconds later, a staff member materialized at his elbow, proffering a small silver tray holding a sterile bandage and an antiseptic wipe. Angelo took the items with a dismissive nod, sending the waiter away. Annalise stared at the tray. He could summon medical supplies with a flick of his wrist? It was a quiet display of absolute control, so completely in character for the icy titan of industry, that her brain short-circuited for a different reason. He tore the paper open with his teeth, his movements efficient and practiced. He peeled the backing off and, with a gentleness that contradicted his hard exterior, pressed the adhesive over the raw skin of her heel.
His thumb brushed against her ankle as he smoothed the edges down. A jolt of electricity shot up her leg, making her breath hitch.
"This won't help much," he muttered, his voice rough with frustration. He stood up, his large frame once again blocking out the light. "I'll have someone bring you flats. Wait here."
He turned, ready to signal a staff member, but Annalise's hand shot out.
Her fingers grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, gripping the expensive fabric tight.
Angelo stopped. He looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. The hard lines of his face softened, just for a moment, a flicker of something warm in his eyes.
Annalise realized what she had done. She was touching him. Willingly. She snatched her hand back as if she'd been burned, smoothing her expression into one of cool indifference.
"I mean, I can't leave the party now," she said quickly, scrambling for an excuse. She couldn't change her shoes. She needed the height. She needed the power that came from looking down on her targets.
She glanced toward the champagne tower, the glass glittering like a promise. "I have something important to do."
Her voice hardened, the softness evaporating. It was the voice of a woman on a mission.
Angelo followed her gaze. He looked at the tower, then back at her. He didn't ask questions. He didn't demand an explanation. The corner of his mouth curved up in a faint, almost imperceptible smile. It was a look of pure, unadulterated indulgence.
"As you wish," he said.
He took a step back, restoring the proper distance between them. But he didn't walk away. He stayed right by her side, a silent, immovable sentinel.
Annalise let out a slow breath. She slipped her foot back into the heel. The blister still throbbed, but the bandage provided a slight buffer. It was a tiny piece of protection in a room full of enemies.
She straightened her spine, her shoulders squaring. The pain was a reminder. It kept her focused.
She looked up. Alta was weaving her way through the crowd, a fake smile plastered on her face, heading straight for them.
The hunter's light flickered in Annalise's eyes. The trap was about to spring.
