She tilted her goblet toward the corner. “Playing referee with your brother.”
Rocco followed her gaze across the room. His hand tightened around the glass. Without a word, he lifted his glass and drained the whiskey in one long swallow.
“I’m sorry,” Rose said softly. “Dante...”
“He has a right to hate my guts.” Rocco set the empty glass down, his eyes hard. Flat. “They all do.”
The words landed like a fist to my chest. He meant it. Every syllable. He'd swallowed the guilt whole and let it poison himfrom the inside out — and no one, not even his own mother, had been able to convince him otherwise.
It wasn't you, I wanted to scream. You were possessed. But I'd said those words a thousand times in my head, and he'd never been close enough to hear them.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.
I took a long swallow of the Chosen Blood. It didn’t help.
Costin made his way up to the stage as the band finished their song. The crowd quieted, all eyes turning toward the original vampire king.
Thank God. A distraction. I wasn't sure how much more of Rocco's self-destruction I could sit through without saying something I couldn't take back. I stole a glance at Dante across the room — his arms crossed, his jaw set, his eyes still burning. Please, I thought. Not during the speech. Not tonight.
“Welcome, everyone, to my beautiful wife’s birthday celebration.”
We all clapped at the table—even Rocco, though his applause was hollow, mechanical.
“Waiters will be bringing champagne around to toast my dear mate.”
On cue, waiters in crisp black uniforms glided through the crowd with trays of crystal flutes, bubbles rising in perfect columns. Rose, Rocco, and I stood with the rest of the room.
I glanced toward the corner. Valentin was still acting like a linebacker, his body a wall between Dante and the rest of the party. Katona had finally joined them, and from the look on her face, she was giving Dante an earful. Her hands moved sharply as she spoke, her expression fierce. Out of anyone, she had the biggest control over him. If she couldn’t calm him down, no one could.
I leaned closer to Rocco, my shoulder brushing his arm. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t look at me. Just shrugged, his grip white-knuckled around the champagne flute.
He didn’t have to say it. His whole body screamedhell no.
I looked down at my champagne, wondering if we should go. Rose was right. Why Rocco? I should have called her before tonight. Maybe Valentin could have gotten answers from his brother.
Before I could press him, movement caught my eye.
Trystan Hunter, the Wolf King, was heading straight for us. Of course he was. The man could probably smell trouble from a mile away—literally.
Light reflected off his long, shaggy blondish-brown hair as he moved through the crowd. His piercing blue eyes locked with mine, and I glanced away nervously. Was this going to be another confrontation? Another fight?
I scanned the room for his enforcer, Stalker. Where was he? My stomach tightened. A wolf shifter like Stalker didn’t just wander off—not unless he was hunting something.
Trystan stopped in front of our table, his attention fixed on Rocco.
“Rocco.” He gave a short nod. “Keir tells me you’re representing Angelo tonight. Anything wrong?”
“No.” Rocco’s voice was sharp. Clipped. “Nothing at all.”
Trystan’s gaze swept over him—assessing, calculating. “Still working at Bernie’s?”
“No.”
“Working with Angelo?”
Rocco set his champagne glass down with a little too much force and snagged another from a passing waiter’s tray.
