THE CURVY TRIVIA HOST HUMILIATED A MAFIA BOSS IN PUBLIC – THEN HE DEMANDED A PRIVATE REMATCH

The entire lounge was laughing at Adriano Russo, and for the first time in years, nobody seemed afraid enough to stop.

He sat beneath the amber lights of Belladona Lounge with one hand resting beside a glass of expensive whiskey he had not touched.

Two hundred guests had come for charity trivia, cocktails, and polite applause.

Instead, they were watching the most controlled man in Chicago lose his dignity one wrong answer at a time.

At the front of the room, Tessa Monroe stood under the gold trivia night sign in a deep red dress, holding a microphone like a weapon.

She was beautiful, curvy, poised, and smiling with the kind of satisfaction that made Adriano feel the evening had turned against him personally.

She looked at his answer card.

Then she looked at him.

Then she looked back at the card, even though he knew she already knew the answer.

She was delaying.

She was building suspense out of his humiliation.

That was the part that made it dangerous.

“Mr. Russo,” she said at last.

The room went quiet.

His younger sister Bianca was already covering her mouth with both hands.

That should have warned him.

Tessa’s smile sharpened.

“That is wrong.”

The lounge erupted.

Laughter rolled through the room.

Someone near the bar slapped a table.

A man three rows back shouted something that sounded like mercy and panic at the same time.

Adriano turned slowly toward the voice.

The shouting stopped immediately.

That was the Adriano Russo people knew.

The man who owned the lounge.

The man who owned the hotel above it.

The man whose name carried through rooms before he entered them.

The man people lowered their voices around.

But when he turned back to Tessa, she was not lowering anything.

Not her voice.

Not her gaze.

Not that merciless smile.

Bianca made a noise beside him that sounded like a cough trying to become a dying seal.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

She was not sorry.

Behind Adriano, Luca Ferraro stood in his black suit with his usual stone-faced security chief expression.

At that moment, Luca was staring at the ceiling with extraordinary focus.

Adriano narrowed his eyes.

Luca continued studying the architecture as if the plasterwork contained national secrets.

Tessa noticed.

Of course she noticed.

She seemed to notice everything.

She lifted one finger to the audience.

“Just to clarify for anyone keeping score,” she said.

Bianca whispered, “Oh no.”

Tessa continued.

“That is Mr. Russo’s fourth incorrect answer in a row.”

Another wave of laughter hit the room.

Adriano rested his hand against his jaw and stayed perfectly still.

Anyone who knew him understood that his stillness was far more concerning than shouting.

Tessa did not look concerned.

She looked delighted.

That was why he had not left.

He should have left forty minutes ago.

Possibly fifty.

Definitely before the category called Romantic Comedies and Pop Culture.

That category had been an ambush.

Adriano was certain of it.

The evening had not been supposed to become competitive.

That was the first mistake.

He had come only because Bianca had begged him for three months to support the charity event.

He intended to arrive, shake hands, approve whatever donation needed his approval, drink one espresso, and leave before anyone tried to make him enjoy himself.

“Ninety minutes maximum,” Bianca had promised.

Bianca’s promises about family events were about as reliable as weather forecasts written six months in advance.

The moment Adriano sat down, she slid a trivia answer card in front of him.

He looked at it.

Then he looked at her.

“No.”

Bianca smiled.

That was the second warning.

“You’re already sitting,” she said.

“I can stop sitting.”

“You can’t leave.”

“I own the building.”

“That doesn’t make you fun.”

Adriano stared at her.

Bianca smiled wider.

Then Tessa Monroe walked onto the small stage, and Adriano forgot to leave.

He would later insist that he did not forget.

He would claim he merely paused.

That distinction fooled no one.

Tessa was not what he had expected from a trivia host.

He had imagined someone loud, bright, possibly wearing a themed jacket that should have been illegal.

Instead, she walked into the light in red satin with dark hair swept away from her face and an expression that suggested she had already identified every arrogant person in the room and intended to cause them problems.

She welcomed everyone.

She made three jokes.

She insulted the lighting.

She accused the bartender of overconfidence.

Within five minutes, she had convinced wealthy donors, executives, socialites, lawyers, doctors, and people who normally took themselves very seriously to argue passionately about the capital of Slovenia.

Adriano found himself watching her.

That was the third warning.

The first rounds were easy.

History.

Geography.

European politics.

Wine regions.

World capitals.

Classical literature.

Adriano barely looked at the answer sheet.

By round four, Bianca was glaring at him.

“You’re ruining this,” she muttered.

“How?”

“You know everything.”

“Apparently not everything.”

“You corrected the question.”

“The question was inaccurate.”

“It was off by one year.”

“One year is inaccurate.”

Bianca stared at him like he had personally murdered fun.

Luca remained silent behind them, which proved he valued survival.

Tessa had noticed the correction too.

She walked toward Adriano’s table with the microphone lowered and the question card in her hand.

“You disagree?” she asked.

The entire room grew cautious.

Not because the historical detail mattered.

Because everyone knew who Adriano Russo was.

People became careful near Adriano.

Careful with jokes.

Careful with disagreement.

Careful with the size of their smiles.

Tessa either had not received that memo, or she had received it, folded it, and used it as scrap paper.

Adriano explained the technicality.

Tessa listened.

She checked the card.

Then she nodded.

“You’re right.”

Bianca groaned.

Adriano leaned back.

Tessa looked at him and added, “You seem extremely pleased about that.”

The room went silent again.

A man at the next table lowered his drink very slowly.

Adriano’s expression stayed neutral.

“I generally prefer being correct.”

Tessa tilted her head.

“That sounds exhausting.”

Bianca looked from Tessa to Adriano, and for one reckless second, nearly smiled.

Adriano stared at the trivia host.

Tessa stared back.

Not fearful.

Not disrespectful.

Just amused.

Something shifted inside him.

Interest.

Sharp.

Immediate.

Inconvenient.

Then Tessa smiled and said, “Next category.”

She walked away.

Adriano watched her go.

Bianca leaned closer.

“Oh, you’re in trouble.”

“No.”

“You made the face.”

“What face?”

“The interested one.”

“There is no interested face.”

Bianca turned toward Luca.

“Was that the interested face?”

Luca looked straight ahead.

“I have no opinion.”

Adriano nodded once.

“Correct.”

Bianca muttered something about cowards.

Then came entertainment.

That was when the evening began its descent.

The first question involved a famous romantic comedy from the 1990s.

Tessa described the plot.

Adriano wrote an answer based on logic.

Bianca looked at it and winced.

“No.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You reacted.”

“I reacted to life.”

“You looked at my answer.”

“I have eyes.”

The buzzer sounded.

Tessa began reading the results.

Three tables were correct.

Two were wrong.

Then she reached table seven.

Adriano’s table.

Her eyes lifted.

A smile appeared.

“Interesting choice.”

Adriano immediately disliked those words.

She read his answer.

“Wrong.”

Bianca put her forehead on the table.

Not from disappointment.

From laughter.

“You knew,” Adriano said.

“I’ve seen the movie six times.”

“Why?”

“Because I experienced joy.”

Tessa was watching them from the stage.

Adriano could practically see her thought.

Finally, someone had found a crack in the marble.

The second entertainment question involved pop music.

He answered.

Wrong.

The third involved children’s animation and a talking snowman.

He had no idea.

Bianca whispered the answer.

Adriano refused to cheat.

She called his sudden integrity suspicious.

He guessed.

Wrong.

Tessa walked closer.

“You’re having a difficult round, Mr. Russo.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Do you need water?”

“No.”

“Emotional support?”

“No.”

Bianca raised her hand.

“He might.”

Adriano turned.

Bianca lowered her hand.

Tessa laughed.

That was when something truly changed.

Adriano had heard people laugh around him all his life.

Polite laughter.

Nervous laughter.

Strategic laughter.

People laughed because they wanted something.

They laughed because they wanted him relaxed.

They laughed because they were not sure whether they were allowed to laugh.

Tessa’s laugh had none of that.

It was bright and careless and real.

She thought his suffering was funny.

Possibly she thought he was funny too.

Either way, he liked the sound.

That was unfortunate.

The fourth wrong answer became a community event.

By then, the whole lounge was invested in the fall of Adriano Russo.

He could negotiate contracts, intimidate boardrooms, read political history from memory, and command an entire room with silence.

But he did not know enough about sitcoms.

Tessa stood near his table, microphone in one hand, card in the other, and announced his failure like a judge reading a verdict.

“Wrong.”

Adriano looked at her.

She looked back.

For a moment, the laughter faded into background noise.

Tessa expected irritation.

Maybe arrogance.

Maybe that faint shadow of intimidation she had seen other people react to all night.

Instead, Adriano’s gaze held hers.

Calm.

Dark.

Focused.

She became suddenly aware that she stood within arm’s reach of the man the room had been whispering about since he arrived.

Adriano Russo.

Owner of the lounge.

Owner of the hotel.

