CHAPTER THREE
You can be a victim once. After that you’re a volunteer.
Ari
“The tornado is behaving,” my brother announces as he appears beside me.
“I’m the least of your problems.” I glance around the room, taking note of the various capos with their hands on their holsters. “What was the scuffle about?”
“Territory dispute,” Franco replies sharply. “Fools. Now, they both lose. The last thing André wants is blood spilled during a party celebrating his second year as the head of the Five Families.”
“Doesn’t really sell the whole; I’ve got everything under control narrative.” My brother moves closer. “If you’re going to remind me to behave, don’t bother. Ma gave me a scathing lecture this morning.”
Franco places a hand on my shoulder. “We already have enough going on, so don’t act out and give anyone the idea that we’re weak.”
I look up at the man who holds my future in his hands. “Don’t marry me off, and I promise to behave as well as a nun.”
“Show me you can control yourself, and I will consider it.”
Is it possible that my mother was incorrect, and Franco has yet to decide my fate? His expression gives away nothing. Which isn’t surprising given that he’s always ten steps ahead of anyone. For all I know, the marriage contract is signed, and his speech is meant to get us both through the evening unscathed.
I tip my head. “I’m off to play the dutiful princess.”
“Despite what you may think, I don’t enjoy this.” His jaw ticks. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
I move away before I can make a sharp retort. Harder for who? Him, playing chess with my life? Or me, the one being sacrificed?
I cut through the crowd and feel like a caged animal as gazes slide against my skin and whispers follow as I stand beside a table.
“Another glittering night,” a soft voice says, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn to see my cousin Luna.
“Hello, beauty.” I link our hands. We’re the oldest unmarried Bianchi women and, like all coveted treasures, share the burden of constant scrutiny.
“Another night. Another celebration. And more lies.”
Shocked that my perfect cousin would say such a thing, I squeeze our fingers together. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it.”
“I love you too much to do that.”
I study her beautiful face and see sadness lurking in her expression. “Does this have anything to do with the dark-haired prince from the Emerald Isle?”
“The Irish are our enemies, so that’s impossible.”
Luna has never broken one rule, and I imagine it will shake our world when she finally does. “I’m here.”
“Thank you.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I hear Franco has decided on your husband, and Gio Santoro is bragging to everyone he’s the lucky groom.”
“Uugh, he’s so slimy. All he does is preen like a peacock.” I turn my ring twice and swallow the sadness filling my chest. It’s not like I expected any kind of happiness, but the reality of tying my life to someone like him makes my stomach turn.
“You are one of a kind, Ari.” She tips my chin up. “Use it. Make no apologies. And bring whoever it is to his knees.”
I cough in surprise. “Wow. I did not see that coming.”
“I may play by the rules, but that doesn’t mean the same fire of rebellion doesn’t burn inside me, too.” She shakes her head. “I don’t care for the Santoros and their relentless ambition. Gio’s father is still bitter that André ascended the throne and picked Franco as his consigliere .”
“And now we’re aligned with the Russians, which means he’s blocked from gaining power.” My cousin arches her brow in surprise. “What? I listen to the gossip at those lunches you’re always dragging me to.”
“For all the good it does us.” She nods at her brother across the room. “I better go make my rounds since the capos are chafing against the alliance with the Russians.”
“Have fun,” I murmur, wishing Fausto were here. He was the only one who made these things bearable, and the loss hits like a gut punch. Taking a long breath through my nose, I shove it into the pit where all my real feelings rot.
I square my shoulders and notice Maxsim Volkov staring at me across the room. “Beast.”
“What’s that?” Clara asks as she stands beside me.
I take my younger cousin’s hand. “Nothing. I’m just taking in the sights.”
“The Bratva madman can’t seem to take his eyes off you,” Clara says, her voice soft with awe. “He’s like a Russian bear—dangerous and… beautiful.”
“The kind that would maul you and leave you for dead,” I mumble as he disappears into the crowd.
“Didn’t he save your life after you were kidnapped?”
“No!” I turn to her and frown. “Franco and Enzo already had a plan in place, and he simply crashed the party and tagged along.”
“Do you think all the rumors are true about him?”
“Of course, why else would he bother with all those custom suits.” Clara’s mouth twists together in confusion. “It’s the only way to hide the monster that lurks beneath.”
A large shadow looms above us, and I look up. “Stop glaring, Max. You have enough wrinkles as it is.”
A bald-faced lie. His angular face is free from any imperfection.
His hands flex at his sides, and I smile with satisfaction. One of the few joys of my life is annoying people who mistakenly believe they have some agency over me.
“You didn’t return my call.” Maxsim leans his massive body against the table we’re standing beside.
“I’m going to get another piece of cake.”
Clara scurries off before I can object. “Why must you frighten the children?”
“You can’t ignore me forever.”
“And yet that’s exactly what I’m doing.” His eyes never leave mine, and I ignore the frisson of awareness. “We’re godparents to Gianna and Alexey’s daughter, not best friends. We don’t need to chat every day and discuss our lives.”
“You used to like me, Ari.” He shifts closer. “What happened?”
“Life,” I respond quietly. He rests his arm on the table, his finger touching the sleeve of my dress.
“Makes sense…but I pulled you out of a burning building not that long ago. You can fucking call me back.”
Each word out of his mouth feels like a stick of dynamite. “It was months ago, Maxsim.” He leans close enough that I’m surrounded by his scent. “In our world, that’s a lifetime.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and I know it wouldn’t feel much different if I were strapped to a rocket. “I have enough keepers. Please don’t kid yourself and think I’ll tolerate one more.”
