46. -45-
Nina
The ballroom exploded with light, extravagant decorations, and enough hidden hostility to choke on.
The Starlight’s biggest room had been transformed into something between a royal gala and a luxurious battlefield.
Lavender flowers cascaded from towering centerpieces, woven with white roses and silver ribbons beneath enormous chandeliers.
Thousands of suspended lights resembling stars reflected against polished marble floors while waiters moved soundlessly through groups of New York’s wealthiest predators.
Around a hundred and fifty guests filled the ballroom, glittering in diamonds and old-money arrogance. Politicians brushed shoulders with criminals, pretending not to know each other, while businessmen smiled and their wives discreetly judged everyone.
But beneath the elegance, tension stretched dangerously tight.
Growing up around men like these taught me to recognize danger before it exploded. It lived in posture, eye contact, and silence. In who stood too close and who deliberately kept their distance.
The Italians occupied the left side of the ballroom, occasionally glancing toward Karen Kadyrov, his wife Natasha, and several Bratva men on the opposite side. Nobody openly challenged anyone. Not under Zyon’s roof.
“So much money flushed down the toilet because of one night,” Lucas cut in, accepting two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Says the man who fills their pockets,” I countered, placing a strawberry into my mouth.
“One time,” he sighed, circling the gold liquid. “Won’t—”
“Hello, kiddos.”
We turned in unison toward Matteo, Lucas’s oldest brother.
My lips stretched into a smile when he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
My heart fluttered, as it had every single time since we met eleven years ago.
He was my first and biggest crush, my first love, as Grandpa said.
But Matteo had always considered me a kid, and his brother’s best friend on top of that.
He would never in a lifetime make a move on me.
Still, I had to admit he looked better than ever.
At thirty-five, Matteo Colapino perfected the dangerous Italian charm that made women lose common sense, and men underestimate him right before he ruined their lives.
Dark, curly hair was slicked back neatly, a two-day stubble shadowed his sharp jaw, and the old razor scar across his cheek only made him more intimidating.
His green-brown eyes scanned the ballroom lazily, but I knew better than to mistake that calm for carelessness.
Matteo noticed everything, especially trouble.
“Good to finally see you, stranger,” I chirped. “Where have you been?”
“Cutting the deal of my life.” He grinned back, taking more champagne from the server. “Two hours ago, Zyon made an announcement.” He paused dramatically, glancing at his brother. “Stefano Gravaldi and I have just been named heads of two of the Italian Five Families.”
My mouth fell open, and Lucas stared at him, dumbstruck.
“How?” he whispered, completely lost for words.
“Well,” Matteo sighed, looking around to see if anyone was listening to our conversation. “I had valuable information that confirmed my loyalty to the Zhumagulovs. We’re officially partners.”
“Congratulations,” I said with all the sincerity I could muster, pulling him into a hug. He worked hard to achieve that. Only thanks to him had his family escaped Zyon's punishment. That alone was terrific news.
“Thanks, kid.” He squeezed me hard before releasing me. “Now, how about you?” His happy demeanor fell so rapidly into a stern mask that I had to blink twice to comprehend the change. “Lucas told me about your fiancé.”
“What?” I glared at my best friend, who instantly raised his hands in surrender.
“I didn’t know who else to talk to,” he mumbled, glancing at me with so much love I couldn’t stay angry. “You need help.”
“And I can help you,” Matteo added, gently squeezing my hand.
“Zyon wants his brother out,” I reminded them sadly. “I’m just collateral damage.”
“We can at least try to talk to him,” Matteo insisted. “Give it a second thought, Nina, before you call me to take care of the body.”
A laugh spilled out of my throat, and they both chuckled, too.
“You know me well.” I snickered.
“How many times did I pick you up from a police station?” Matteo asked, winking at me playfully. I rolled my eyes.
“Just let me know what you need, okay?” He kissed the top of my hand like a perfect gentleman—which he truly wasn't—and turned to his brother. “Keep an eye on her.”
With a huge grin stretching across his face, he left us under the balcony and mingled with the crowd.
“What the fuck did he do?” Lucas shook his head, still in shock.
“Does it matter?” I shrugged, sipping my champagne. “He got your family a seat at the table. Zyon protects his ass. What else would you want in this city?”
