27. Nero
Chapter twenty-seven
Nero
I’m about to do something very, very stupid—but what else is new?
Dressed in a tailored suit that fits like a glove, I let my gaze slide over the crowd in the Bellanova ballroom. It’s all pomp and pretense here—a live band’s sweet notes tangle with the hum of conversation. Champagne flutes catch the light, winking like the eyes of those who think they’re on top of this wicked game. Some sway to the rhythm on the dance floor, others lounge, sipping from their cups of liquid gold.
I shouldn’t be here. Every instinct screams it. Yet, here I am, making myself bait in a room full of predators.
But if you’re going to lure out the big fish, you’ve got to put something tempting on the hook.
And me? I’m a feast.
The atmosphere’s laced with something electric, a current that runs beneath the surface glitter. It’s the scent of something momentous brewing—of shifting alliances and power plays yet unseen. I can almost taste the anticipation in the air, and it’s intoxicating.
Caius wanted me dead before…now he’ll want to make sure it hurts.
“Idiot,” I chide myself softly, but there’s a smirk playing on my lips. Because while they’re all busy watching each other, no one’s expecting Nero Rossi to play his hand. They forget—I may be the wildcard, but I’m not playing with a full deck. I’ve got aces up my sleeve and a plan that’ll throw them all off balance.
Stupidity and bravery often wear the same face, don’t they? Well, tonight, I’m the spitting image of both.
I weave through the throng, my eyes scouting over the sea of bodies until they land on Aisling and Gunnar, the epicenter of tonight’s anticipation. She’s a vision in silver, living up to her Stargazer moniker, outshining every celestial body in this gilded space. Gunnar, ever the magnetic force beside her, is locked in conversation with some suit. His rolled-up sleeves give him that edge of nonchalance, but I know better.
He’s ready for a brawl, if necessary.
The others from our pack are scattered strategically, a silent phalanx poised for trouble. They’re good at this game, their eyes scanning the crowd, their postures relaxed yet ready. It’s a dance of pretense we all know too well.
“Let’s make history,” I mutter under my breath, a half-cocked smile tracing my lips as I make a beeline for the head table.
But before I can take another step, an immovable object plants itself firmly in my path.
Vance.
The Archangel bristles like a storm cloud about to burst. Those bright blue eyes of his are two chips of ice set against the warmth of his tan skin, hardened by something feral—anger, fear, or maybe both. He’s a fortress of muscle and raw emotion, his fists clenched so tight I can see the whites of his knuckles.
“Vance,” I acknowledge with a nod, keeping my tone even, though my heart’s doing a quickstep against my ribs. “Nice night for a wedding reception, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer, just stands there glaring, a silent accusation. I can feel the weight of his stare, and it’s clear—he’s itching for a fight.
And I just handed him an invitation on a silver platter.
Can’t help myself—it’s who I am.
“You’re going to get them all killed,” he says through clenched teeth. “This is no time for celebration.”
“Come on, Vance. Lighten up,” I say, flashing him that practiced smile that’s gotten me out of more scrapes than I can count. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Playing with fire,” he grinds out, the words practically sawing their way through gritted teeth. His arms are so tense, they look like they might snap.
“Maybe,” I concede with a careless shrug—one that says I’ve made peace with getting burned a long time ago. “But it’s for the greater good. Trust me, this will be good for the city.”
Vance snorts, unconvinced. “You really believe that, Nero?”
“Belief is a luxury,” I quip back. “I deal in realities. And the reality is, we’re about to be family.” The word rolls off my tongue with a hint of mockery, laced with a truth that could either bind us or break us all.
His reaction is immediate. Vance’s hand shoots out, his grip iron on my arm—a physical manifestation of his frustration and, perhaps, fear. “Don’t be flip about this. You know what’s at stake.”
“Of course, I do.” I look down at his hand on my sleeve, then back up at him. “Do you?”
“Dammit, Nero, you’re putting the whole pack in danger by flaunting yourself like this,” Vance hisses, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he could force me to see reason through sheer physicality. “You’ve got a bigger target on your back than anyone else. Caius has wanted you dead for years.”
“Vance, you don’t give a damn about the pack,” I retort, my voice dropping an octave as I lean in closer, our noses nearly touching. “Or at least that’s what it looks like from where I’m standing. It’s about time you admitted that to yourself—and everyone else.”
His bright blue eyes flash, a storm brewing within them. But then they soften, just a fraction, and for a moment I see something akin to pain. “You’re wrong,” he says, the hardness in his voice giving way to something more vulnerable. “I do care. That’s why I wanted you to stay away—especially from Gunnar and Aisling.”
