Chapter 25 Mara
Mara
The Plaza ballroom sparkles with wealth on Friday evening. Crystal chandeliers cast light on the marble floor, while champagne mixes with a darker, tense atmosphere. Half the guests wish the other half dead.
I walk through the crowd on Emilio's arm, my burgundy silk dress flowing around me. The dress hides a weapon at my thigh while still looking elegant. Emilio's hand rests possessively on my back, guiding me through the city's most dangerous gathering.
Chase has promised these people parts of the Rosetti empire.
Conversations happen in many languages, but the message is clear: war is coming, and everyone wants a piece of the spoils.
The family's ultimatum feels heavy on my shoulders: succeed tonight and gain acceptance, fail and face permanent consequences. No pressure at all.
"Breathe," Emilio whispers in my ear. "You look like you're ready to run."
The words hit home because they're true. My fingers touch the pendant at my throat—mom's necklace, the one he kept safe for me while I was busy betraying him.
The crystal vial in my clutch feels as heavy as my guilt. Twelve minutes from delivery to effect. The neurotoxin is colorless, odorless, and undetectable. I just need two seconds with Chase's champagne.
And Sarah will finally have her justice. Eight months dead while I served her killer, believing his lies about her safety. Tonight, Chase will pay for every deception, every fake photo, every message pretending she was alive while her body was cold.
"He's not here yet," I note, looking for Chase's silver hair. "The head table's empty."
"He'll be here exactly at eleven." Emilio's fingers press firmly on my back. "Chase is obsessively punctual. He controls through precision."
I note the security. Men with earpieces, weapons under their jackets, guests who can quickly head for the exits. Assassins pretending to be part of polite society.
"Mara Vale." The voice behind me is threatening enough to make smart people reach for their weapons. It's Connor Callahan, my old date. "I didn't expect to see you here."
I turn calmly, showing my surprise but hiding my fear. Connor stands with two men I don't recognize. They're built like soldiers, not socialites.
"Connor." I add warmth to my voice while my mind searches for escape routes. "I heard you'd left town. Something about fixing your broken teeth?"
I'm pushing the edge here, but I can't help myself.
"Plans changed last minute." His smile is too wide, showing too many teeth, all of which are back in their usual places. "Uncle Chase wanted family at tonight's celebration."
Something feels off. Connor wasn't in our plans. His bodyguards look European, not the usual Callahan crew.
"How nice," I say, leaning into Emilio's warmth. His hand moves to my waist, his thumb gently stroking, a casual gesture that prepares him for action. "I love family gatherings."
"Don't we all." Connor's eyes move between us, understanding things that make my stomach knot. "Your choice of company is surprising. Emilio Rosetti. Quite a bold move showing your face here."
In a gathering of hyenas wanting to pick apart the Rosetti family corpse, he means.
"I've proven I can handle you," Emilio says, his voice calm. "Or have you forgotten our meeting at Bautiste?"
The threat is clear, as the two size each other up while I stand stuck in the middle.
"Indeed." Connor's smile grows, planning something that makes my skin crawl. "My date with Mara. You know, that wasn't our first evening together. We worked closely in Paris, right, Mara?"
The way he says 'closely' makes Emilio grip my waist tighter, his body tense with barely controlled aggression.
"We were business partners," I say smoothly, though my heart races. "Nothing more."
"Of course." Connor's tone suggests he finds my comment funny. "Though you did spend a lot of time in my hotel suite. You called them strategy sessions."
Emilio's breathing changes beside me, deeper and steadier, a predator getting ready for action. His thumb stops its calming motion, and his fingers press into the silk hard enough to leave marks.
"If you'll excuse us," Emilio says, his voice dropping to a low tone, "the lady promised me a dance."
"Of course." Connor's voice follows us as we head to the dance floor. "Enjoy the evening. Both of you."
The orchestra starts a waltz. Around us, couples begin to move.
Emilio pulls me into his arms with smooth grace, one hand on my waist while the other holds mine with possessive tenderness.
As our bodies align, everything else in the ballroom fades away.
