I lift my glass to my lips. The whiskey burns going down, familiar and welcome. I set it back on the white tablecloth, the crystal base making a sharp sound against the wood beneath the fabric.
"I'm fine."
"You're wasted,vëlla." Brother. The word carries weight. Concern wrapped in criticism.
"Not wasted enough."
Artan sighs, a sound of resignation that I've heard from him too many times to count. But he doesn't push further. He knows better by now. Knows that when I'm like this, there's no reasoning with me. No pulling me back from the edge I'm walking.
I need to drink. Need something to numb the past three days that have felt like three years.
The way Lily pulled away the second she knew the truth about us. About what we do. About who we really are beneath the expensive suits and respectable facades. Like we became something contaminated the moment the word mafia left my mouth. Something she couldn't touch anymore without getting dirty herself.
I showed her who I really am. Let myself be vulnerable for the first time in my fucking life. Peeled back layers I've spent years building. Let her see the violence and the darkness and the parts of me that terrify even myself sometimes.
And she looked at me like I was a monster.
Rejected. That's what I feel. The sharp, bitter taste of rejection sitting heavy on my tongue, mixing with the whiskey until I can't tell which one burns more.
And now I have to sit here at this goddamn engagement party and watch her on Luan's arm, wearing his ring, being introduced to everyone as his fiancée. Like she belongs only to him when she belongs to all of us.
Or she did. Before she knew. Before the truth ruined everything.
She didn't invite anyone tonight either. Not her brother despite how much she talks about him. Not friends. Like she's afraid we'll contaminate them somehow. Like association with us is a disease that spreads through proximity.
And here we are, sitting at the head table facing the most powerful Albanian mafia families in the country. Fifty people minimum spread across round tables throughout the room, all watching, judging, evaluating whether this American girl is worthy of the Krasniqi name.
Yeah. I definitely need to drink.
The seating arrangement puts me three seats away from Lily, which feels both too close and impossibly far. The long table stretches across the front of the room like a stage, putting us on display. Luan sits in the center, with Lily beside him looking beautiful and terrified in a deep blue dress that makes her eyes impossible to look away from. On Luan's other side sits Artan, solid and vigilant, then me, then some council member whose name I don't care about.
On Lily's side sits Driton, Luan's uncle, with his silver hair and calculating eyes. Then another council member.
She's trapped between Luan and his uncle. Surrounded by tradition and expectation and the weight of a hundred years of Albanian custom that she doesn't understand and never agreed to carry.
I reach for my glass again. The whiskey sloshes slightly, amber liquid catching the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.
Movement catches my attention before I can drink. Luan stands, his chair scraping back slightly against the floor.
The room goes quiet immediately. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Fifty pairs of eyes turn toward our table.
Luan's voice carries across the space with practiced ease. Brief. Controlled. The perfect host playing the perfect role.
"Thank you all for coming tonight. For witnessing this moment with us, for traveling from across the country to be here." He glances down at Lily, his hand resting on her shoulder with possessive gentleness. "I'm honored to introduce you to my fiancée, Lily Parker."
Polite applause ripples through the room. Measured. Evaluating.
"I'm grateful to the elders for attending, for your continued guidance and wisdom." Luan's gaze moves across the room, making eye contact with the important people, the ones whose approval matters. "Tonight we celebrate family. Continuity. The future we're building together."
He sits. The applause continues briefly then fades into expectant silence.
Servers begin moving between tables. The first course. Finally.
But Driton stands before anyone can get comfortable, before forks can touch plates.
The voice of a man who's been giving orders for decades and expects them to be followed without question.
"Family is everything," he begins, his hands braced on the table, leaning forward slightly like he's delivering a sermon. "It's what has sustained us through generations. Through wars and poverty and persecution. What keeps us strong when the world tries to break us."