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
I see one of his henchmen stride in our direction. “As entertaining as this conversation is, it’s draining my will to live.” He chuckles, a low sound that rumbles through the tension between us. “I’m going to mingle.” I stride away before he can get the last word and feel my heart pounding harder than I’d like to admit.
Unfortunately, there’s no time to dwell. Giovanni Santoro makes his move, swaggering over with all the confidence of a man who’s already won.
“Ari,” he purrs, his hand outstretched. “Dance with me?”
His tone says it’s not a request. The way he looks at me—like I’m something he’s already claimed—sends a shiver down my spine. Part of me wants to tell him to go to hell, but I feel Maxsim’s gaze on my back, so I plaster on a smile and take his hand.
The moment his fingers close around mine, I feel a chill of dread as we glide onto the dance floor. Gio’s hand on my back is possessive, his grip just a touch too tight. He pulls me closer, his breath warm against my ear as he speaks.
“You know, Ari,” he begins, his voice low and confident, “we’d make a powerful couple. My father is already planning how to expand our influence. Once we’re married, we’ll be unstoppable.”
I almost laugh. But the anger hits first. “Is that so?” I reply, forcing my lips into a smile that feels like a snarl.
He doesn’t notice the shift in my mood—too busy with his own delusions. “It’s time someone tamed that wild streak of yours.”
Anger bubbles up and there’s a scene building unless I can somehow control my temper.
Gio’s grip tightens, his hand sliding lower on my back as he maneuvers us into a corner, away from the crowd. Bile rises in my throat. The shift in his demeanor is immediate—less charm, more aggression.
His lips brush my ear, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “You can fight me all you want, but you know how this ends.” His fingers slide across my breast and squeeze with enough force to bruise.
My charming facade shatters like glass, and all that’s left is the cold, calculated rage. How dare he touch me without permission.
I stare at my ring and smile. “You should know better than to touch a Sicilian woman without clear consent.” The blade in my ring clicks free, glinting under the ballroom light as I press it against his neck. A bead of blood forms, but Giovanni’s smile doesn’t waver.
“Never threaten me,” I whisper, my voice as cold as the steel against his skin. Gio’s cocky grin slips as I apply more force. “Do you think my brothers would tolerate such insolence?” His eyes widen just for a second before his arrogance flares.
“You think a little cut will change anything?” He moves closer. “You’ll learn.” Smiling like a wolf, he shoves his mouth against mine
It’s not a kiss—it’s a claim, an ugly, possessive act that makes my skin crawl.
The shock of it almost makes me falter, but I hold my ground, pressing the blade just enough to nick his skin. The taste of blood mingles with the bitterness of his kiss.
With a sharp twist, I pull back, the knife slicing a thin line across his neck as I push him away. He stumbles, shock and surprise flashing across his face as he touches the wound. It won’t kill him, but the message is clear.
His mask slips, and for a moment, he looks like a boy who’s just realized he’s not invincible.
I don’t give him time to react. I turn on my heel and stride away, leaving him bleeding, his taste still bitter on my lips.
I need air. The ballroom feels suffocating. My heart stutters as I weave through the throng of guests, their laughter and conversation a distant hum in my ears.
Pushing through the double doors and into the hallway, I feel some relief. The air is cooler, quieter. But the silence is deafening. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. My hands tremble, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and see blood. He must have bitten me when he pressed our mouths together.
How did I allow him to get so close?
The facade I’ve built, the one that’s supposed to keep me safe, feels like it’s cracking, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I push off the wall and almost collide with an immovable object. Maxsim. His expression is unreadable, those sharp blue eyes taking in everything—the flushed cheeks, the slight tremor in my hands.
“Gio?” he asks, his voice low, an edge of something I can’t quite place in his tone.
I take the snowy white handkerchief he hands me and dab my lip. “Yes.”
I expect him to scold me, to deliver some cutting remark about my recklessness, but he surprises me.
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” he says, tilting his head slightly, studying me. “The one that says revenge was served.”
There’s something almost approving in his tone, which throws me off. Approval isn’t what I’m used to from him. Condescension, yes. Disapproval, definitely. But this? I’m not sure how to respond, so I fall back on what I do best—sarcasm.
“Perhaps,” I say, lifting my chin defiantly. “But that’s my business, not yours.” I force myself to meet his gaze, though every nerve in my body screams for me to run. Maxsim has a way of looking at me like he sees straight through the cracks, straight to the rage and the fear.
His eyes narrow slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, not backing down. His gaze flickers over my face, lingering on the cut on my lip, and his smile fades.
I blink, caught off guard by the concern in his gaze. It’s not his typical arrogance—it feels different, more dangerous. I’m used to people seeing me as a tool, a pawn, something to be used and discarded.
He stares at the cut on my lip again and lifts a hand like he’s about to touch it, then thinks better of it, his fingers hovering just inches from my skin.
The air between us crackles, an unspoken challenge hanging heavy. “I should go.” I try to push past him, to put some distance between us, but he shifts so I can’t pass.
“What are you doing, Maxsim?” I ask, my voice sharper now, tinged with frustration. “I’m not up for one of our sparring matches.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s the last thing I’m interested in,” he says quietly, his soft tone sending a shiver down my spine.
I force myself to stand tall, to keep my expression cold and detached. He waits like he’s expecting me to say something, but when I don’t, he turns and strides down the hall. My chest is tight with a mix of emotions I don’t have the luxury to unravel.
When he disappears around the corner, I lean against the cool stone wall as the adrenaline begins to dissolve. The sounds of the party filter through the hallway—a reminder that the world outside is still spinning.
I slowly adjust the knife in my ring, a small but significant gesture that brings me back to reality.
The night’s events will have repercussions.
If I’m lucky, it will include a future far away from here.