And according to conversations Tessa had deliberately ignored, owner of influence that extended far beyond hospitality.

She knew what people called him.

She knew enough.

Not details.

Not anything she wanted confirmed.

Just enough to understand why half the room monitored his face whenever she teased him.

Tessa had made a professional decision ten minutes into the event.

If Adriano Russo wanted special treatment, he could hire another trivia host.

He had not asked for any.

He had played fairly.

Competitively.

Annoyingly well.

Every time she teased him, something almost human appeared behind that controlled expression.

So she kept doing it.

For professional reasons.

Obviously.

His face had nothing to do with it.

Neither did the suit.

Neither did the shoulders.

Neither did the way his eyes followed her whenever she moved between tables.

Those were irrelevant administrative details.

She lowered the microphone.

“Would you like me to repeat the correct answer?”

“I heard it.”

“Just making sure.”

“I hear very well.”

“Excellent,” she said. “That is one category you’re still winning.”

Bianca slapped the table.

Luca coughed.

Tessa was almost certain it covered a laugh.

Adriano noticed.

“Ferraro.”

Luca became solemn.

“Yes, sir.”

“Something funny?”

“No, sir.”

Tessa pointed at Luca.

“That was very fast.”

Luca did not look at her.

Adriano did.

“You’re encouraging my employees.”

“They seem under entertained.”

“They’re working.”

“Everybody needs hobbies.”

Luca looked at the ceiling again.

Tessa smiled.

Adriano leaned back.

“Are we continuing?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

She returned to the stage.

Adriano watched.

Bianca whispered, “You like her.”

“No.”

“You haven’t blinked since she walked away.”

Adriano blinked.

Bianca grinned.

That had been a mistake.

The scoreboard behind Tessa showed that Adriano was still near the top despite the entertainment disaster.

His early answers had saved him.

Two teams were tied for first.

His table was one point behind.

Then came science.

Adriano recovered immediately.

Bianca celebrated.

Physics.

Biology.

Astronomy.

Chemistry.

He knew almost everything.

By the end of the round, his table was tied for first.

Tessa stared at the scoreboard, then at Adriano.

He met her eyes.

There it was again.

That strange private challenge across a room full of people.

Tessa smiled.

“Looks like we need a tiebreaker.”

Bianca leaned toward him.

“Please lose.”

Adriano turned slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“This is the most fun I’ve had in months.”

He looked genuinely offended.

Tessa stepped into the center of the stage.

“This is the final question,” she announced. “No teams discussing. One player from each tied table. One answer. Correct answer wins.”

Adriano took the card.

Across the room, the other contestant did the same.

Tessa lifted the final card.

She had several tiebreakers available.

History.

Geography.

Science.

Adriano would destroy those.

She shuffled once and pulled another.

Then she read it.

Her expression changed.

Oh, it was perfect.

Bianca saw her smile and whispered, “Why do I suddenly feel hope?”

Tessa lifted the microphone.

“In the classic board game Monopoly, what color are the properties Boardwalk and Park Place?”

Adriano stared.

Bianca stared at him.

Tessa waited.

It was simple.

Ridiculously simple.

The kind of thing millions of people knew from childhood.

Adriano Russo, who could discuss Renaissance politics from memory, had not played Monopoly since he was nine.

Even then, he had spent most of the game trying to restructure the rules because he considered them economically inefficient.

Bianca knew this.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh my God.”

“Quiet.”

“Ten seconds,” Tessa said.

Adriano considered blue.

Was it blue?

Dark blue?

Possibly.

Unless he was confusing it with something else.

The opposing player was already writing.

“Five seconds.”

Adriano wrote dark blue.

Tessa collected both cards.

“The first answer is dark blue,” she said. “Correct.”

Applause broke out.

Then she looked at Adriano’s card.

She paused.

Adriano leaned back.

He knew.

She looked at him.

He knew she knew.

Then Tessa smiled.

“Also dark blue.”

The room erupted.

Bianca jumped up.

“That means he’s still alive?”

“Secondary tiebreaker,” Tessa said.

Bianca sat back down.

Adriano looked toward the ceiling.

Tessa laughed.

He caught it.

Somehow, despite everything, his mouth curved.

Then Tessa checked another card.

This one made her hesitate.

Not because it was hard.

Because it was absurd.

She looked at Adriano.

He immediately distrusted her expression.

“Mr. Russo.”

“Yes.”

“Name all four members of ABBA.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Bianca stared at her brother, then slowly turned away as if already defeated on his behalf.

Adriano looked at the card like the question had insulted him personally.

He knew ABBA.

Obviously.

He knew the music.

He could identify several songs.

Names were different.

He wrote two confidently.

One uncertainly.

The fourth remained blank.

Across the room, the other contestant scribbled quickly.

Tessa collected the cards.

The opposing answer was complete.

All four correct.

Then Adriano’s.

Two correct.

One wrong.

One blank.

Her lips twitched.

Adriano leaned his forearm against the table.

“Just say it.”

Tessa tried.

Professional integrity mattered.

But then she looked at him.

He had the expression of a man prepared to negotiate directly with Scandinavian pop history.

Laughter escaped her.

Warm.

Bright.

Uncontrolled.

The whole room joined her.

Adriano stared.

Tessa finally managed, “You came second.”

Bianca made a choking sound.

Tessa continued before she lost control again.

“A very respectable second.”

That finished Bianca.

Even Luca turned his face away.

Adriano’s expression became dangerously blank.

Tessa pointed at Luca.

“He laughed.”

“I did not,” Luca said.

Tessa stared between them.

“Oh, you are all terrible liars.”

Adriano returned his attention to her.

“Second?”

“That is generally the position after first.”

“I understand rankings.”

“I wasn’t sure,” she said. “You seemed unfamiliar with the experience.”

Someone behind him applauded.

Adriano turned.

The applause died instantly.

Tessa bit her lip.

He saw.

“You are enjoying this professionally.”

“There is nothing professional about your face right now.”

“My face?”

“It looks pleased.”

“I am pleased. Trivia has a winner.”

“You were not competing.”

“No, but I was emotionally invested.”

“In my loss?”

She considered.

“A little.”

Adriano stared at her.

Tessa expected another dry reply.

Instead, he laughed.

Actually laughed.

It was not loud.

One low, surprised sound.

As if even he had not expected it.

The room reacted strangely.

Bianca stopped laughing.

Luca’s eyes shifted toward him.

People who knew Adriano looked almost startled.

Tessa noticed.

That was interesting.

Very interesting.

Thirty minutes later, trivia night ended.

Tables emptied.

Music softened.

Guests drifted toward elevators and the bar.

Tessa stayed near the stage, collecting answer sheets and sorting cards into a black box.

She tried not to think about Adriano Russo.

She failed.

It was not only because he was attractive.

Though objectively, annoyingly, he was.

It was not because he was wealthy.

She hosted events for wealthy people all the time.

It was not even because people seemed afraid of him.

That made her cautious, not curious.

What interested her was something else.

He had lost publicly.

He had been teased repeatedly.

By her.

In front of witnesses.

Instead of becoming cruel or arrogant or demanding special treatment, he had stayed.

He had played.

He had taken every joke.

And at the end, he had laughed.

That did not fit the intimidating mythology wrapped around him.

Tessa liked things that did not fit neatly.

Trivia was built on them.

Facts nobody expected.

Connections people missed.

Surprises hiding behind obvious answers.

Apparently, Adriano Russo had become one.

She placed the last stack of cards in the box.

A bartender waved.

“Good night, Tess.”

“Drive safe.”

She reached for another pile and noticed the room had gone quieter.

Not empty.

Different.

A waiter passed and glanced behind her.

Her fingers stopped.

Interesting.

She turned.

Adriano stood six feet away.

No Bianca.

No trivia table.

No buzzer.

Just him in a dark suit with his hands relaxed and his expression unreadable.

Luca waited farther back, close enough to observe, distant enough to pretend he was not listening.

Tessa lifted one eyebrow.

“Have you come to dispute ABBA?”

“No,” Adriano said. “That would be difficult. They are well documented.”

His mouth twitched.

Tessa placed the cards down.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Russo?”

“I want a rematch.”

Tessa stared.

Then she laughed.

Not because the request was funny.

Because of course he wanted one.

She should have known.

“Next Thursday,” she said.

“No.”

Her smile weakened slightly.

“No?”

“That is too long.”

“You cannot wait seven days?”

“No.”

“You survived thirty-nine years without knowing all the members of ABBA.”

“Thirty-nine.”

Tessa blinked.

“That is the detail you corrected?”

“Yes.”

She laughed again, then realized he remained completely serious.

“All right,” she said. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“A rematch.”

“You have mentioned that.”

“Ten categories.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Ten?”

“Ten questions each. Equal difficulty. Neutral scoring.”

Tessa stared.

“Have you already designed rules?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Of course.”

She covered her mouth.

Adriano narrowed his eyes.

“You are laughing again.”

“You prepared regulations for revenge trivia.”