“When you say it like that…” Lucas trailed off, staring at the gathered people. The music stopped, and the chatter quietened as Valeria Zhumagulov stepped before the microphone.
Beautiful was too weak a word for Zyon’s wife. The woman looked ethereal in a silver gown that poured over her like liquid moonlight, diamonds wrapped around her throat, and cherry-red hair cascading down her bare shoulders and back.
“Terrifying family,” Lucas muttered beside me, glancing at a smiling Zyon at the bar. He couldn’t be prouder and more in love with her. It glowed from his every pore.
“Which one?” I asked quietly, keeping an eye on the other bosses.
“All of them.”
Valeria thanked the guests softly, surprisingly composed under the attention of over a hundred predators pretending to be civilized. I only listened halfway, my gaze continuously drifting through the ballroom, searching for one specific face.
Dorian.
I only spotted him once since entering the party.
He stood beside Valeria near the staircase earlier, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit with the top button undone.
His attention stayed entirely on her while she spoke, his expression softer than usual.
Jealousy coiled low in my stomach, but he vanished before I could make a move.
The following couple of hours turned into a slow social execution. Lucas and I moved through the ballroom, exchanging polite smiles and shallow conversations with people I’d known for years.
Men who once shook hands with my grandfather barely held my gaze. Women lowered their voices when I approached. Some greeted me warmly before quickly excusing themselves; others pretended not to notice me at all.
Valentino.
The name followed me like a stain no amount of makeup could cover.
“They’re scared to be associated with you,” Lucas said bluntly after another awkward conversation died within thirty seconds.
“Noticed.”
I took a slow sip of champagne, frowning at my father across the room. He didn’t pay much attention to me as he fought the same battle.
“At least you’re still the prettiest bitch in the room.” Lucas poked my side with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, and I snorted. He was the best.
Eventually, the only person willing to remain near us was Matilda Santangelo. She lingered beside a marble column in a pale pink gown, beautiful in a fragile, almost ghostly way. Her large dark eyes constantly swept the ballroom as if expecting danger.
Since her mother’s murder shattered their family, Matilda hadn’t spoken. But something had changed in her over the past few weeks. She was still scared, but determined to go out. Nervous, but trying to overcome it.
Lucas softened immediately around her. When she refused champagne, he switched to water without making it awkward, and gently pulled her into our conversation until small smiles appeared on her face.
For a while, it almost felt normal. We gossiped about other guests’ outfits, their newest escapades, and how fucking hypocritical they were. Matilda passed us quickly written lines of information she had gotten from her sister or grandmother, making me gasp a few times.
But the best news was that Dorian and Malin officially declined to marry into their family. Suddenly, Zyon’s desperation to get Ramzan out of jail felt much more understandable. He needed to keep his word. It had been seven months since he agreed…
Matilda’s warm hand cut through my thoughts as she gave me another note. I took it with a smile, yet it quickly transformed into a surprise. Lucas peeked over my shoulder, his expression matching mine. The note said:
Will you please teach me how to fight? I want to be like you.
I gaped at the words, unable to reply. Like me? Who in their right mind would want to be like me?
“Nina.” My father appeared on my left side, stirring me. “Why aren’t you with your fiancé?”
I heard him, but my gaze was still glued to Matilda’s pleading eyes. There was so much pain in them, so much grief and torment.
“Yes,” I whispered, returning the paper to her. A grateful smile ghosted her lips, making my heart jolt.
“Nina,” Dad repeated impatiently, stealing my attention. “Sonny is on the balcony.”
Lucas grimaced as if he swallowed something spoiled.
“I’m going with you,” he muttered, ignoring my father’s disapproving glance.
Sonny waited near the balcony doors with two of his friends, pretending to look relaxed despite the massive bruise darkening his jaw. Pride curled warmly through my chest the moment I saw his new accessory.
“Oh my god, what happened?” I ran to him like the perfect fiancée he expected and inspected the bruise thoroughly. “Have you seen the doctor? It could be broken!”
One of his companions coughed awkwardly while his eyes flashed with restrained fury.
“Just a gym accident,” he said tightly, jerking his head out of my hold. “Sparring.”
“Oh, you must be more careful.” I crossed my arms over my chest, pouting. “The wedding is getting closer. Our photos will be everywhere. I won’t marry you looking like this!”