Patting his hand, I offer a small smile, the veil disguising the truth.
I am not pure.
I am not innocent.
But it thrills me that only a few people know that.
He’s the best at deceiving.
I am the best at pretending.
We’re the perfect pair, aren’t we?
22
TRISTAN
Power. Deception. Strategy. In my world, they’re interchangeable.
The underworld’s most feared individuals convene inside my hotel’s conference room. They’re here for my wedding and this meeting is to ensure everyone minds their manners. I increased security, posting my men on every floor to prevent any problems.
On the left side is the Syndicate. The four men stand together, glaring at the other three. Enzo and Mikail, the leaders of the BRACON and Calla Ferrara, the Council’s leader.
The tension emanating from them stretches like a dangerous current. I position myself between them to preserve the balance—a tacit instruction not to entertain something foolish.
In front of me are Rafe, the Miami cartel boss, Vian, the Chicago Mafia boss, and Zara, gun trafficking heiress and the only other woman.
“If any of you pull a move on my wedding day, it’s going to end in bloodshed. No one will escape my wrath, and the one who started this won’t leave my city alive.”
“Is that so?” Cato asks, glaring at Calla, who brushes the golden hook on her arm, emphasizing the place his wife shot her.
I should have married Viviana in a secluded place. Unfortunately, I cannot enjoy that privilege because maintaining power proves more difficult than acquiring it. Nothing helps more in displaying that than showing who’s in charge.
A priest will marry us in God’s name to bless our union. A blasphemy considering the groom and most of my guests. If the church doesn’t go up in flames, we’ll move to the celebratory party afterward.
“We’re all for being civilized,” Calla says, but her smile is fake, daring them to start something.
Rafe chuckles, loving this shit. Vian barely suppresses his boredom. Zara is on alert because she does business with both the Syndicate and BRACON, putting her in a delicate situation.
“It’s insulting to be in the same room with you, Luciana. I’m very trigger-happy,” Cato snickers.
“I go by fucking Calla now.” She steps toward him. “I know I didn’t shoot you in your damn brain.”
In an instant, four guns are pulled on the right side and three on the left.
I grit my teeth, gesturing for one of my men, who appears by my side like a deadly silent shadow.
“Hand over your guns. Fucking now before I lose my patience,” I snap.
They stare each other down, and Zara says, “Let’s calm down. We’re here for a wedding. Not to settle differences. There’s enough time for that.”
I offer her a nod of gratitude, and Vian glances at her before he quickly masks his interest. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I missed some intel.
“Marriage. No thank you,” Rafe mumbles.
I thought the same not long ago. Those were peaceful times. I don’t know whether to envy or pity him.
I turn to my left, starting with the ones I’ve bonded with for life by becoming Aris’s godfather.