“I dislike incomplete competition.”

“You lost.”

“That makes it incomplete.”

Tessa laughed so hard she had to lean one hip against the table.

Adriano should have been irritated.

Instead, he watched the way her whole face changed when she laughed.

This was becoming a serious problem.

“Fine,” she said.

His gaze sharpened.

“Fine?”

“I will give you a rematch.”

He nodded once.

Victory arrived too early.

Tessa continued.

“But I have a condition.”

“Naturally.”

“No audience.”

He nodded.

“No sister.”

That required no consideration.

“Agreed.”

“No assistance. No looking things up.”

“Obviously.”

“And if you lose again, you admit out loud that I am better at trivia than you.”

Silence.

Adriano stared.

Tessa stared back.

Somewhere near the bar, Luca subtly turned his head.

Adriano noticed.

Luca looked elsewhere.

Finally, Adriano stepped closer.

Not much.

Enough.

His voice lowered.

“And if you lose?”

Tessa had not expected that.

Interesting.

“What do you want?”

Adriano looked at her one second too long.

Tessa felt her heartbeat make an unnecessary adjustment.

Then he said, “I will decide when I win.”

She smiled.

“Confident.”

“Yes.”

“You were confident about ABBA too.”

His jaw tightened.

“That joke is going to live,” she said.

She extended her hand.

“Deal.”

Adriano looked down at it, then took it.

His hand was warm.

Large.

The handshake should have lasted two seconds.

It lasted four.

Maybe five.

Both noticed.

Neither released immediately.

There was no microphone now.

No laughing audience.

No game.

Just a table between them, a quiet lounge, and the strange realization that this ridiculous rematch felt suspiciously like the beginning of something.

Tessa finally withdrew her hand.

“Where?”

“My restaurant.”

“Private room?”

“Yes.”

“Dinner?”

Adriano paused.

“If you want.”

Tessa’s smile changed.

“Oh. This is becoming very interesting.”

“Tessa.”

“One man. One woman. Dinner. Private room. Questions about our interests.”

His eyes narrowed.

She smiled sweetly.

“Adriano Russo, did you just ask me on a date and disguise it as competitive trivia?”

“No.”

The answer came instantly.

Far too instantly.

Tessa laughed.

“I think you did.”

“I asked for a rematch.”

“A private rematch.”

“Yes.”

“With dinner.”

“Dinner is optional.”

“Now you are taking dinner away because I noticed.”

Adriano stared at her.

She was enjoying herself again.

Of course she was.

He stepped closer.

Her smile faded by half.

Not fear.

Awareness.

His voice dropped.

“Come tomorrow night.”

Tessa looked up at him.

He continued.

“Beat me again.”

There it was.

Challenge.

Direct.

Confident.

And beneath it, something else.

Something Tessa suddenly wanted to investigate.

She smiled.

“I intend to.”

“Good.”

He turned and walked toward the exit.

Luca followed.

Before Adriano reached the door, he stopped and looked back.

Tessa was still standing there.

He looked at her, then at the trivia cards.

“One more thing.”

She waited.

His expression remained perfectly serious.

“Study.”

Then he left.

The door closed.

Three seconds passed.

Tessa burst out laughing.

The bartender looked over.

“What?”

Tessa picked up the ABBA card, stared at it, and smiled toward the door.

“Nothing,” she said.

Then, after a beat, “Apparently, I have a date tomorrow with the man who thinks it is not a date.”

At 7:45 the next evening, Tessa Monroe stood outside Adriano Russo’s restaurant and began to suspect she had misunderstood the phrase private rematch.

This was not a cozy back room with folding chairs and a stack of trivia cards.

This was one of those restaurants where the entrance alone made a person wonder whether her shoes were expensive enough.

Dark marble.

Soft gold lighting.

White linen.

A hostess desk designed by someone with strong feelings about intimidation.

Behind the glass, four employees were already looking directly at her.

She checked the time.

Fifteen minutes early.

Perfect.

She had arrived early on purpose.

She wanted one tiny advantage.

She wanted to see Adriano before he saw her.

She wanted to observe the battlefield, study the opponent, and perhaps locate an emergency exit in case he had spent twenty-four hours learning the entire history of Scandinavian pop music.

She opened the door.

The hostess smiled immediately.

“Miss Monroe.”

Tessa stopped.

She had not given her name.

Interesting.

Then she remembered whose restaurant this was.

Of course Adriano probably had spreadsheets for oxygen.

The hostess guided her through the main dining room.

Tessa followed, taking everything in.

The restaurant was elegant without being gaudy.

Quiet without being stiff.

Tables arranged with obsessive precision.

Staff moving smoothly.

No chaos.

No unnecessary noise.

No misplaced objects.

Tessa smiled.

Of course this place belonged to Adriano.

It was basically his personality with candles.

The private dining room doors opened.

Tessa stopped again.

Adriano was already there.

Of course he was.

Dark suit.

No tie.

White shirt open at the collar.

One hand resting on the back of a chair.

The other holding a stack of index cards.

Tessa looked at the cards.

Then him.

Then the cards again.

He had made study materials.

Her smile appeared instantly.

Adriano saw it.

“No.”

“I have not said anything.”

“You are about to.”

“I was going to compliment your preparation.”

“No, you were not.”

She walked closer.

“Are those color-coded?”

Adriano said nothing.

They were color-coded.

History.

Geography.

Entertainment.

Food.

Science.

Arts.

General knowledge.

Tessa looked up slowly.

“You made categories.”

“Yes.”

“You made actual category cards.”

“Yes.”

“With colors.”

“They are easier to organize.”

Tessa covered her mouth.

“You are laughing.”

“I am trying not to.”

“Poorly.”

“Adriano,” she said, “this is adorable.”

That word stopped him completely.

Tessa noticed.

Oh, interesting.

The mafia boss could survive public humiliation, but apparently adorable was unacceptable.

She filed that information away immediately.

“This is not adorable,” he said.

“Of course not. It is preparation. Very masculine.”

His jaw tightened.

This was going to be fun.

The room contained one table, two chairs, two buzzers, water, wine, dinner menus, a small scoreboard, and Luca Ferraro near the wall.

Tessa pointed at him.

“You are scoring?”

Adriano answered first.

“Yes.”

“He works for you.”

“He is impartial.”

She turned to Luca.

“Are you?”

Luca paused.

A dangerous pause.

Adriano watched.

Luca finally said, “I intend to follow the rules.”

Tessa smiled.

“That was not the question.”

Adriano exhaled through his nose.

Luca’s mouth almost moved.

Tessa caught it.

“See? He is already on my side.”

“He is not.”

Luca wisely said nothing.

Dinner arrived first.

Only two place settings sat at the table.

Luca vanished discreetly to a side table with the score sheets.

Soft music played.

Candles burned.

No audience.

No Bianca.

No staff hovering.

Tessa looked around, then at Adriano.

“This is dangerously close to a date.”

“It is dinner before an activity.”

“Yes. In a private room.”

“Yes.”

“With candles.”

“They belong to the restaurant.”

“Excellent defense.”

Adriano ignored her.

The first twenty minutes were unexpectedly easy.

Not trivia.

Dinner.

They talked about harmless things.

Tessa’s work.

The restaurant.

Why Adriano chose certain locations.

Why Tessa preferred live events over television.

Nothing deeply personal.

Nothing dangerous.

But without an audience, Adriano was different.

Still reserved.

Still controlled.

But he listened.

Really listened.

Not the polite half-attention wealthy men used while waiting for their turn to speak.

He remembered details from the previous night.

He asked why she had started hosting trivia.

He remembered the name of her first venue.

He even remembered that she hated overcomplicated scoring systems.

Tessa noticed everything naturally, and she began wondering whether Adriano’s reputation made people so nervous around him that nobody stayed long enough to discover he was actually interesting.

That thought was inconvenient.

So she changed the subject to dessert.

Much safer.

Then the rematch began.

Adriano transformed instantly.

One moment he was a surprisingly pleasant dinner companion.

The next, he looked like a man entering war council.

He sat straighter.

Placed both hands near the buzzer.

Looked at her.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Try not to cry.”

Adriano stared.

Luca looked down at the score sheet and showed no reaction.

Professional heroism.

Round one was history.

Tessa knew immediately she had made a tactical error.

Adriano was monstrous.

Not figuratively.

Academically.

The first question involved nineteenth-century European alliances.

He answered before she finished processing it.

Correct.

Ancient empire.

Correct.

Political revolution.

Correct.

Historical treaty.

Correct.

Tessa looked at Luca.

“He is annoying.”

Luca kept writing.

Adriano smiled faintly.

By question ten, Adriano had eight.

Tessa had two.

He leaned back, pleased.

She hated that.

Not truly.

But enough.

Round two was entertainment.

Adriano’s confidence vanished so quickly she almost felt guilty.

Almost.

Classic romantic comedy.

Wrong.

Television theme song.

Wrong.

Famous pop duet.

Wrong.

Tessa buzzed.

