"Birthday girl's choice. Dancing? Flirting? Making out with a random hot guy?" She waggled her eyebrows. "Finally getting that first kiss you've been hoarding?"
My face went hot. "Sophie!"
"What? You're eighteen and you've never been kissed. That's practically a crime. When's the last time you even came close?"
"There was that thing with Marco at the summer party—"
"Oh my god." Sophie was dying. "The sneeze incident. I forgot about that. His face when you—" She doubled overlaughing.
"I had allergies!" I covered my burning face. "Can we please never speak of that again?"
"Never. That's going in my wedding toast to you someday." She grinned, then her expression softened. "But seriously, what do you want tonight?"
I thought about it. About the white dress probably being fitted right now for my wedding to Salvatore. About Papa's promise to find another way that might not work. About the fact that if I did end up married to that man, my first kiss—my first everything—would be with someone who made my skin crawl.
"I want to feel normal," I said finally. "Like I'm just Aria. Not the Romano daughter, not some grieving girl, not a future mob wife. Just... me."
"Then that's exactly who you're going to be tonight." Sophie squeezed my shoulder. "Now I need to go find Derek—he's the guy with the motorcycle I told you about. You should mingle."
"Mingle? Sophie, I don't know how to mingle!"
"Talk to people! Flirt! Have fun!" She was already backing into the crowd. "Text me if you need me!"
And then she was gone, swallowed by the press of bodies, leaving me alone with my shot glass and rising panic.
I could do this. I was Aria Romano. I'd survived years of etiquette training, family dinners with murderers, and watching my mother die. I could handle one night at a club.
I started moving through the crowd, trying to look like I belonged. People-watching had always been my thing. Growing up in the mafia meant learning to read people fast—who was dangerous, who was weak, who could be manipulated.
Couple in the corner—together at least six months based on how comfortable they were practically having sex against the wall. No first date awkwardness there.
Group of girls doing shots—celebrating something. Promotion, maybe? The blonde kept showing her phone to the others.
Guy in the expensive suit—waiting for someone. Kept checkinghis watch, getting more annoyed by the minute. Definitely been stood up.
Three guys playing pool—
Someone was watching me.
I felt it before I saw him. The weight of a stare so intense it was like a physical touch dragging across my skin. Every instinct Papa had drilled into me about awareness and threat assessment screamed to attention.
I turned slowly, scanning the crowd.
And found him.
He was leaning against the far wall, drink in hand, eyes locked directly on me with an intensity that stole my breath. Even in the strobing lights and press of bodies, I could make out enough to know I was in serious trouble.
Mid-twenties. Tall—really tall. Dark hair that looked like he'd run his hands through it too many times. Sharp features that could have been carved from stone. And eyes so dark they looked black even from across the room.
He didn't look away when I caught him staring. Didn't even pretend to be embarrassed. Just took a slow sip of his drink, and his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile but made my stomach flip anyway.
I looked away first, heat flooding my face.
Danger. Every cell in my body recognized it. This man was dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with guns or family names or the violence I'd grown up around. This was something more primal. More inevitable.
I needed to stay far, far away from him.
I pushed deeper into the crowd, trying to focus on anything else. The music, the lights, the couple now making out near the DJ booth. But I could still feel it—that weight. That stare tracking my every movement like he could see through the press of bodies.