No more threats or suspicious nephews, just his hand burning through silk, his scent weakening my knees.
We move together as if we were made for this, his thigh sliding between mine as he guides me through the turn, his chest firm against mine as he pulls me closer than is proper.
Every step is a choreographed seduction, his hand keeping me steady while his thumb traces circles that make my core tighten.
"Connor suspects," I whisper against his throat, using the closeness of the dance to hide our urgent talk.
"How much?" His voice stays steady despite the tension in his body.
"Enough to be dangerous." He spins me, the motion helping me note security positions that have changed since Connor's arrival. "The men with him are professionals. European specialists, not regular muscle."
“Which means Chase has been planning this longer than we thought,” Emilio says quietly, dipping me with a flourish that hides his scan for threats. “This gathering isn’t just a party. It’s a trap. They wanted me to come with you.”
The realization hits like cold water. Chase’s perfect timing, the extra guards, Connor’s specialist backup, all meant to expose and eliminate any threats to Callahan power. Me included.
“We should leave,” I whisper, my lips brushing his ear as he pulls me closer. “Abort the mission. Let’s get out now.”
“No.” His voice is flat with certainty. His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, pressing me against him. “We finish this tonight.”
“Emilio—”
“I said no.” He tightens his grip on my silk dress and lifts my chin so I have no choice but to meet his storm-gray eyes. The hunger there makes my throat clench. "You kill Chase Callahan and earn your place in my family, or we both die trying. Those are the only acceptable options."
The finality in his voice sends dark pleasure curling through my chest rather than terror. He'd rather face death together than retreat separately. My body responds to his dominance, core clenching as his thumb traces my lower lip.
"Promise me something," I breathe, desperate. "If this goes wrong—"
"It won't." He silences me with a kiss that's pure possession, his mouth claiming mine with hunger that our years of separation has only intensified.
His tongue sweeps past my lips, and I melt against him completely, forgetting where we are, forgetting the danger, forgetting everything but the taste of him.
When we break apart, both gasping, his eyes are dark with promise. "But if it does," he says, "you stay behind me. You let me handle the violence. You trust that I'll get you out alive."
The music swells around us, violin strings weaving a romantic tune over strategic positioning and whispered death threats. Other couples glide by: arms dealers waltzing with money launderers, traffickers spinning drug lords, all maintaining a polite facade while they ruin lives.
Chase Callahan arrives like a shark cutting through bloody water. Silver hair, perfect suit, controlled menace. His guards are everywhere. He knows something. I watch him scan faces with cold precision, marking threats with the paranoia that’s kept him alive while everyone else wants him dead.
"This is a setup," I whisper. "He's been planning all of this."
"Maybe. But so have we."
The waltz ends. Couples part ways, but I stay still in Emilio's arms, realizing the trap we've stepped into. We came to assassinate Chase, but they let us in to die.
The orchestra starts a new piece. Conversations hush as Chase stands with dramatic flair. Everyone watches the man who promised them Rosetti pieces, while I get ready to make sure he never fulfills that promise.
This is my moment. My chance to prove I deserve the Rosetti name and find safety in Emilio's dangerous world. For Sarah. For the justice lost over eight months of deception.
I touch the crystal vial, its glass warm against my fingers. The neurotoxin is a perfect formula of death. Twelve minutes from drinking to heart failure.
The champagne fountain stands in the room's center, lavish and eye-catching. Crystal layers overflow with golden bubbles. Many flutes are on nearby tables, but only one matters, the one on the small table at the front, the one Chase will grab for his toast.
I move through the crowd without being noticed, slipping between conversations as Chase prepares. The vial leaves my clutch, small enough to hide in my hand as I approach the table.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Chase's voice echoes in the marble hall. "Tonight we mark the end of an era and the start of something much more profitable..."
I'm close now. Close enough to see his champagne flute within easy reach. Close enough to finish the mission and secure my safety.
My fingers find the vial's stopper. The perfected death, ready to mix with champagne.
I notice movement at the edge of my vision. Connor moving through the crowd with intent, hand inside his jacket. Three more figures surrounding Emilio. Not random movements. A planned attack.