Correct.

Adriano looked at her.

She smiled.

When he missed a question about an animated film, she leaned forward.

“Would you like water?”

His stare sharpened.

Luca wrote something.

Tessa leaned sideways.

“What did he write?”

“Score,” Adriano said.

“Are you sure?”

Luca looked at her.

“Yes.”

She remained suspicious.

Round three was geography.

Adriano recovered.

Round four was food.

Tessa destroyed him.

This became deeply satisfying because Adriano owned restaurants.

French pastry terminology.

Tessa.

Regional Italian dessert.

Adriano.

Spice origins.

Tessa.

Coffee preparation.

Adriano.

Then came breakfast cereal mascots.

Adriano stared as if the category had betrayed civilization.

Tessa answered instantly.

Correct.

He looked genuinely offended.

“Food is food,” she said.

“That is advertising.”

“It was under food.”

“It should not be.”

“Would you like to file a complaint?”

“Yes.”

Luca lowered his head slightly.

Tessa suspected another hidden smile.

After six categories, the score was tied.

Tessa had expected a close match.

She had not expected to enjoy watching Adriano become more animated with every round.

Never loudly.

Never carelessly.

But his competitive edge kept breaking through.

He challenged wording.

Requested clarification.

Muttered under his breath when she beat him.

Every time she caught him doing it, she enjoyed herself more.

The terrifying Adriano Russo reduced to arguing over whether a trivia question about a fruit technically counted as botany.

Wonderful.

Then came arts.

Tessa won three consecutive questions.

Adriano became suspicious.

“You know Renaissance painting?”

Tessa stared.

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly.

She waited.

“That surprised you.”

“No.”

“Your face just conducted an investigation.”

“I thought you would be strongest in entertainment.”

“I am. And food. I eat.”

His mouth twitched.

She pointed at him.

“There. Judgment.”

“There was no judgment.”

“You looked impressed.”

“That is not judgment.”

“Close enough.”

Then she beat him on Caravaggio.

Adriano stared.

“Would you like emotional support?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed.

She was having the best evening.

By the last category, Luca announced the score.

“Adriano, forty-one. Tessa, forty-one.”

One round remained.

General knowledge.

Tessa’s favorite.

Adriano’s strongest all-around category.

Neither smiled.

This was serious.

Ridiculously serious.

Exactly how they liked it.

Question one went to Tessa.

Question two to Adriano.

Three to Adriano.

Four to Tessa.

Five was almost simultaneous.

Luca awarded Adriano the point.

Tessa accused the security chief of corruption.

Luca remained calm.

Question six went to Tessa.

Seven to Tessa.

Eight to Adriano.

Nine to Adriano.

One question remained.

Forty-six to forty-six.

Tessa leaned forward.

Adriano did the same.

Luca turned over the final card.

“A standard deck of playing cards contains how many face cards?”

Both buzzers sounded.

Adriano answered first.

“Twelve.”

“Correct,” Luca said.

Tessa sat back.

Adriano’s expression changed.

Victory.

At last, he had beaten her.

By one tiny, glorious point.

She looked at the scoreboard, then at him.

“Congratulations.”

He waited.

She took a breath.

“You have successfully proven that with twenty-four hours of preparation, an expensive private restaurant, an employee scoring the match, and the psychological trauma of public defeat motivating you, you can beat me by one point.”

Adriano stared.

Luca looked away.

Tessa smiled.

His victory suddenly felt less clean.

Still a victory.

Technically.

Completely.

Emotionally.

Adriano folded his arms.

“Yes.”

Tessa laughed.

Then she remembered their deal.

The winner chose the next location.

Adriano looked satisfied.

Almost too satisfied.

Tessa stood.

“Fine. You won. So you choose the next location.”

His satisfaction deepened.

“But you did not win the right to change the rules.”

His gaze narrowed.

“What rules?”

“The next rematch is public.”

Adriano paused.

Tessa smiled.

“Neighborhood pub. No private room. No special menu. No employees who call you sir. No controlled environment. Crowded room. Normal people. Cheap fries. Questionable acoustics.”

Adriano looked as though she had proposed trench warfare.

“You’re scared,” she said.

“No.”

“You look scared.”

“I do not.”

“Thursday. Eight.”

He considered.

Then nodded.

Of course he would go.

Losing would be unbearable.

Refusing would be worse.

By Tuesday evening, Adriano Russo had developed a problem.

The problem was not Tessa.

He refused to define it that way.

The problem was statistical.

He had identified weakness in entertainment, popular culture, contemporary music, television, childhood games, and certain areas of food.

Basically, anything normal people had enjoyed while he was apparently busy becoming competent.

This could be corrected.

So at 11:23 on Tuesday night, Luca entered Adriano’s private office and found one of the most intimidating men in Chicago reading a guide to 1980s and 1990s pop culture.

Luca stopped.

Adriano looked up.

Silence stretched.

Adriano closed the book slowly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have a face.”

“I have always had one.”

Adriano narrowed his eyes.

Luca placed work documents on the desk.

Adriano signed one, then asked far too casually, “Who performed Take On Me?”

“A-ha,” Luca answered immediately.

Adriano stopped signing.

“You knew that?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Luca hesitated.

“I have heard music.”

Adriano looked offended.

Not personally.

Historically.

Apparently the entire world had participated in culture without consulting him.

Wednesday became worse.

Bianca entered his office without knocking, saw the flashcards, and screamed with delight.

Adriano reached for them.

Too late.

She grabbed one and read aloud.

“Members of ABBA.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Then came the laughter.

Cruel sibling laughter.

“Give me that.”

“You made an ABBA card.”

“Bianca.”

She took out her phone.

Adriano moved faster.

She took the picture faster.

Sent.

He stopped.

Family group chat.

Irreversible.

Within thirty seconds, their grandmother replied with laughing emojis and a dancing woman.

His mother wrote, Ask him if he knows Mamma Mia now.

A cousin added, Second place changed him.

Adriano took Bianca’s phone.

She did not care.

The damage was done.

Thursday arrived.

Adriano reached the neighborhood pub at 7:56.

Four minutes early.

Tessa was already there.

For a moment, he almost did not recognize her.

Not because she looked different.

Because she looked comfortable.

No red satin dress.

No formal stage styling.

Dark jeans.

Soft green blouse.

Gold hoops.

Hair loose over her shoulders.

She sat at a high table near the front, laughing with the bartender.

Adriano stopped.

For one moment, the crowded pub disappeared.

Then Tessa looked toward the entrance, saw him, and her face brightened.

Something inside him settled.

That was new.

He did not examine it.

Yet.

The pub was exactly as promised.

Crowded.

Loud.

Warm.

Tables packed close.

Chalkboard menu.

Sports memorabilia.

Three televisions.

A trivia stage barely large enough for one person.

No VIP section.

No private room.

No quiet corner.

Tessa approached.

“You came.”

“You doubted me?”

“I thought there was a thirty percent chance you would buy the pub first.”

Adriano stared.

She grinned.

“Forty.”

He almost smiled.

Luca remained near the bar, discreet, without an obvious security cordon.

Tessa noticed.

That mattered.

She had chosen somewhere Adriano could not control.

Not to embarrass him.

To see whether he could exist outside his carefully managed world.

He could.

Barely.

But he was trying.

That counted.

Then Owen Parker arrived.

Tall.

Blond.

Easy smile.

A professor.

A regular trivia monster.

Friendly in a way that made him difficult to dislike.

He hugged Tessa.

Adriano’s eyes went to the hug and stayed there two seconds too long.

Tessa noticed.

Of course she did.

Her internal amusement increased.

Owen greeted Adriano with no fear and no awkwardness.

Adriano respected that.

Unfortunately, Owen being pleasant made him worse.

Teams formed.

Tessa was hosting, not competing.

That meant Adriano’s real opponent became Owen.

Good.

He could work with that.

Tessa noticed the change immediately.

Adriano sat straighter.

His attention sharpened.

Across the room, Owen smiled.

This had become a duel.

The rest of the pub had no idea.

Tessa knew.

She was delighted.

Round one was geography.

Adriano dominated.

Round two was movies.

He performed much better than before.

A romantic comedy question came up.

Adriano answered correctly.

Tessa’s eyebrows rose.

He looked at her.

She smiled slowly.

He had studied.

The man had actually studied.

Next came a 1990s pop song.

Adriano buzzed.

Correct.

Tessa looked at him.

He leaned back, triumphant.

She shook her head.

He had become dangerous.

During a break, she asked Owen to help open a bottle of sparkling water.

Completely unnecessary.

Adriano saw.

His expression changed by half a degree.

Tessa nearly laughed.

Owen opened it and handed it back.

Tessa thanked him and looked casually toward Adriano.

He was already looking at her.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The next round began.

Adriano became merciless.

Question one.

Buzz.

Correct.

Question two.

Buzz.

Correct.

Owen answered the third.

Adriano the fourth.

Owen the fifth.

By question six, the whole room sensed something.

