The dark elite have clear cliques—small groups gathered in corners, talking in hushed tones. I spot the Berishas. Shkelzen raises a glass in my direction, like he didn’t assault me at the club.
Sweat beads on my palms. I paste on my PR smile. Years of etiquette classes and putting out fires have taught me at least this.
Never show weakness, especially if you’re a woman.
The world would eat you alive otherwise.
“The lovely Lana Anderson. A pity we haven’t met before now,” a deep voice murmursto my right.
I turn to the imposing man who has crept up next to me. Tall and broad-shouldered, thick brown hair, his muscular frame poured into an expertly fitted tux. A signet ring with the letter C rests on his finger.
Startling light blue eyes, the color of an iceberg, meet mine.
He’d be handsome except for the hardness in his gaze.
And the fact his last name is Caruso.
“Gabriel Caruso,” I extend my hand, smile intact, “I’ve heard about you. And it’s Lana Kent now.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s the first time I’ve used Elias’s last name.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And Sofia is right. Like it or not, Elias is my only ally here.
Gabriel’s lips curve, just barely. He grabs a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and hands it to me. “Where’s husband dearest?”
“Mingling. Doing manly things.” Frustration coils inside me, but I keep my tone light. The damn bastard deposited me in the corner the moment we arrived, only to tell me to stay put until dinner.
“How chivalrous. If I had a wife as beautiful as you, I’d never leave her alone in a den of wolves.”
“Don’t worry. I know how to kill a man in ten seconds.”
That might be a stretch, but it feels good to say.
“The queen of the underworld, how savage,” he muses, eyes glinting. “Fitting.”
Leaning in, he draws a stiff inhale. Goosebumps ripple down my arms. “You smell good.”
I shift to the side. “Apparently, money doesn’t buy you manners.”
“Or maybe, it makes me more discerning…good at spotting cracks in the foundation.” Gabriel presses his body to my side. “Do me a favor. Don’t try so hard to stand out. It only makes us want a piece of you.”
Unease twists my gut, and he chuckles. “Tread carefully. These waters are rough. Who you align yourself with can have…consequences.” Gabriel points his finger at a group of Asians. “Over there…the Kongs. Brutal bastards. If you think the Berishas are cruel, you haven’t met them yet.”
A rowdy cheer erupts in the room, followed by the clinking of glasses. “The Ivanovs. Control Eastern Europe. Your Berishas hate them. The Russians are buddies with the O’Callaghans. I think it’s the alcohol.”
“They’re notmyBerishas.”
“They aren’t? Interesting. Probably a good thing. The Berishas aren’t doing well, and they know it.” He hums under his breath. “Finally, on your far right are the Alvarezes. Don’t be charmed by their good looks. You’ll lose a limb before you notice.” He raises his glass toward a group of stunning brown-haired men and women.
“And let me guess,” I point to the group of dark-haired men and women, who have hair so blond it’s almost white, “the Carusos. Your family. The pure angels?”
He clasps his chest, looking wounded. “Why, of course. I’m here welcoming you, aren’t I?”
I roll my eyes. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“I have a vested interest in your husband. I’d like him to stay alive…longer.”
A wiry man walks to the center of the room and checks his watch. He looks familiar. “It’s six-thirty. Dinner begins in half an hour.”
