Chapter 32 Sophia
Sophia
The room had gone quiet in that way only money could command. Dozens of tables, each dressed in white linen and gold trim, stretched across the hall. The air was dense with perfume, candlelight, and expectation.
I sat beside Gabriel, his hand resting near mine—not touching, but close enough to count. My pulse ticked faster with every glance I caught from well dressed strangers.
A crystal glass clinked in a call for a toast. A man three tables over stood with deliberate ceremony, his suit sharp, smile sharper. He raised his glass, voice pitched just enough to carry.
“To prosperity,” peace, he said, gaze sweeping the room. “And to the future we build—together.”
A few others lifted their glasses in return, but mostly everyone ignored him. Some regarded him with a sideways glance as if raising their glass to his attempt at a toast would stain them.
Damien didn’t move. He leaned slightly toward me, voice low. “He toasts us now, but yesterday he was sucking Sinclair cock,” he said, almost bored. “Now he’s trying to crawl his way back into our good graces. Watch him.”
I looked at the man again. His smile quivered, and something about it felt too careful now—like he knew exactly what this toast had failed to erase.
Damien settled back like he hadn’t spoken. His eyes drifted lazily across the room, but I could feel him watching me, scrutinizing me.
Gabriel hadn’t looked up in a while. His thumb rubbed a slow, steady circle against the stem of his wineglass. His jaw was tight. His shoulders, broad and still.
My gaze dropped to the table. The centerpieces were low and elegant, designed to let people see across and whisper through them.
Across from me, Isabelle watched a group near the doors with a gaze sharp enough to kill. Caroline sat beside her, quiet, working on her second glass of wine.
I felt eyes on me and looked sideways. A short, plump man with patchy stubble was staring directly at me. And when I made eye contact with him, it was like he’d taken it as an invite. He smiled—and started walking toward our table.
I gave Caroline a look. She just raised an eyebrow.
“Who is that guy?” I asked.
“One of the weird ones,” she said tiredly.
“Ah. Great.”
He was close enough now that I gave a tight, polite smile. It was all I could manage.
He stopped just behind Gabriel, hands clasped in front of him.
“Evening,” he said, eyes fixed on me. “Marvin Johnson. I handle oversight for the city’s utility contracts.”
His smile was too wide—like it hurt to hold.
“Hello,” I said, giving him a small nod.
“I just—well, I wanted to say it’s an honor. Truly. You have the whole room’s respect. All of you.” He rubbed his neck, then leaned in slightly to speak low in Gabriel’s ear. “About my debt, I assure you I’ll have the funds soon.”
Gabriel didn’t respond at first. Then, slowly, he regarded him.
“W-with all the interest, of course,” Marvin added, voice cracking slightly.
“Two days.” Gabriel said.
He backed away like the floor might open up beneath him if he stayed. A beat later, he was already halfway across the ballroom, trailing after a servant with a tray of champagne flutes, trying to get his attention.
“What was that about?” I asked.
Gabriel didn’t look at me. “He embezzles city money to pay back his gambling debts to us.”
My brow tightened.
“Much like that guy who thought a toast was a good idea,” Gabriel added, “he figured if the Sinclairs took us down, his slate would be wiped clean.”
The Don eased into the empty seat beside Gabriel, his expression unreadable. “I just spoke with the District Attorney.”
Gabriel didn’t flinch. “And?”
The Don scoffed, shaking his head. “Just some bullshit.”
We all waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“Well, what’s the bullshit then?” Damien asked.
The Don threw up a hand, “Wouldn’t you like to fuckin’ know?”
Damien leaned forward. “What’s this got to do with me?”
The Don looked at me with a crooked grin. “What’s it got to do with him, he says.”
“I’m serious,” Damien said. “Come on. What did he say?”
The Don leaned forward, his expression hardening. “The feds think you crushed a man’s head and burned his house down. That true?”
Damien dragged a hand down his face. His eyes flicked from Gabriel to me, then back to Gabriel.
“That’s bullshit. I couldn’t hurt a fly. You know that.”
“That’s right,” Caroline said sweetly, fluttering her lashes. “You’re completely harmless.”
He waved her off, then cleared his throat. “Look, that asshole had it coming, but uh, what do they know for sure?”
Two staff members in crisp uniforms stepped up. One carried a tray of covered plates. The other poured wine into new glasses.
Silverware clinked. A polite murmur moved across the room as the other tables were served.
The conversation stalled.
I glanced at the plate set in front of me—steak, potatoes, something green and delicate I couldn’t name. The smell was rich, grounding.
I didn’t move at first.
I looked at Caroline.
She was already watching me.
One brow lifted. A slow sip of wine. No words—but the message was clear.
See? He’s an evil fuck too.
I looked back down at my plate, picked up my knife and fork, and started eating.