"Lies," Vito hisses. "The floor moved."
Stephano sighs. "Jesus Christ."
Raf smirks. "He fits right in with the Russians."
Grigori approaches the group, raises one imperious eyebrow, and the entire situation deflates. Even Vito quiets, muttering under his breath about slippery marble.
The music shifts to something soft and romantic. A hush falls as the crowd anticipates Stephano and my first dance. His hand finds mine. He turns me gently toward him, and the world stills. The mafia bosses, the Bratva soldiers, the political machinations, the bloodlines, all of it fades.
It’s just him.
My husband.
My future.
My impossible, infuriating, beautiful man.
He leans down and brushes his lips against my ear. "You look unbelievably beautiful."
"I know," I whisper back.
He laughs under his breath, low and warm. The music swells. He pulls me into the dance. For a moment, I forget politics. Bloodlines. Camilla. Mikhail’s sulking. The looming threat of Alexei. It’s just Stephano and me.
Grigori approaches us when the song ends, his face carved from stone like always, his expression unreadable. He could be about to kill a kitten or go make love to his wife. It's a toss-up.
"Congratulations," he says stiffly. "You did not disgrace the family."
Progress.
Stephano forces a polite nod. "Your presence means a lot to us."
Grigori’s stare could freeze lava.
"Do not thank me," he says. "I’m only here because killing Italians at weddings is considered rude."
Stephano mutters, "We appreciate your restraint."
I nudge him.
Grigori leans in. "Where is the girl?"
"Which girl?" Stephano asks.
Grigori’s eyes slice to mine. "Camilla. The Voronin."
I sigh. "She disappeared again."
He draws in a slow breath. "How does shekeep escaping?"
"She just… drifts," I hedge.
"She is not mist."
"She might be."
Stephano pinches the bridge of his nose. "We’ll find her."
Grigori nods curtly. "See that you do. The longer she is unprotected, the more danger she invites."
