Gigi snorts. “Don’t you just love that their meetings carve up the city, and we’re expected to applaud?”
Scarlet tips her sunglasses down. “Carve up the city? Try ego maintenance. If it mattered, there’d be a cheese tray.”
Cat leans back against the handrail, deadpan. “And a proper agenda. With timestamps.” Then her fingers fly, typing something sweet and absolutely not what she’s feeling. “I adore being told tobe goodlike I’m a golden retriever.”
Gigi flicks her eyes up from her own screen, all business. “They can have their meeting.” She lifts her chin at me. “We’ll have ours.”
Violet blinks, "What do you mean?”
Gigi crosses her arms, hip cocked, mouth pure trouble. “I mean, I don’t like that if, say, Enrico and Marcello get into it, we’re supposed to stay away from each other like we’re extensions of their egos. We didn’t sign a treaty. They did.”
Izzy tucks her hair behind her ear. “Okay… but what can we actually do?”
I look around the mirrored box, my girls, my shadows, myfamily.“Gigi’s right. I don’t like it either. I don’t want to be at war with any of you because of something the men decide in a room we’re not invited into.”
Scarlet’s mouth curves. “So we don’t go to war.” She pauses. “We go Greek.”
We all stare. She lifts her brows, pleased with herself. “You know—My Big Fat Greek Wedding.The mom says,The man is the head, but the woman is the neck. And she can turn the head any way she wants.”
Gigi’s grin breaks first. “Neck it is.”
The doors whisper open into the quiet penthouse. High glass gives a view of desert gold and the Strip glittering like fallen sequins. Two guards peel off to sweep the balcony; the other two take the hall. Violet gestures us inward with that calm nurse-command that makes everyone obey without thinking. “Living room. Sit. Drinks.”
We scatter to sofas and low chairs. Ice clinks; glass sweats against my palm. The city hums far below, a beehive we could tilt with a finger.
“Let’s talk,” Violet says, taking the arm of a chair like a throne. “Compare notes.”
“Put it all on the table,” Cat adds, practical as a checklist.
We look at each other, and no one moves. My throat tightens.These are my friends.But Raffael is my life. There are lines I won’t cross, even for them.
Violet sees it—of course she does—and boxes me in with the cleanest question on earth. “Do you want to see Marcello and Raffael go at it?”
The room goes very still. I picture it for half a heartbeat—two men I love, teeth bared out of pride and old ghosts—and my stomach drops.
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“Then we need to know enough to turn the neck,” she says softly. “We can’t influence what we don’t understand.”
Gigi’s already got her phone face down on the table, which for her is the same as a vow. “Ground rules. No operational specifics that burn our men. No names that don’t need saying. Only what changes outcomes, alliances, lines that can’t be crossed, tells we can use.”
Gigi taps her nail against her glass. “And a pact: none of us freeze each other out just because the head turns left or right. The neck sticks together.”
Scarlet raises her drink. “Neck Council.”
Izzy smiles, nervous and brave. “Feathered necks,” she murmurs, and we all snort, which helps.
Violet nods once, satisfied. “So, who goes first?”
Scarlet doesn’t hesitate; she points at me. “Sophia.”
My pulse jumps. I feel six kinds of loyalty tug at once: blood, love, friendship, survival, the girl I was, and the woman I’mbecoming. I take a breath that tastes like ice and neon. “Okay,” I say. “Here’s what Icanput on the table.” My mind works feverishly. I don’t want to betray Raf's confidence, but I don't want him to go to war with Marcello either. This is what they mean by being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Okay, so I know, Raf is going to tell the men tonight about Don Leonardo and Donna Margarita, so that's safe to divulge. In my haste, I don't mince my words. "Donna Margarita is his mother. Don Leonardo was his father.”
For a heartbeat, the room forgets how to breathe, and I realize what kind of grenade I just threw out there. It would be almost funny, watching my friends' faces turn incredulous, if it weren’t so serious.
“What?” Gigi’s glass clinks against her teeth.
“Whoa—slow down,” Scarlet mutters, already scooting forward like she’s about to take notes.