Players began watching both men.

Tessa stood between them, trying not to smile.

Adriano buzzed before she finished reading.

“Let me finish,” she said.

“I know the answer.”

“That is not how hosting works.”

“It is when the answer is obvious.”

“Mr. Russo, if you continue interrupting the host, I will deduct points.”

The room laughed.

Adriano stopped.

Tessa smiled.

Power was a delightful thing.

Eventually, Adriano won the round.

Not the whole night.

Just the round.

But he looked as if he had secured a diplomatic victory.

He glanced toward Owen.

Owen lifted his glass.

Tessa walked past Adriano’s table.

“You seem pleased.”

“Yes.”

“Because you beat Owen?”

“Because I answered correctly.”

“Of course.”

She kept walking.

Adriano watched.

Tessa knew.

Later, Owen touched Tessa’s elbow while telling her something perfectly innocent.

Adriano saw again.

Tessa had never found jealousy charming.

Usually it was loud, possessive, and immature.

Adriano’s jealousy was different.

It manifested as increased competence.

He became better at trivia.

It was ridiculous and attractive.

A terrible combination.

Final round.

Adriano and Owen’s teams tied.

Of course.

Tessa announced a rapid-fire challenge.

Three questions.

Best of three.

First question went to Adriano.

Second to Owen.

Third was literature.

Both knew it.

Tessa read.

Adriano buzzed a fraction earlier.

Correct.

The pub erupted.

Adriano stood.

Owen shook his hand.

Good sportsmanship.

Annoying.

Then Owen turned to Tessa.

“Drinks after?”

Adriano heard.

Tessa saw him hear.

There.

Interesting.

She considered Owen’s invitation just long enough.

Then she glanced at Adriano.

He looked away.

Too late.

Tessa smiled and told Owen maybe another time.

Owen accepted easily and left.

Adriano pretended not to have listened.

Tessa walked toward him.

“Congratulations. You survived public trivia.”

“I won.”

“You won one evening.”

“A win is a win.”

“Against Owen,” she said. “Not me.”

His satisfaction vanished.

Exactly as intended.

Her smile became wicked.

Adriano realized too late that she had baited him again.

The woman was dangerous, not because she intimidated him, but because she made being manipulated enjoyable.

They scheduled another rematch for Saturday.

This time, Tessa chose a bookstore cafe after closing.

Quiet.

Warm.

Neutral.

She added one new rule.

The loser would answer one personal question.

Adriano became suspicious immediately.

“What kind of question?”

“Personal.”

“That is not specific.”

“Exactly.”

“No.”

Tessa smiled.

“Scared?”

There it was.

The weapon.

His pride.

His jaw tightened.

“Fine.”

Tessa smiled wider.

Adriano understood something important.

He was no longer simply trying to beat her.

He was trying to survive her.

The distinction was becoming dangerously small.

The bookstore cafe was closed when they arrived.

Dim lights glowed between tall shelves.

Two coffees waited on a small table.

A plate of pastries sat between two buzzers.

No Luca.

Tessa had refused.

Neutrality mattered.

They used an electronic scoring app.

Adriano distrusted it.

Naturally.

Tessa accused him of preferring employees because they were easier to intimidate.

He said Luca could not be intimidated.

Tessa said Luca had spent two evenings avoiding eye contact whenever he laughed.

Adriano had no answer.

Point to Tessa before trivia began.

The bookstore changed everything.

No family.

No crowd.

No staff.

No security close enough to hear.

Just them.

The questions felt more intimate from the start.

Tessa had prepared categories.

Childhood games.

Music.

Architecture.

Food.

World history.

Books.

Travel.

Odd facts.

Adriano looked at architecture.

“You like architecture?”

“How do you know?”

“You own buildings.”

“That does not mean I like architecture.”

“You looked at the exposed beams in the pub for forty seconds.”

He remembered doing that.

She had noticed.

Interesting.

Tessa always noticed.

The game stayed close.

Architecture went to Adriano.

Books to Tessa.

World history to Adriano.

Music became a tie.

Yes.

Music.

Adriano had improved dramatically.

When he correctly named all four ABBA members, Tessa lowered the card and stared at him.

“You studied.”

“No. I reviewed.”

“That is studying.”

“Different.”

“Explain.”

He could not.

She laughed.

Then she asked a children’s cartoon question.

Adriano answered correctly.

Tessa stared.

“You watched it?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

“Research.”

“You did homework for me.”

“For the competition.”

“For me.”

“For the competition.”

She smiled.

He refused to.

Mostly.

Tessa won by two.

The personal question waited between them.

Adriano prepared himself.

She could ask anything.

Family.

Business.

Reputation.

Past relationships.

The things people whispered about him.

Tessa leaned back and asked, “What did you want to be when you were ten?”

Adriano stopped completely.

That was not what he expected.

He had prepared for intrusion.

Instead, she offered curiosity.

Simple.

Human.

His expression shifted.

He looked past her toward the shelves.

“An architect.”

Tessa smiled, not teasing.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He had loved drawing buildings.

Floor plans.

Bridges.

Structures.

Things that made sense.

Things where every line had purpose.

His grandfather had once given him a drafting set.

He kept it for years.

Then life changed.

Responsibilities changed.

The answer remained brief, but it was more personal than he usually allowed anyone.

Tessa did not push.

That mattered too.

She simply nodded.

“Architecture makes sense for you.”

“Why?”

“You like knowing where everything belongs.”

That startled him because it was accurate.

Very.

Then she smiled slightly.

“Also, you judge ceilings.”

He almost laughed.

There she was.

Emotion rescued by humor.

He appreciated that more than he expected.

The rematches became a pattern.

Then a habit.

Then something neither named.

Bookstore.

Hotel lounge.

Late-night cafe.

Restaurant after closing.

A twenty-four-hour diner with terrible coffee and a flickering neon sign.

He complained for ten minutes and stayed for three hours.

A rooftop terrace where she accused him of trying to distract her with city views.

He denied it.

She lost anyway.

He considered that evidence.

Rules evolved.

Loser bought dessert.

Winner chose the next category.

Lightning rounds.

Five questions written specifically for the other person.

Those became dangerously personal.

Tessa asked about his favorite childhood books.

Adriano asked what song she played when she needed confidence.

Tessa asked his worst habit.

He said overwork.

She said that was not funny enough.

He admitted he reorganized other people’s desks.

She laughed for almost a minute.

Apparently, Adriano Russo could not walk past a crooked stack of paper.

One evening, they both reached for the buzzer.

Their hands collided.

Neither moved.

Tessa’s fingers were beneath his.

Adriano looked down.

Then up.

Their eyes met.

Suddenly, the question disappeared.

The table disappeared.

The room felt smaller.

His thumb moved slightly against her hand.

Maybe not intentionally.

Maybe.

Neither pulled away.

Then Luca entered carrying a security schedule.

He stopped.

Saw their hands.

Paused.

Tessa laughed instantly.

Adriano withdrew his hand.

Luca looked as if he wanted the floor to open.

“Bad timing,” he said.

Adriano’s stare answered for him.

Luca delivered the schedule in four seconds and left.

Tessa watched the door close.

“He is going to start knocking from the parking lot.”

Adriano rubbed one hand across his jaw.

The almost moment remained between them.

Neither mentioned it.

Both thought about it later.

Then Bianca discovered the private rematch schedule.

Catastrophe followed.

She and their grandmother formed an alliance.

Neither had been invited.

That did not matter.

One evening, Tessa arrived at Adriano’s restaurant to find a sealed envelope on her seat.

Her name was written on the front.

She opened it.

Inside were cards labeled Confidential Russo Family Trivia.

Her eyes widened.

Adriano saw immediately.

“What is that?”

She looked at him.

Then the envelope.

Then smiled.

His instincts activated.

“No.”

“I have not even read it.”

“I know my family.”

She laughed and read the first card.

“What food did Adriano refuse to eat from age six to fourteen because he believed the texture was suspicious?”

Tessa covered her mouth.

Adriano closed his eyes.

“No.”

“Eggplant?”

Silence.

Her eyes widened.

“Eggplant.”

Adriano looked toward the ceiling.

Tessa laughed so hard she nearly dropped the card.

Apparently eleven-year-old Adriano had once declared eggplant structurally dishonest.

That phrase became instant legend.

Next question.

What instrument had Adriano played as a child?

Tessa guessed piano.

Wrong.

Violin.

Wrong.

She read the answer.

Accordion.

Silence.

Tessa stared.

Adriano looked murderous.

Not at her.

At his family.

She slowly put down the card, then failed.

Laughter burst out.

“Accordion?”

“I was eight.”

“This is the best day of my life.”

“It lasted six months.”

“Six months is a career.”

He reached for the envelope.

Tessa protected it with her whole body.

“No chance.”

Next card.

Childhood nickname.

She stopped when she read it.

“No.”

His expression hardened.

“Oh, this is good.”

“Tessa.”

“Addie.”

He stood.

She backed around the table.

