38. Mr. and Mrs. Rossi
Chapter thirty-eight
Mr. and Mrs. Rossi
Nicolette
J ulian and I walked into the Morgans’ costume ball on Halloween night, hand in hand, and every head turned toward us.
Not for the usual reasons. No one was whispering anymore that our match was only a business transaction.
And it wasn’t even because of the beautiful costumes Julian had custom ordered for us.
Me as Arwen—in a flowing mint-green gown with long sleeves and a real diamond headpiece that felt far too extravagant for my mortal skull.
Julian as Aragorn—cloak, vest, sword at his waist, and the kind of presence that made the whole room feel like it should kneel.
But the stares weren’t about any of that.
They were about the fact that we were alive.
The fact that we were standing. Together. Breathing. Moving. Existing.
The official story was that there had been a security breach at Hart Labs—proprietary research stolen, the executive suite destroyed in the search.
Julian and I were held hostage for a short period before being rescued by our security team.
The suspects fled, including one of our own employees, Simone.
The tale we told the police and the press was harrowing, dramatic, and just vague enough to be believable. This wasn’t the Rossis’ first rodeo, so they knew exactly what to say. And somehow, we came out looking like heroes.
I was just grateful Cyrus had gotten my text in time to alert the family.
They’d managed to evacuate the few remaining employees on campus and get them safely off the property before coming to rescue us.
It was a blessing that everything had gone down late on a Friday afternoon, when most people had already left for the weekend.
Not that there weren’t losses. Rafael and one of the “cousins,” Carla, had lost their lives trying to stop Luc. No one in Savannah would ever know of their sacrifices, but I would never forget them.
But even as I smiled, I was still living the real story on a loop in my mind. Every scream. Every snap of bone. Every drop of blood. And though Julian had mended my physical wounds, the emotional ones weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Healing would take time.
Yet I lifted my chin and walked beside him through the crowd, accepting the raised champagne flutes and polite nods as if I hadn’t been fighting for my life just days ago.
The glittering ballroom the Morgans had rented inside one of Savannah’s historic hotels sparkled like a snow globe come to life.
Their theme this year was Wicked White Wonderland , and they had committed to it with gusto.
Every inch shimmered.
White pumpkins carved with delicate filigree lined the entryway.
White branches dipped in iridescent powder arched overhead like frozen trees.
White lights dripped from the ceiling in strands that looked like falling stars.
Even the air felt cool, perfumed with something crisp and wintry, like peppermint and frost.
It was beautiful.
It was dazzling.
It was everything a Halloween ball should be.
And Julian and I were there to play our part. Smile. Glide. Pretend. It was important—vital—to keep our secrets safe. To let the world believe the sanitized version of events. To let them think the danger had been human, even containable.
Because the truth was far darker.
There were actual monsters in the world.
And not because they were vampires.
Being a vampire wasn’t what had made Luc and Simone monsters. It wasn’t the fangs or the speed or the bloodlust. It was their choices. Their cruelty. Their belief that power made them superior and that everyone else was expendable.
I’d learned something in that executive suite—something I felt in my bones now as I walked through a ballroom dripping in white light and glitter:
Anyone could be a monster.
Human. Vampire. It didn’t matter.
What mattered were your choices.
And tonight, Julian and I were choosing to stand here, choosing to smile, choosing to protect the people who would never know how close they’d come to meeting a real-life nightmare.
Julian had given up his humanity for them. For me.
“Look at you two,” Winnifred Morgan gushed as she sashayed toward us, her white ballgown’s hoop skirt so wide she practically took out three guests on her way. “You’re just stunning.”
Funny how a brush with death had suddenly made me “stunning.”
Interesting, even.
“My bride certainly is.” Julian kissed my cheek. His touch heated me in ways no warm-blooded human’s ever could.
“Seriously, you’re just the cutest,” Winnifred continued, clasping her hands dramatically. “And we are so happy you’re okay. I can’t even imagine how frightening your ordeal must have been. We should definitely do dinner.”
I barely refrained from rolling my eyes.
Winnifred didn’t want dinner.
She wanted details.
She wanted to be the first to tell her circle the inside scoop, to be the star of her own little social universe. Gossip was her lifeblood, her currency, her favorite party trick. And tonight, Julian and I were the shiny new toy she couldn’t wait to play with.
Julian smoothly cut her off. “Call my office and Kyren will get it on my schedule.”
Kyren was Julian’s new executive assistant. This time I’d gotten to pick. No more leggy Italian killers. Sure, Kyren was a vampire, but I would never hold that against him.
Julian guided us away before Winnifred could latch on again.
For that alone, I could have kissed him senseless.
He led us straight to his family—our family.
Amos, Cyrus, Bianca, and Alonzo, all dressed in Italian Renaissance clothing like they’d stepped out of a museum painting. Or just an old family portrait.
Bianca reached me first, kissing both my cheeks. She’d become my biggest fan after Julian told her how brave I’d been, how long I’d kept Simone talking.
“Bellissima, you are radiant.”
“Yes,” Alonzo agreed. “Our beautiful daughter.”
“Thank you.” I blushed.