I can’t help it—I smirk. It’s not every day Vance Solace, kingpin of the Pacific City Angels, shows a crack in his armor. “Oh? Is this about caring, or is it something else?” I jab lightly, watching him closely. “Are you just jealous that I’ve already tasted Aisling when you’ve been dreaming about it for months?”
For a beat, Vance is frozen, his eyes widening before they harden into flinty chips of ice. He releases my arm as if scalded, and I know I’ve hit a nerve—a raw, exposed one. There’s so much between us unsaid, a history we both dance around, but sometimes it’s fun to watch him squirm.
“Watch your mouth, Rossi,” he grunts, taking a step back as if distancing himself from the truth of my words—or maybe from the temptation they stir within him.
“Or what?” I challenge, tilting my head slightly. “You’ll take a bite out of me too?”
Just as the air crackles with Vance’s barely restrained fury, Rook slides in beside us, oblivious to the tension. His arrival is like an unexpected gust of wind clearing away storm clouds.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Rook greets us with a grin that could charm the scales off a snake. He claps a hand on Vance’s shoulder, who stiffens but manages a nod.
“Rook,” I acknowledge with a nod and seize the moment of distraction. With a casual wave, I slide past Vance, leaving him to simmer in his own stew of anger and regret. My feet carry me towards the center of the grand ballroom, where the stars of the evening are undoubtedly shining.
Aisling stands at the center of the crowd, like some ethereal creature spun from moonbeams and silver threads. Her gown clings and flows in all the right places, her grey eyes reflecting the chandeliers’ light with a sparkle that rivals the diamonds at her throat.
She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t just enter a room—she commands it, and every alpha within sniffing distance knows it.
Beside her stands Gunnar, sleeves rolled up like he’s ready to get down to business even in the midst of this opulence. He spots me approaching and a knowing smirk curls his lip—one that says ‘Let’s give them a show they won’t forget.’
“Nero,” Gunnar greets me, reaching out to grasp my hand in a firm shake before pulling me in for a brief, solid shoulder bump—a sign of equal footing that isn’t lost on the onlookers.
“Looking sharp, Gunnar,” I reply, releasing his grip only to turn my attention to Aisling. Without hesitation, I scoop her into my arms, one hand at her waist, the other gently cradling the back of her head. And then I kiss her—deeply, passionately, a claiming that sends a clear message to every watching pair of eyes: She is mine, and I am hers.
This pack…we belong to each other.
The crowd erupts with surprise, their murmurs a blend of shock and awe, the kind of reaction that feeds the ego and stokes the fire in my veins. I can feel their eyes on us, burning with curiosity, envy, and desire. It’s intoxicating, the power we wield together in this moment.
“Always making an entrance, aren’t you?” Aisling teases breathlessly as I finally release her lips, her cheeks flushed with excitement or the thrill of our public defiance—I’m not sure which.
“Wouldn’t dream of anything less,” I respond with a cheeky wink. Through the sea of faces, I catch Vance’s steely gaze locked onto us. A silent challenge passes between us, one that says this dance is far from over.
But tonight, Aisling is in my arms, and the rest of the world can go hang.
I let her go and lean toward Gunnar, eyes darting around. “So, how’s everything holding up on your end?”
Gunnar catches my gaze and nods toward Aisling with a pride that’s hard to miss. “She’s blossoming, Nero,” he says, his voice tinged with awe. “Got a knack for PR that I didn’t see coming. It’s like all the pieces are starting to fit.”
“Is that so?” I muse, glancing at Aisling who is now engaged in conversation with Kendra Morrison—a revolutionary figure from Solstice Bay. The way Aisling holds herself, the confidence that radiates from her posture, it’s clear she’s more than just a pretty face in a crowd of alphas—she’s a force in her own right.
The clink of silverware against glass cuts through the hum of voices, and we all turn as one toward the sound. Inari stands on a stage, commanding the room with an easy grace that belies the power she wields. Her smile is warm, but her eyes are sharp, missing nothing.
“Welcome, dear guests,” Inari begins, her voice carrying over the crowd. Her presence pulls everyone into rapt attention, the undercurrent of authority in her tone undeniable. She’s a crimelord, sure, but tonight she’s also the hostess, the center of a world both dangerous and dazzling. And we’re all just living in it—at least for this evening.
“I wanted to say a few words,” Inari says. “Because this…it’s a new kind of pack, a new stage in our recover from the Great Mutation.”
Voices murmur across the room, speculation on what she’s about to tell us. I catch sight of a few of Isla Connolly’s Bluestockings around the room—guns at their hips, eyes sharp.
“Tonight, we stand in a world that has been irrevocably changed by the Mutation,” Inari continues, her gaze sweeping across the audience like a beacon. “A world where omegas are no longer content to be silent, to be powerless. I have committed myself to elevating our kind, to ensuring that omegas take their rightful places in the seats of power.”