“Addie.”

“I was five.”

She laughed and moved farther away.

The trivia rematch became chase and confiscate.

Tessa darted behind a chair.

Adriano circled.

She held the cards against her chest.

“No intimidation of the host.”

“You are not hosting.”

“I am always the host.”

He moved left.

She moved right.

Both smiling now.

Neither remotely interested in trivia.

Finally, Adriano caught her gently around the waist as she tried to escape past him.

Tessa stopped.

His arm was around her.

Her back against his chest.

The envelope trapped between them.

Laughter faded slowly.

She looked over her shoulder.

He looked down.

Close.

Very close.

He could have taken the cards.

He did not.

Her breathing changed.

So did his.

For one moment, the ridiculous accordion vanished.

Then Tessa whispered, “Still want the envelope?”

Adriano looked at her mouth.

“Yes.”

She smiled.

“Liar.”

That was dangerous.

He released her slowly.

She returned to the table.

Neither mentioned the moment.

Both felt it.

Later, Tessa won the actual rematch.

Her personal question mattered.

She looked across the table.

Adriano knew immediately.

“Why do you keep coming back?”

Silence.

He leaned back.

Tessa waited.

No joke.

No smile.

“You have already beaten me,” she said gently. “I have beaten you. Nobody is keeping a championship record.”

Adriano looked at her.

She was right.

The competition no longer required resolution.

Still he kept asking.

Another match.

Another dinner.

Another evening.

Another reason.

He could have answered with pride.

Habit.

Curiosity.

Instead, for perhaps the first time, he had no prepared answer.

Tessa noticed.

That was more revealing than words.

“I dislike unfinished things,” he said.

Her smile deepened.

“That is not the answer.”

No.

It was not.

And they both knew it.

The question remained between them unanswered.

Waiting.

Bianca Russo did not believe in waiting.

This became obvious when she invited Tessa to family dinner without telling Adriano.

Tessa arrived at the Russo residence carrying dessert.

Adriano came downstairs, saw her standing beside his grandmother, and stopped.

Tessa smiled.

“Surprise.”

He looked at Bianca.

Bianca looked at the ceiling.

Apparently avoiding eye contact had become a Russo family defense strategy.

“What is she doing here?”

Tessa gasped theatrically.

His grandmother slapped his arm.

“Hospitality.”

Adriano rubbed the spot.

Tessa tried not to laugh.

Failed.

Family dinner was loud.

Very loud.

Tessa loved it.

Adriano’s public world was controlled, quiet, precise.

His family was the opposite.

People interrupted.

Argued.

Passed bread over conversations.

Three discussions happened at once.

Someone accused someone else of changing a recipe.

Bianca stole food from Adriano’s plate.

He objected.

Nobody cared.

Tessa watched him inside the chaos and saw another version.

Softer.

Still serious.

Comfortable.

He remembered what everyone liked.

He passed his grandmother a dish before she asked.

He moved a hot serving tray away from Bianca’s sleeve.

He checked whether his mother needed anything.

Small things.

Automatic things.

Tessa noticed all of them.

Then his grandmother announced family trivia.

Adriano said no.

Nobody listened.

Tessa was handed a microphone.

Where it came from, nobody knew.

This family apparently kept entertainment equipment available for emergencies.

Teams formed.

Adriano and Tessa together.

Bianca complained.

His grandmother said romance would reduce their performance.

Silence.

Tessa’s mouth opened.

Adriano nearly dropped his glass.

Bianca began laughing.

“Romance?” Tessa asked.

His grandmother looked innocent.

“Did I say something?”

Adriano closed his eyes.

Tessa smiled.

Interesting.

Family trivia became chaos.

Who was late to Bianca’s high school graduation?

Everyone pointed at Adriano.

He protested that work delayed him.

Nobody cared.

Who once broke a window playing indoor baseball?

Bianca accused a cousin.

Wrong.

Adriano knew.

Correct.

Tessa stared.

“How do you remember everything?”

“I pay attention.”

That phrase landed because Tessa knew he did.

Especially with her.

Then came a question about Bianca’s favorite television show.

Adriano guessed wrong.

Bianca looked betrayed.

Tessa answered correctly.

Adriano turned.

“How?”

“She told me Tuesday.”

“You speak to my sister?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

Bianca smiled.

“Enough.”

Adriano had lost control of his own family network.

Tessa looked delighted.

At one point, Tessa stole an olive from Adriano’s plate.

Without asking.

The entire table noticed.

Not because of the olive.

Because very few people casually reached onto Adriano Russo’s plate.

Adriano looked down.

Then at Tessa.

She chewed and waited.

He said nothing.

Instead, he pushed the whole olive dish toward her.

Conversation resumed, but everyone had seen.

The gesture was small.

Intimate.

Domestic.

Strangely more telling than a kiss would have been.

Tessa felt it too.

For once, she had no joke.

The next weekend, Tessa hosted a major charity trivia championship.

A packed ballroom.

Multiple teams.

Sponsors.

Press.

A real production.

Adriano said he might not attend because of work meetings.

Tessa pretended that did not disappoint her.

She failed privately.

Ten minutes before the start, he entered in a dark suit with Luca behind him.

Tessa saw him from the stage.

Her smile happened before she could stop it.

Adriano saw.

That made the trip worthwhile.

Owen was competing again.

Adriano accepted this poorly.

Owen greeted Tessa with a hug.

Adriano watched.

Bianca appeared beside him and whispered something about structural integrity.

He ignored her.

The event was beautiful.

Tessa was sharp.

Funny.

In command.

Adriano found himself watching her more than the questions.

How she handled the room.

How she remembered team names.

How she made losing feel fun.

How she teased without humiliating.

How people trusted her.

He understood something then.

Tessa’s talent was not simply knowing facts.

It was people.

She connected rooms.

He commanded them.

Those were very different skills.

Possibly hers was harder.

After the final round, Owen approached and asked Tessa whether she wanted drinks.

Simple.

Friendly.

Possibly romantic.

Adriano heard.

Tessa saw the tiny tightening in his jaw.

The controlled stillness.

She found it absurdly satisfying.

Then felt slightly guilty.

She told Owen she was not sure.

He smiled and walked away.

Adriano remained across the room.

Something had shifted.

If Adriano cared enough to be jealous, their unanswered question was becoming harder to ignore.

The universe immediately balanced the situation.

Camille DeMarco arrived.

Elegant.

Beautiful.

An old family acquaintance.

She greeted Adriano warmly.

Too warmly for Tessa’s emotional stability.

A kiss on the cheek.

A hand on his shoulder.

A laugh too close.

Tessa watched from the stage and looked down at the next card.

Suddenly, the difficulty increased.

Significantly.

She directed an obscure question toward Adriano’s section.

He answered correctly.

She asked another.

Correct.

Third.

Correct.

Her eyes narrowed.

His mouth curved.

Oh.

He knew.

He knew exactly what she was doing.

That made it worse.

During the break, Adriano approached.

Tessa rearranged cards that did not need rearranging.

“You are changing the questions.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I have hundreds.”

“You chose three of the hardest.”

“Congratulations on surviving.”

He stepped closer.

Her pulse changed.

“You are jealous.”

“No.”

He raised one eyebrow.

Tessa hated that eyebrow.

“I am not.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“That sounded familiar.”

She remembered all the times he had denied jealousy.

She narrowed her eyes.

Adriano looked pleased.

This was unacceptable.

Later, the ballroom emptied.

Staff cleared glasses.

Tessa packed her equipment.

Adriano remained.

She knew.

She pretended not to.

Finally, he approached.

“You never answered Owen.”

“Excuse me?”

“Drinks.”

She smiled slowly.

“You were listening.”

“I was nearby.”

“You were across the ballroom.”

Adriano said nothing.

Tessa folded her arms.

“Camille seemed nice.”

“She is very friendly.”

“Yes. Very touchy.”

Adriano’s mouth almost moved.

Tessa saw.

“Do not smile.”

“I was not.”

“You are now.”

He definitely was.

The argument became absurd.

Owen hugged her.

Camille touched his arm.

Owen asked her out.

Camille laughed too close.

Owen was friendly.

Camille was friendly.

Neither was jealous.

Both were lying spectacularly.

At one point, Tessa backed against the host table.

Her hand knocked a stack of trivia cards.

They scattered across the floor.

Neither looked down.

Adriano stood close now.

Very close.

The argument slowed.

His gaze dropped toward her mouth.

She noticed.

Every teasing reply disappeared.

He reached beside her and picked up one fallen card from the table edge.

Tessa looked at it, then him.

Her voice softened.

“Another question?”

“Yes.”

The room felt completely still.

Tessa looked directly into his eyes.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Adriano did not hesitate.

“Yes.”

Then finally, he did.

No audience.

No buzzer.

No score.

Just his hand settling at her waist.

Her fingers catching the front of his jacket.

Weeks of competitive tension becoming something simpler.

The courage to start.

Almost careful at first.

Then Tessa moved closer.

