"For what it's worth," she adds, tilting her glass against mine with a soft clink, "I think it's wonderful. Everything will work out. You’ll see. We’re all family here."
The sting behind my eyes catches me off guard. I blink it away and take a sip of cider that tastes sweet on my tongue and in total contrast to the unexpected knot in my throat.
"Family." The word sticks. "Is that what this is?"
Her smile softens. "That's exactly what this is. We take care of our own. And you're one of us now."
I lift the glass to my lips again when movement across the room catches my attention. Rafael Milano approaches Luca with a smile that doesn't quite reach his dark eyes. He clasps my new husband's hand and pulls him in close, the way men do when they want a conversation to look friendly from a distance.
Whatever Rafael murmurs against Luca's ear makes my husband's jaw tighten, but he nods once, a sharp, decisive motion that carries the weight of a promise. Rafael studies him for a long beat, then claps his shoulder and walks away. The exchange takes less than thirty seconds, but the air around Luca shifts, something heavier settling across his shoulders that he smooths away before anyone else notices.
I notice.
Before I can cross the room to ask what that was about, a hand touches my arm, and I turn to find Persia Milano studying me with eyes that see too much. Rafael's wife is stunning in a deep red dress that matches the color of danger, her violet hair swept up to reveal a graceful neck adorned with diamonds.
"Walk with me," she says, and it's not quite a request.
I follow her through the crowd toward a quieter corner, hyperaware of the curious glances tracking our progress. The wife of the Syndicate's leader taking the newest acquisition under her wing. I wonder what they see when they look at me. A pregnant bride in a borrowed dress. A Marchetti in Valentina territory. A pawn who somehow became a queen.
"I know what it's like." Persia's voice is soft, her gaze distant. "To feel like your whole life has been a chess game someone else is playing. To wonder if you'll ever get to make a move of your own."
My breath catches. The question tumbles out before I can stop it, raw and desperate in a way I didn't intend. "And did you? Make your own move?"
Because I need to know. Need to believe that women like us, women born into cages gilded with money and expectation, can find a way out. That the chess pieces can refuse to be played. That somewhere on the other side of all this fear and uncertainty, there's a version of my life where I'm the one holding the board.
Her smile is slow and secret.
"I did. I finally had enough of everyone else taking my life into their own hands as if it belonged to them. So I made a wish."
"A wish?" My eyebrows lift, and I tilt my head slightly, searching her face for signs she's joking.
"Mm-hm. At Scarlet Thorn." She angles her body toward me, her voice dropping. "There's a box there. A special box where people drop their deepest wishes. And there's a group of men, secret men, who read those wishes and grant them if they're worthy."
My pulse quickens. A wish-granting box. Secret men. It sounds like a fairy tale, the kind of story mothers tell daughters about magic and hope and impossible things.
"Who are they?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "The men who grant the wishes?"
Persia's lips part to answer, but before she can speak, Rafael appears at her side. His hand slides around her waist with easy possessiveness, and the look he gives her is equal parts adoration and command.
"Dance with me,bellissima." His voice brooks no argument. "They're playing our song."
“More later, okay?” She shoots me an apologetic glance as he sweeps her toward the makeshift dance floor, her answer dying unspoken.
But the seed has been planted.
A wish box. Secret men. Scarlet Thorn.
I look around the reception. Luca is deep in conversation with Drake and Kon, their heads bent together in discussion that looks more like strategy than celebration. Katriana and Persia's other friends cluster near the bar. No one is watching me.
It takes less than five minutes to slip away from the reception and into the elevator. A few floors up, Scarlet Thorn waits. I press the button to take me up and hold my breath.
The second I step out of the elevator, the hostess at Scarlet Thorn recognizes me from my membership, though her eyebrows lift slightly at my wedding dress. I brush past her murmured congratulations and ask the question burning in my chest.
"Thank you. It was a whirlwind shotgun wedding.”
That puts a smile on her face. “I’ve almost landed as the bride of a few of those. Luckily I’ve managed to keep a ring off my finger, but just barely.”
I would totally be best friends with her if I had more control over my life. Until then, I have to stay focused. “I’ve heard there is a wish room. Do you think you can show me where it is?"