She pauses, and I can feel the weight of her words settle over the crowd. There’s something electric about hearing that kind of talk—revolutionary, even—and I can’t help but admire her for it.
“And it’s with immense pride that I support the union of Gunnar and Aisling.” Her eyes find theirs in the crowd, and a ripple of excitement passes through the room. “Their marriage symbolizes more than just a joining of two strong individuals—it’s a beacon of the future we are building. And with Nero Rossi now joining their pack, the possibilities are endless.”
The murmurs around me are a mix of intrigue and admiration; they know as well as I do that this alliance could change the game. That’s exactly why I’m here—why I’m risking everything to be part of it.
“Please, stand and join me in celebrating this momentous occasion,” Inari says, lifting her glass high.
The room rises to its feet, and all eyes suddenly fix on us. Gunnar’s hand finds mine—solid, reassuring—and then there’s Aisling, looking up at me, her eyes shining with something fierce and tender. And damn it if that doesn’t hit me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.
Is that love?
The thought slams into me with the force of a freight train, leaving my heart hammering against my ribs. I’ve never been one for soft emotions, but the way she’s looking at me now—like I’m someone worth standing next to—I can feel something crack open inside me.
“Hey,” I say, my voice barely audible over the swell of music and conversation.
“Hey yourself,” she replies, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a smile that makes my head spin.
I glance at Gunnar, seeing my own turmoil reflected back at me. He nods slightly, the unspoken acknowledgment between us clear: whatever this is, it’s real, and we’re in it together.
But then, there’s a sudden sharp pain in my chest—an ache that doesn’t belong. My ears are ringing, the world tilting on its axis. For a moment, I think it’s just the shock of what I’m feeling for Aisling, the chaos of emotions that are alien to me.
“Nero?” Aisling’s voice cuts through the haze, and she’s…
…that’s panic.
I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. Instead, I look down and see a bloom of red spreading across the fabric of my shirt. Confusion grips me as surely as the hands of death itself.
“Shit,” Gunnar hisses beside me, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight.
He moves instinctively, his body shifting to shield me from the crowd, from whatever threat has just turned this celebration into a nightmare. His alpha instincts are in overdrive, the protective urge undeniable even as chaos erupts around us.
“Gun!” Oberon’s voice is a distant echo as he draws a weapon, his movements a blur of finely-honed reflexes and trained precision. The metallic glint of the gun catches the light as he scans the room for the assailant, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to strike.
Panic spreads through the ballroom like wildfire, guests screaming and scrambling as they realize something has gone terribly wrong. But all I can do is watch the red spread, feel the warmth seep through my fingers as I press them against the wound in a futile attempt to hold myself together.
“Stay with me, Nero,” Gunnar urges, his grip on me ironclad. “Don’t you dare check out now.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I manage to grunt out, though each breath feels like it might be my last. I’m not sure if I’m lying to him or to myself, but either way, I’m starting to realize that love might not be the only thing capable of bringing an alpha like me to his knees.
Through the haze of pain and confusion, my gaze locks with Vance’s across the room. His bright blue eyes are a tumultuous sea, churning with emotions he’d never dare voice aloud. He stands there, an imposing figure with greying hair that speaks to his years of reigning over Pacific City Angels, yet in this moment, he’s just as helpless as the rest.
Did he do this?
No…he wouldn’t, would he?
Not when he’s standing there looking like a satisfied asshole.
His look pierces through the chaos, a silent accusation that cuts deeper than the bullet lodged within me. ‘I told you so,’ it screams, louder than any spoken words. Vance had warned me, tried to make me see reason, but I’d been too wrapped up in my own bravado, too eager to prove that I could handle the target on my back.
“Shit, Nero,” Gunnar mutters under his breath, his eyes darting between my wound and the surrounding turmoil. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
People are fleeing, screaming—but I’m the only one who’s been shot.
This wasn’t a terror attack…it was a hit.
“Good plan,” I rasp, though it sounds more like a gasp for air than the witty retort I was aiming for. My vision starts to blur at the edges, the shimmering lights of the ballroom dimming into shadows as my body protests the violation it’s endured.
“Stay with us, Nero. Fight,” Aisling’s voice is soft but firm, her fingers brushing against my cheek with a touch that holds the promise of a future I’m suddenly terrified I won’t live to see.
Her sugar-sweet scent is a cruel reminder of what’s at stake, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that now coats my hands. It’s a contrast that speaks volumes about the world we’re trying to survive in—a world where beauty and brutality exist side by side.
I think…fuck, I think I’m dying.
And things were going so well.