Page 101 of Bleed with Me

The ballroom exploded with light, extravagant decorations, and enough hidden hostility to choke on.

The Starlight’s biggest room had been transformed into something between a royal gala and a luxurious battlefield. Lavender flowers cascaded from towering centerpieces, woven with white roses and silver ribbons beneath enormous chandeliers. Thousands of suspended lights resembling stars reflected against polished marble floors while waiters moved soundlessly through groups of New York’s wealthiest predators.

Around a hundred and fifty guests filled the ballroom, glittering in diamonds and old-money arrogance. Politicians brushed shoulders with criminals, pretending not to know each other, while businessmen smiled and their wives discreetly judged everyone.

But beneath the elegance, tension stretched dangerously tight.

Growing up around men like these taught me to recognize danger before it exploded. It lived in posture, eye contact, and silence. In who stood too close and who deliberately kept their distance.

The Italians occupied the left side of the ballroom, occasionally glancing toward Karen Kadyrov, his wife Natasha, and several Bratva men on the opposite side. Nobody openly challenged anyone. Not under Zyon’s roof.

“So much money flushed down the toilet because of one night,” Lucas cut in, accepting two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Says the man who fills their pockets,” I countered, placing a strawberry into my mouth.

“One time,” he sighed, circling the gold liquid. “Won’t—”

“Hello, kiddos.”

We turned in unison toward Matteo, Lucas’s oldest brother. My lips stretched into a smile when he leaned down and kissed my cheek. My heart fluttered, as it had every single time since we met eleven years ago. He was my first and biggest crush, my first love, as Grandpa said. But Matteo had always considered me a kid, and his brother’s best friend on top of that. He would never in a lifetime make a move on me.

Still, I had to admit he looked better than ever. At thirty-five, Matteo Colapino perfected the dangerous Italian charm that made women lose common sense, and men underestimate him right before he ruined their lives. Dark, curly hair was slicked back neatly, a two-day stubble shadowed his sharp jaw, and the old razor scar across his cheek only made him more intimidating. His green-brown eyes scanned the ballroom lazily, but I knew better than to mistake that calm for carelessness. Matteo noticed everything, especially trouble.

“Good to finally see you, stranger,” I chirped. “Where have you been?”

“Cutting the deal of my life.” He grinned back, taking more champagne from the server. “Two hours ago, Zyon made an announcement.” He paused dramatically, glancing at his brother. “Stefano Gravaldi and I have just been named heads of two of the Italian Five Families.”

My mouth fell open, and Lucas stared at him, dumbstruck.

“How?” he whispered, completely lost for words.

“Well,” Matteo sighed, looking around to see if anyone was listening to our conversation. “I had valuable information that confirmed my loyalty to the Zhumagulovs. We’re officially partners.”

“Congratulations,” I said with all the sincerity I could muster, pulling him into a hug. He worked hard to achieve that. Only thanks to him had his family escaped Zyon's punishment. That alone was terrific news.

“Thanks, kid.” He squeezed me hard before releasing me. “Now, how about you?” His happy demeanor fell so rapidly into a stern mask that I had to blink twice to comprehend the change. “Lucas told me about your fiancé.”

“What?” I glared at my best friend, who instantly raised his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t know who else to talk to,” he mumbled, glancing at me with so much love I couldn’t stay angry. “You need help.”

“And I can help you,” Matteo added, gently squeezing my hand.

“Zyon wants his brother out,” I reminded them sadly. “I’m just collateral damage.”

“We can at least try to talk to him,” Matteo insisted. “Give it a second thought, Nina, before you call me to take care of the body.”

A laugh spilled out of my throat, and they both chuckled, too.

“You know me well.” I snickered.

“How many times did I pick you up from a police station?” Matteo asked, winking at me playfully. I rolled my eyes.

“Just let me know what you need, okay?” He kissed the top of my hand like a perfect gentleman—which he truly wasn't—and turned to his brother. “Keep an eye on her.”

With a huge grin stretching across his face, he left us under the balcony and mingled with the crowd.

“What the fuck did he do?” Lucas shook his head, still in shock.