His other hand touched her cheek.

The cards beneath their shoes ceased to matter.

Trivia ceased to matter.

When they separated, Tessa looked up, breathing slightly harder.

Adriano’s forehead almost touched hers.

She smiled.

“That was correct.”

He laughed.

Quiet.

Warm.

Real.

Tessa kissed him again.

Correct answers deserved bonus points.

The problem with kissing Adriano Russo, Tessa discovered, was that it made trivia significantly less efficient.

Private rematches continued technically.

New forms of cheating developed.

Adriano distracted her by leaning closer.

Tessa retaliated by touching his wrist before questions.

He accused her of interfering with a contestant.

She reminded him there were only two contestants.

He said that made interference worse.

She usually disagreed by kissing him again.

Scoring integrity deteriorated rapidly.

Neither cared.

Their relationship remained unnamed for about a week.

This fooled nobody.

Bianca called Tessa Adriano’s girlfriend.

Adriano corrected her.

Tessa looked at him.

He immediately reconsidered.

“Not because I object.”

Bianca stared.

Tessa smiled.

Adriano realized he had walked into another trap.

Eventually, they stopped pretending.

Tessa was his girlfriend.

Adriano was her private trivia opponent.

He stared when she said it.

She laughed and kissed him.

Adriano became a regular at her trivia nights.

Not every night.

He had work, responsibilities, and a life larger than the lounge.

But often enough that regular teams began recognizing him.

People stopped becoming quite so tense around him because Tessa treated him exactly like everyone else.

Especially when he was wrong.

Perhaps more when he was wrong.

One night, he missed a question about a famous cartoon rabbit.

Tessa announced his failure with unnecessary enthusiasm.

The room laughed.

Adriano looked at her.

She blew him a kiss from the stage.

His expression softened immediately.

The audience reacted louder.

Adriano regretted becoming publicly approachable.

Tessa loved it.

He began sending her trivia questions during the day.

At first, they were serious.

History.

Geography.

World facts.

Then the nonsense began.

At 9:12 one morning, he asked which country consumed the most coffee per capita.

Tessa answered correctly.

At 11:30, he asked the year of the first modern Olympic Games.

Correct again.

At 2:15, Tessa retaliated.

Which fictional bear wears a red shirt and no pants?

Adriano did not answer for seven minutes.

She smiled at her phone.

Eventually, he replied.

Winnie the Pooh.

Tessa answered, You searched that.

He denied it.

She did not believe him.

Their private games became less about winning.

Sometimes they barely finished two rounds.

They talked instead.

Tessa learned Adriano loved old jazz.

He woke absurdly early.

He hated sweet wine.

He secretly enjoyed cooking, though he was overly precise about it.

Adriano learned Tessa sang badly while cleaning despite having an excellent voice when she tried.

She loved lemon cake.

She collected unusual postcards.

She called her mother every Sunday.

She hated being underestimated.

He understood that last one deeply.

One evening, Tessa mentioned her career plans casually.

Bigger events.

A regional live trivia series.

Multiple venues.

Maybe streaming.

Sponsors.

Travel.

Something larger than one recurring night.

Adriano immediately began solving.

Venues.

Management.

Contacts.

Marketing.

Financing.

He could secure three locations before morning.

Tessa’s smile disappeared.

Adriano noticed and stopped.

She was not angry.

Just careful.

She appreciated his instinct.

But she did not want to become one of Adriano’s projects.

She had spent years building this.

She wanted support, not takeover.

That distinction mattered.

Adriano listened.

Really listened.

His first instinct had been to fix, provide, remove obstacles.

That was how he cared for people.

But Tessa did not need every obstacle removed.

She needed someone beside her while she climbed.

So he asked one question.

“What do you need from me?”

Her expression softened.

“Feedback. Connections if I ask. A second opinion on contracts. And someone who will tell me when an idea is terrible.”

“I can definitely do that.”

She threw a napkin at him.

He smiled.

Two weeks later, the opportunity arrived.

A national event company wanted Tessa for a traveling trivia series.

Six cities.

Three months.

Major exposure.

Excellent money.

Exactly the kind of thing she had worked toward.

She should have been thrilled.

She was.

Mostly.

Then she thought about Adriano.

That complicated joy sat inside her chest.

She told him over dinner.

Adriano listened.

He asked about schedules, cities, dates, contracts.

Then he congratulated her sincerely.

Tessa watched him.

No demand.

No attempt to change her mind.

No offer to buy the company.

Progress.

But something behind his eyes changed.

He was happy for her.

He was also already calculating absence.

The next few days became gentle in a way that hurt.

No melodrama.

No dramatic breakup.

Just awareness.

Three months was not forever.

They could call.

Visit.

Travel.

Adriano had access to aircraft, cars, hotels, schedules.

Logistically, distance meant almost nothing.

Emotionally, it meant more.

Their relationship was new.

Built around stolen evenings, rematches, family dinners, trivia nights.

What happened when Tessa was not five miles away?

Neither knew.

Their final private rematch before she signed the contract happened at the bookstore cafe.

The same place as their first personal question game.

Tessa chose it intentionally.

Two coffees.

One pastry.

Two buzzers.

Neither was especially competitive that night.

Adriano answered slowly.

Tessa missed questions she knew.

Eventually, she laughed.

“This is terrible.”

“Yes,” he said. “We are distracted.”

“Should we stop?”

He considered.

“No.”

“Of course.”

They continued.

Adriano won the final round.

His personal question could have been anything.

Are you going?

Do you want me to come?

Will this change us?

Instead, he asked, “Are you happy?”

Tessa stopped.

That question went deeper.

She thought carefully.

Yes.

She was happy with her work.

With him.

With what her life was becoming.

She wanted the tour.

She wanted Adriano.

Those things did not need to cancel each other.

She told him that.

Something in him relaxed.

Not completely.

Enough.

Then Tessa won the bonus question.

Her turn.

She asked the question he had avoided weeks ago.

“Why do you keep asking for rematches?”

Adriano looked at her.

No escape now.

At first, he had wanted to win.

That was all.

The private rematch was about correcting an unacceptable result.

Tessa smiled.

That sounded exactly like him.

Then came the second rematch.

He wanted another.

Not because he had lost.

Because he liked dinner.

Liked arguing.

Liked watching her decide questions were unfair based entirely on whether she knew the answer.

Tessa objected quietly.

He ignored her.

By the third rematch, he had realized every game guaranteed time with her.

One hour.

Two hours.

Sometimes three.

So he kept asking.

Another rematch.

Another location.

Another excuse.

He had disguised dating as competition because competition was familiar.

Wanting someone was not.

Tessa became very still.

Adriano continued.

Somewhere along the way, winning stopped mattering.

He had not noticed immediately because Tessa kept score.

She laughed through sudden tears.

That was absolutely something she would do.

Adriano reached across the table and took her hand.

“Take the tour,” he said.

Tessa stared.

He wanted her to go.

Not away from him.

Toward the life she had worked for.

He would figure out the rest with her.

Not decide it for her.

Not control it.

Not solve her career.

Just participate like an actual person.

Tessa’s smile trembled.

“This is annoyingly mature.”

“I can be occasionally.”

“You are ruining my image of you.”

“I will recover.”

She laughed, then kissed him long enough that the bookstore owner waiting near the entrance eventually turned off one additional light.

Neither noticed.

Long-distance dating with Adriano Russo was unusual.

Tessa discovered this during the first week of the tour.

She checked into a Boston hotel room booked by the event company.

When she opened the door, she found a massive suite, city view, flowers, special tea, and a desk arranged perfectly.

She looked at the stationery.

Russo Hospitality Group.

She closed her eyes.

Of course.

Her phone came out immediately.

Adriano answered on the second ring.

She did not say hello.

“You upgraded me.”

“No.”

“You own the hotel.”

“That is unrelated.”

“Adriano.”

Silence.

He had absolutely upgraded her.

She told him to undo it.

He objected.

She insisted.

He argued the room was more secure.

She told him she did not need twelve hundred square feet to answer trivia questions.

They compromised.

She kept the suite because moving at midnight was ridiculous.

No future upgrades without asking.

Adriano agreed.

Mostly.

Tessa knew that word was hiding inside the silence.

Video call trivia became their ritual.

Different cities.

Same competition.

Ten questions each.

Loser answered one personal question.

Sometimes the questions were absurd.

Tessa asked him to identify five reality television shows from descriptions.

Adriano looked betrayed by modern culture.

Another night, he gave her European constitutional history.

She accused him of intellectual violence.

He told her that was not a recognized category.

She said it was now.

Adriano visited whenever possible.

Never with dramatic announcements.

He simply appeared.

Tessa would walk onto a stage in Philadelphia, scan the audience, and find him near the back.

Or she would finish an event in New York, step outside, and see him leaning against a car.

Every time her face changed.

Every time he noticed.

Those visits meant more than gifts.

He could have sent anything.

Instead, he sent himself.

Time.

Presence.

Attention.

