But it is important. And her happiness matters.
I don’t examine that thought too closely.
For the last few hours, admirers of her art have flocked to her.
She’s magnetic, and everyone feels her allure. Their eyes track her as she floats through the crowd, explaining her work and accepting compliments with a grace that seems impossible for someone who was so worked up just hours ago. My fist tightens around my champagne flute. If I’m not careful, I’ll shatter the crystal.
A silver-haired woman in a red dress stops in front of Aurora’s largest piece. She tilts her head, squinting at the broken pieces of ceramic and glass arranged in the shape of a crown in mirrored pieces of silver and gold. The bright shards catch the gallery lights, throwing rainbow reflections onto the wall behind the piece. The woman raves about “found materials” and “metaphor for self-reflection” to her companion.
She’s not wrong. Aurora rebuilds damaged things until they’re whole again.
Like she’s trying to do with me.
The thought sticks in my throat like a bone, and my mind returns to the information she shared. Gio’s been watching Samantha. He threatened Aurora. He bought one of her pieces.
Gio.
His name is acid in my veins.
I’ve already made calls and set things in motion. By tomorrow night, Gio Falcone will be nothing but a cautionary tale whispered among those who know better than to cross me.
But tonight belongs to Aurora, so I contain the simmering rage and watch her shine. I’m glad to see her enjoying herself,despite her sister calling in tears to back out at the last minute. Apparently, her roommate gave her COVID.
Across the room, Aurora snags my eye. Her smile softens, a pink hue seeping into her cheeks.
That one little glance is enough to force me to discreetly adjust my pants.
My nod says what I can’t articulate.I’m here. I’m proud of you. You’re mine.
My father drifts by, stopping to chat with a cluster of women near the drink table. He’s playing the charming silver fox, all quiet dignity and old-world courtesy. The women eat it up, their jeweled hands touching his arm, their laughter too loud. He brags about his daughter-in-law’s “remarkable talent” and directs their attention to a piece crafted from seashells and sea glass.
The women flock toward it, Mikhail guiding them like a shepherd. Irina appears at his side, shaking her head with fond exasperation. She murmurs in his ear, then sashays around to examine a different piece.
I know her approval matters to Aurora. They’ve developed a tentative friendship over the past two weeks, built on shared tastes in books and my stepmother’s surprising knowledge of art. On the ride over, Aurora confessed that she’d never expected to like anyone in my family, let alone feel welcomed.
Family.
The word still feels foreign when applied to Aurora. Like a new tooth I can’t stop probing with my tongue, testing for pain. I’ve never felt this much protectiveness for a family member before. Not my half siblings.
Not even MJ.
My gaze shifts, tracking each of them through the crowd.
Valeria flits between groups like a social butterfly, her laughter genuine, her enthusiasm infectious. As Aurora’sbiggest champion, she played a hand in ensuring all the right people were invited after I got Aurora into the art show. She and Aurora are close in age but worlds apart in experience. Still, Valeria’s carefree spirit puts Aurora at ease. My new bride fits in better than any of us anticipated.
In a corner, Kolya acts as sentinel, his position mirroring mine. Hands folded low, shoulders relaxed but ready. His eyes meet mine in a silent check-in.All clear.He scans the crowd again, his gaze pausing on every unfamiliar face. Searching for threats. Including the Falcones.
Vanya glides through the crowd, charming his way into conversations and extracting information with a smile and well-placed question. Business never stops, even at an art show.Especiallyat an art show, where alcohol loosens lips and the pretense of culture leads people to forget who they’re really talking to.
Already, I’ve witnessed him exchange business cards with two city officials and a tech CEO. By next week, they’ll be in Roman’s pocket without even remembering how they got there.
Near a harsh metal sculpture, Kirill remains motionless, boredom carved into his features. But I know better. He’s calculating angles, assessing weak points, and planning for contingencies that most people never consider. That’s his gift. Seeing how things break before they actually do.
I haven’t spotted Max in an hour or so, but I know he’s present too.
They’re all here. For me. For her.
For us.
