But I don’t start the car right away. I drink her in with my eyes until I’m certain I’ll never forget the way she looks tonight.
By the time we arrive at the venue, the desire to touch her is thrashing around me. I open the door for her, gripping her arm tightly as I help her to her feet.
The gala is held in one of the city’s oldest ballrooms—a place where money whispers and power wears a tuxedo. Crystal chandeliers drizzle light over marble floors, and the air hums with the low murmur of conversations laced with deals and secrets. Waiters glide between clusters of guests, silver trays balanced effortlessly, champagne flutes catching the light like stolen stars.
Mikhail and Zorina stand near the entrance, a picture of elegance and dominance.
Mikhail, at thirty-seven, is the third-oldest Antonov brother. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with the same sharp features as Leo but softer around the edges, like a blade sheathed in velvet. His role in the organization is simple: he handles the legal businesses we run in Las Vegas. Casinos, hotels, resorts, andsome of the businesses that launder our money, the restaurants and clubs that serve as neutral ground for meetings. He’s the face of legitimacy, the one who shakes hands with politicians and smiles at cameras while the rest of us do the dirty work.
Zorina is radiant, her dark hair swept into an elegant updo, her pregnant belly rounded beneath the draping silk of her emerald gown. Mikhail’s hand rests possessively on her stomach, his fingers splayed wide, as if daring anyone to look too long. She glows, not just from the pregnancy, but from the way he watches her, like she’s the only thing in the room worth seeing.
Callista tenses slightly beside me as we approach, her fingers twitching at her sides. I press my palm to the small of her back, a silent command:Relax. You’re with me.
Zorina’s eyes light up when she sees us. “Dmitry!” She steps forward, ignoring Mikhail’s low growl of protest, and pulls me into a hug. “You actually came. I didn’t think you’d leave your spreadsheets for a night.”
I smirk. “I had an incentive.”
Her gaze flicks to Callista, curiosity sparking. “And who is this?”
“Callista Vale,” I say, my hand still firm on her back. “My… girlfriend. Callista, meet my older brother Mikhail and his wife Zorina. They’re the organizers of tonight’s event.”
Mikhail’s eyebrow lifts. “Girlfriend?”
I don’t flinch. “Fake girlfriend.”
Callista stiffens, but Zorina only laughs, her eyes dancing. “Oh, I like her already.” She turns to Callista, extending a hand. “Zorina Antonova. And you must be the reason my husband’s little brother is finally socializing.”
Callista shakes her hand, her smile genuine now. “I don’t know about that. He’s still glued to his computer half the time.”
Zorina grins. “Then you’re a miracle worker.”
Mikhail studies Callista with the quiet intensity of a man who misses nothing. “So why did you come tonight?”
Callista nods. “I organize events for my sorority. Dmitry said I could learn a thing or two from Zorina.”
“She’s brilliant at it,” I say, before she can downplay it.
“Are you thinking of going into event planning the future?” Zorina asks, keeping her question light and neutral.
“I’m considering it.” That’s the first time I’ve heard Callista admit to it. She’s tight-lipped about her future plans so it feels like a triumph to make her spill the beans. “I like organizing events, and I can see myself doing this long-term.”
Zorina’s eyes widen. “Really? That’s amazing! You should talk to my event planner—she’s always looking for fresh talent. I could introduce you.”
Callista blinks, surprised. “That would be… incredible. Thank you.”
I feel the shift in her, the way her shoulders relax just a fraction. She’s not used to people offering help without strings. Not used to being seen.
Mikhail claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve got good taste, bratishka.” His voice drops. “Just be careful. Women like her don’t stay fake for long.”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
I set my hand on Callista’s back, pushing her deeper into the crowd, away from my brother and his wife.
The ballroom is a symphony of wealth. Silk dresses swishing, cufflinks glinting, laughter like champagne bubbles in the air. Callista moves beside me, her gaze sharp, taking in the details. She watches the way the centerpieces match the table linens, the precise timing of the waitstaff, the subtle lighting that makes everyone look their best.
“Zorina has an incredible eye,” she murmurs. “The way she’s layered the lighting—it’s warm but not overwhelming. And thefloral arrangements… they’re not just pretty. They’re strategic. The height draws the eye upward, makes the room feel bigger.”
I watch her, fascinated. This is the real her—the one who notices the mechanics behind the magic. The one who cares.