Tessa understood exactly what that cost a man whose calendar was treated like military infrastructure.

Three months later, Tessa’s traveling series ended with a championship event back in Chicago.

The biggest audience yet.

Packed venue.

Professional lights.

Sponsors.

Hundreds of people.

Backstage, Tessa looked through the curtain and smiled.

At the front table sat the Russo family.

Bianca.

His grandmother.

His mother.

Luca.

Several cousins.

Owen and his new girlfriend.

And Adriano, in a dark suit, watching the stage and waiting for her.

For one moment, Tessa remembered the first night.

The red dress.

The pointing finger.

The crowd laughing.

Adriano sitting there as if losing had violated a constitutional principle.

She smiled and walked out.

The event was everything she had imagined years ago.

Fast.

Funny.

Competitive.

Alive.

She moved through the room with absolute confidence.

Adriano watched, proud.

Not because he had built it.

He had not.

That mattered.

Tessa had built this.

He had only been there when she needed advice.

He had challenged contracts.

Proofread schedules.

Asked annoying questions.

Reminded her to eat dinner.

That was enough.

Then came the final round.

Adriano was playing.

Of course he was.

Tessa had insisted.

He had improved dramatically.

Too dramatically.

Romantic comedies.

Correct.

Pop music.

Correct.

Children’s films.

Correct.

Desserts.

Correct.

Tessa stared at him after he identified a cartoon princess from three obscure clues.

Adriano smiled.

She looked offended.

The audience laughed.

She had created a monster.

Final score.

Adriano tied with another player.

History repeating itself.

Tessa stood at center stage with one card in her hand.

She looked down, then stopped.

An idea came to her.

Dangerous.

Perfect.

She put the printed question aside.

Adriano noticed.

“What are you doing?”

“Improvising.”

His expression became suspicious.

The audience quieted.

Tessa lifted the microphone.

“Final question.”

Adriano waited.

She looked directly at him.

“Who is the smartest person in this room?”

The crowd laughed.

Adriano stared.

Months ago, he would have objected.

Subjective.

Impossible to measure.

Poorly framed.

Now he looked at Tessa.

No hesitation.

“You.”

For one tiny beat, the room froze.

Then it erupted.

Tessa forgot the joke she had planned.

Bianca screamed.

His grandmother looked triumphant.

Luca actually smiled openly.

Adriano remained calm.

Tessa looked down, then back up, her eyes warm.

“You realize that is not objectively verifiable?”

His mouth curved.

“I have been informed trivia occasionally allows questionable wording.”

The audience laughed again.

Tessa shook her head.

He had learned sarcasm too.

Dangerous.

Hours after the championship, when the crowd had gone and the lights were dim, Adriano drove Tessa somewhere without explanation.

She asked twice.

He refused to answer.

Suspicious.

Eventually, the car stopped outside his restaurant.

The place where they had held their first private rematch.

Tessa looked at him.

Inside, the same private room waited.

Same table.

Two chairs.

Two buzzers.

Dessert.

Tessa smiled immediately.

“What is this?”

“A rematch.”

“After three months, you could not let tonight end without competing?”

“No.”

“Of course.”

They sat.

No Luca.

No app.

No scorekeeper.

Just them.

Tessa looked around.

“I suppose we can trust ourselves.”

Adriano’s expression suggested that was debatable.

She laughed and started.

“First question. Where did we meet?”

“Belladona Lounge.”

“Correct. Second. What category destroyed your dignity?”

“Entertainment.”

“More specific.”

He sighed.

“Romantic comedies and pop culture.”

“Correct. Third. What band almost ended your confidence?”

“ABBA.”

Tessa smiled.

“Good.”

He looked offended.

That question would follow him forever.

Then it was his turn.

Favorite dessert.

Lemon cake.

Correct.

First bookstore rematch.

Saturday.

Correct.

What had she said when he first won privately?

He remembered almost word for word.

Tessa stared.

“That is unsettling.”

“I remember things.”

“You remember everything.”

“Not everything.”

He looked at her.

Tessa understood.

Some things mattered more.

The questions became personal.

First kiss.

Charity championship.

First time she called him adorable.

Private restaurant.

He looked pained remembering.

She laughed.

Favorite private rematch.

Adriano thought for a moment.

“All of them.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is mine.”

Finally, Tessa leaned back.

“One last question.”

Adriano waited.

“When did you realize this was not about winning?”

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then he answered earlier than she expected.

The first private rematch.

Maybe even before.

He had watched her walk away after that first trivia night, and instead of thinking about the humiliating loss, he had been thinking about whether she would agree to see him again.

The rematch had simply been the most convenient language he had.

Competition.

Rules.

Terms.

Something he understood.

Tessa smiled.

“So basically, you were asking me on a date.”

Adriano sighed.

“We have already discussed this.”

“You denied it.”

“I was incorrect.”

Tessa’s eyes widened dramatically.

“Excuse me?”

He stared.

She put one hand to her chest.

“Say that again.”

“No.”

“Adriano Russo just admitted he was wrong.”

He stood.

Tessa immediately grabbed her phone.

“I need witnesses.”

Adriano took the phone from her.

She laughed.

He placed it on the table and looked down at her.

“Finished?”

“Never.”

He smiled.

Exactly the answer he expected.

Then Adriano reached inside his jacket.

Tessa’s smile faded.

Not because she understood immediately.

Because his expression changed.

Calm.

Serious.

Tender in that restrained Adriano way.

He placed a small box on the table.

Tessa stared at it.

Then at him.

Then at the box.

Her mouth opened.

No sound came.

Adriano’s eyebrow lifted.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You are quiet.”

Tessa narrowed her eyes.

“Do not ruin this.”

He almost laughed.

He did not kneel immediately.

That would have been too simple.

Instead, he placed one final card in front of her.

Of course.

Trivia.

Tessa looked down.

Printed neatly across the card was one question.

Final question.

What happens next?

A. Another rematch.

B. Dessert.

C. Tessa Monroe agrees to spend the foreseeable future arguing with Adriano Russo about trivia, restaurants, incorrect answers, and everything else.

D. All of the above.

Tessa began laughing.

Then crying.

Then laughing because she was crying.

Adriano watched her, suddenly less confident than he had been during any trivia final.

That delighted her even through tears.

“You are nervous.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“Tessa.”

She looked at the card.

Then at him.

He opened the box.

The ring was beautiful.

Elegant.

Not enormous for spectacle.

Perfect for her.

Then Adriano Russo, the man who had once demanded a private rematch because second place was unacceptable, asked the only question whose answer he genuinely feared.

“Will you marry me?”

Tessa looked at the multiple-choice card.

Then back at him.

“I choose D.”

His expression changed.

Relief first.

Then laughter.

Then something warmer than both.

He slipped the ring onto her finger.

Tessa looked at it.

Then at him.

“Just so we are clear, D includes dessert.”

“Yes.”

“And another rematch.”

“Yes.”

“And me being permanently allowed to mention ABBA.”

His eyes narrowed.

“No.”

She gasped.

“The answer says all of the above.”

“That was not listed.”

“It is implied.”

“Absolutely not.”

She laughed and kissed him.

Argument unresolved.

Marriage confirmed.

Perfect.

Months later, Tessa hosted another packed trivia night.

Same energy.

Same microphone.

Same confidence.

Adriano sat at the front table, not because he had to, but because he liked watching her work.

The final round arrived.

Tessa asked him a question.

He answered wrong.

The room reacted.

Tessa’s smile appeared.

Slow.

Familiar.

She walked toward his table, microphone in hand, and pointed at him exactly the way she had on the first night.

Adriano leaned back.

Already knowing.

“Wrong again,” she announced.

The room laughed.

Adriano looked at her.

No irritation now.

Only amusement.

Tessa lowered the microphone.

“Would you like to dispute the answer?”

“No.”

“Request clarification?”

“No.”

“Blame the category?”

“No.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You have become suspiciously reasonable.”

Adriano smiled.

Tessa leaned closer.

“One more option.”

He waited.

“Private rematch.”

His expression changed immediately.

That same competitive spark.

The one she had noticed months ago.

The one that had started everything.

“Yes,” he said.

Tessa smiled.

Of course.

Because Adriano Russo had eventually learned a fact no encyclopedia, flashcard, or trivia guide could have taught him.

Winning was satisfying.

Correct answers were satisfying.

Being right remained, admittedly, very satisfying.

But losing to Tessa Monroe had given him another evening.

Then another.

Then another.

Until one humiliating second-place finish became dinner, competition, laughter, jealousy, family, kisses, a ring, and the loudest, funniest, most unpredictable happiness of his life.

Tessa returned to the stage.

Adriano watched her go.

She turned once, caught his eye, and pointed at him again.

He smiled.

This time, when the whole room laughed with her, Adriano laughed too.

Because the mafia boss who had once demanded a private rematch simply because he could not tolerate losing had finally discovered the one competition he would happily lose for the rest of his life, as long as Tessa was the woman keeping score.