"And Viktor?"
Piero's expression darkened. "Watching. Waiting. He brought Irina—that's new. He'll approach soon."
"Let him come."
The orchestra began playing a traditional waltz. I turned to Paola. "Dance with me."
She took my hand.
When I pulled Paola close, hand on her waist, something shifted. We'd danced at the wedding reception—pure performance. This felt different.
Maybe because I'd woken with her in my arms this morning. Because I knew how she looked beneath emerald silk, how she sounded when she came.
"You're doing well," I told her quietly. "Better than I expected."
"Low bar." Almost teasing.
When had we developed this ease?
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
I answered honestly: "That I'm proud of you."
She missed a step. "Proud?"
"You've handled tonight perfectly. Every Don here respects you. That matters."
"Because it reflects well on you."
"Yes." I pulled her closer. "And because you deserve that respect."
She looked up, searching my face. It was obvious she didn’t believe that sentiment, not yet. But I’d make sure she did someday soon. "I don't understand you."
"Good. Keep me unpredictable."
The music swelled. She rested her head briefly against my shoulder.
For one moment, we weren't a Don and his reluctant wife. Just two people dancing.
Then the music ended.
Reality returned.
We'd just stepped off the floor when Viktor materialized. Alone. Irina was nowhere visible.
"Ah, the happy couple. May I steal a moment?"
My hand found Paola's back—protective, warning. "Of course, Viktor."
"I wanted to speak with you both privately. About business."
Business.Never good.
Viktor gestured toward a quieter corner. Refusing would show weakness.
I guided Paola to the indicated corner. Viktor positioned himself with his back to the room, blocking others' view. Deliberately isolating us.
"I've been thinking," Viktor began, "about alliances. About family. About... twins."
