Elijah scoffs, hitting my brother’s shoulder. “She called him Nik.”
Enzo smiles back and rage begins to build. “Oh, I’m sorry I think we have bigger problems than my love life.”
They laugh in unison as we pile into the car.
Why the fuck are they so okay with this?
Maybe I should feel relief—I’m getting away from Viktor—but something else pricks under my skin: the absence of that particular, devouring thing Nikolai made me feel.
I watch the back entrance to the ballroom through the rear window, my breath fogging the glass. Somehow I already know to look.
The door was ajar for a heartbeat before it slammed shut. Only, the door hadn’t slammed, someone stood there. Dark coat. Figure like a blade.
He doesn’t move as we pull away, he only watches, the distance between us filled with something unsaid and enormous.
“Stop daydreaming, Ace. We have to talk about what we’re doing next.”
I roll my eyes, not realizing a tear had slipped out. Just then, Elijah reaches to the back seat, swiping mascara from under myeye. “You have to know us better than that, pretty girl. We would die for you.”
They’re crazy if they think I’ll let them sacrifice themselves for me.
Chapter 67
Nikolai
“This fucking family.” I watch as Enzo’s fuck-ass Maserati disappears down the driveway, my girl swallowed by the darkness. The cold night air clings to my coat, my breath ghosting white in front of me.
Maksim is at my side before the thought can finish burning in my mind, followed by Adrian stepping out with that permanent smirk.
“So… does this mean our princess doesn’t love us anymore?” Adrian taunts.
Rage folds me in half. I drive my fist into the exact spot where I know the scar sits.
He doubles over with a sound that’s half laugh, half curse.
“I’ll shoot you again, little brother,” I growl.
It isn’t a threat I enjoy; it’s a promise.
He chokes out a laugh, wiping his mouth. “If she didn’t love you,” he wheezes, “she wouldn’t look at you like you hung the fucking moon.”
Maksim snorts. “Not helping.”
Adrian shrugs. “Just saying. The girl looked ready to claw her way back to him through the car window.” He hesitates a moment. “I guess it could’ve been targeted towards me.” He nods once, eyebrows raised—almost convincing himself.
But we both know that’s ridiculous so I ignore him and push deeper into the crowd.
Dante is gone.
The circle that had held our empire’s polite violence is suddenly empty of the man I came to find. The chandeliers above the ballroom spill pale light across silk, laughter, and the clink of crystal, all trying to pretend everything is fine.
My chest rises and falls, and I can feel the room responding. Conversations stutter. Laughter dies mid-breath.
Someone near the bar murmurs, “Don’t look at him—just don’t.”
Another voice whispers, “He’s going to kill someone.”
People start drifting—not running, but repositioning.