“Evenin’, Mr. an’ Mrs. Rossi.” Amos tipped his hat, his grin crooked as ever. I’d come to adore the greeting. Come to love being Mrs. Rossi. More than that, I loved Mr. Rossi.
Even Cyrus grinned at me.
I still felt bad for all the times I’d suspected him of being the killer. I’d baked him cookies to apologize—and burned most of them, but I think he’d appreciated the gesture anyway.
We made small talk for a moment, mostly about the weather, of all things. It had turned rainy and dreary—perfect for a Halloween night, really. The kind of weather that made Savannah’s old streets look haunted in the best way.
As the conversation shifted to more important topics, like what we’d be having for Sunday dinner, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I turned to find my father dressed as . . . well . . . a businessman. Which meant he hadn’t dressed up at all. Typical. And oddly comforting. In a room full of glitter and fantasy, he was the one thing that hadn’t changed.
Dad glanced nervously at the Rossis before clearing his throat and addressing Julian. “Would you mind if I stole my daughter away for a dance?”
“Not at all.” Julian tipped his head in a show of respect, the gesture elegant and sincere.
Dad took my hand and led me onto the dance floor, which was packed with witches, wizards, princesses, black cats, and every other Halloween costume imaginable. The song drifting through the speakers was a haunting version of “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” Rather apropos, considering.
We fell into step easily. I felt oddly proud of myself—Julian’s private dance lessons over the last several days had paid off. I didn’t even step on my dad’s toes.
For several beats, we said nothing. Just swayed. Just breathed. Just existed in a moment that felt strangely fragile.
Then Dad asked, “Are you doing okay?”
I nodded. It wasn’t a lie. I was okay. Shaken but not stirred. Functioning. Upright. Breathing. That counted for something.
Dad had been given the sanitized version of events.
I’d wanted to spare him the pain—the real reason my mother had died, the truth behind Delia’s disappearance.
He believed, like everyone else, that she’d decided to make her sabbatical permanent and move to South America.
Like I’d said before, this wasn’t the Rossis’ first rodeo.
It was scary how good they were at making things, problems, and even people disappear.
But I would always know the truth.
Delia had died a hero.
My hero.
“I’m glad,” Dad said, his voice cracking in a way that didn’t sound like him at all. “I don’t know what I would do without you. I have so many regrets in my life. The biggest one is not getting to know you. I want to change that. Really change it.”
“I’d like that,” I said softly. “You should come to Sunday dinner at the Rossis’.”
Dad tugged at his collar, suddenly looking like a man who’d been invited to dine with a pride of lions.
“I suppose I could,” Dad finally agreed. But then he leaned in and whispered, “I won’t be the main course, right?”
“No,” I giggled, the sound surprising even me.
“You are happy, aren’t you?” Dad asked, and this time there was no teasing in his voice. Just sincerity. Just a father wanting to know his daughter’s heart.
I caught Julian’s eye from across the room. He was already smiling at me—soft and warm. And despite all the pain and chaos, that smile made something inside me settle. I was happy to be with him.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
Dad leaned in again, his voice low and rough. “I’m glad to hear that. And maybe someday you’ll trust your old man enough to tell me what really happened at Hart Labs. And with Delia.”
Before I could even process the words, he kissed my cheek and twirled me, spinning me right into my husband’s waiting arms.
My father was no dummy, that was for sure.
And maybe someday he would earn my trust. Maybe we’d finally have the father-daughter relationship I’d always wanted. But that was going to take time. Healing always did.
I sank into Julian’s arms, and he wrapped me up tight as we swayed to the music. We didn’t speak of my father. We didn’t have to. I knew Julian had heard every word.
And he held me just a little closer because of it.
While we danced, several couples around us offered polite smiles and little waves.
A few even stopped to ask how we were doing and wished us well.
It struck me then—there was no more living in the shadows for me.
No more hiding behind the facade of “the quiet Hart girl.” People saw me now. Really saw me.
I brightened when I spotted Daphne walking in. She looked adorable in her Where’s Waldo? costume—striped shirt, round glasses, beanie and all. She was seriously the cutest.
She waved, already angling toward us, but before she could take two steps, Cyrus asked her to dance.
I bit my lip, unsure about this new development. “Uh . . .” I subtly turned Julian so he could see what I was seeing.
Daphne looked taken aback—surprised, but undeniably pleased—as she rested her head on Cyrus’s shoulder. Cyrus closed his eyes and drew her close, like he was savoring something he’d been denied for a long time.
“What’s he doing?” I whispered, worry threading through my voice. I knew how much Daphne liked him. How disappointed she’d been when she never got that second date.
“I don’t know,” Julian murmured, his breath cool against my temple. “But I do know he’s been keeping an eye on her. Protecting her.”
I leaned back, surprised—and honestly, a little touched. “He has?”
“Yes.” Julian grinned and twirled us around, pulling my attention back to him. “Now, let’s focus back on us.”
I ran my fingers gently down his cheek, cool as it had always been. A reminder of what he had sacrificed in the name of protecting me.
“I do love us.”
“Me as well, darling. Me as well.”
As the music curled around us, for one suspended moment, all felt right in the world. Safe. Whole. Ours.
But I knew better. There would be other storms. Other battles. Other choices that would test us.
Because nothing was ever fair when it came to love and blood.