KEIFER POV
I paced back and forth across the private VIP mezzanine overlooking the grand ballroom, swirling the amber liquid inside my crystal tumbler.
The lower floor was already swarming with ambassadors, foreign cartel bosses, tech moguls, and corrupt politicians, all buzzing like flies around an open grave.
None of them mattered.
Fuck, what is taking the Mariano motorcade so long?
Every tick of the second hand felt like an insult.
I need to see my Jay Jay.
I need to see her in that burgundy velvet dress.
I need to know she didn’t bolt at the eleventh hour.
“She will be here, Keifer,” David said calmly, lounging on the deep leather sofa with a cigarette unlit between two fingers.
“Pacing like a caged tiger isn’t going to make their motorcade drive any faster. Come sit down.”
I ground my teeth, reluctantly conceded, and dropped into the armchair beside him, resting the tumbler on the mahogany table.
Honey was sitting across from us in an emerald backless gown, scrolling on her phone Without looking up, she tossed out a careless question.
“So, is Percy actually showing up tonight?”
“No, he won’t be coming,” David answered dryly, deadpan as ever.
Honey paused, lowering her screen with an annoyed glare.
“Why the hell wouldn’t he? It’s his own family’s hundredth-year anniversary.”
“Exactly why he will be coming,” I snapped, tossing back half the whiskey in one burn and glaring at her.
“He is a Mariano. Stop asking stupid questions, Honey. Your brain is supposed to be useful tonight.”
Honey rolled her eyes dramatically, thoroughly unimpressed by my temper.
“Whatever,” she muttered, adjusting a strap on her shoulder before turning her gaze toward David.
“Anyway, David, where do things stand with Sara?”
A rare, dangerous smirk ghosted over David’s lips as he tipped his glass in her direction.
“Close enough to take her.”
“Hmm,” Honey hummed softly, taking a sip from her flute of champagne.
“Good. At least someone around here is making quiet progress.”
I rolled my eyes at Honey’s commentary, tuning out the idle chatter as my gaze locked straight onto the sweeping marble staircase leading up to the VIP balcony.
A figure emerged at the top of the landing.
For one terrifying, electric second, my heart jumped into my throat, thinking it was her.
“Control yourself, Keifer,” David warned quietly from the sofa, his voice low and sharp.
“Don’t lose your head in public.”
I set the crystal tumbler down with a sharp click against the marble tabletop and stood up, towering over the railing.
It wasn’t Jay Jay.
It was the one cockroach who seems determined to shorten his own lifespan.
Yuri Hanamichi strolled into our private alcove like he owned the territory, wearing a loud crimson tailored jacket that made him look like a cheap target at a firing range.
“Wow, the celebration barely started and here you are, already hitting the whiskey,” Yuri sneered, stopping a few feet from our table with a sickening smirk.
Honey tilted her head, looking him up and down with open disgust.
“Are you pathologically obsessed with red, or do you just lack basic taste?” she asked, flicking an invisible speck of dust from her manicure.
“Red hair, red suit, and soon enough, an embarrassed red face.” She rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful.
“Maybe Keifer will do him a favor and spill his red blood onto the carpet too,” David added, completely deadpan, raising his glass in a mock toast.
Yuri let out an arrogant, ugly bark of laughter, leaning forward with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Keifer doesn’t have the guts.”
The temperature in the room plummeted to absolute zero.
A lethal, silent calm settled over me.
I took a slow, calculated step toward him, my hands casually sliding into the pockets of my burgundy velvet jacket, looking down at him the way an executioner looks at a stray dog barking at the scaffold.
“Say that again,” I whispered, the words slipping out like razor blades soaked in poison.
“Say that again, Yuri, and let’s see how much blood is left inside your throat before your body even hits this fucking floor.”
Before I could close the two inches between my fingers and Yuri’s trachea, Honey’s voice cut through the tension like an alarm.
“Jay is here,” Honey murmured, tapping the glass railing.
“Look at the media.”
The words acted like an electric shock straight to my brain.
Yuri instantly ceased to exist.
I turned on my polished dress shoes, completely abandoning the bastard, and moved to the edge of the sweeping floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking the grand entrance.
Through the clear architectural panels, the outside plaza was an ocean of blinding camera flashes.
Dozens of press crews, high-society journalists, and private syndicate guards formed a tight perimeter as a fleet of limited-edition black Maybachs and armored Rolls-Royces pulled up to the red carpet in flawless formation.
The heavy doors swung open, and one by one, the Mariano’s stepped out into the blinding sea of lights.
Jasfher emerged first, radiating pure authority and untouchable power.
Behind him stepped Aries, his face carved of granite.
Then came Percy, looking like an effortless, grinning aristocrat who didn’t care about a single bullet in the city.
And then, stepping into the flashbulbs, holding tightly onto Percy’s arm for balance, was Jay Jay.
My breath was ripped entirely out of my lungs.
Fuck, she looked hot.
The burgundy velvet gown hugged every breathtaking curve of her body like liquid fire, pooling around her heels with dark, regal elegance.
Her bare shoulders glowed under the flashes, the delicate diamond pendant at her throat catching the light with every step, and her hair fell in cascading dark waves that made my fingers itch to drag her into the shadows.
The sheer contrast between her innocent, glowing beauty and the dangerous, lethal cut of my dress was intoxicating.
She looked like a queen built to rule the underworld.
My chest rose and fell in heavy, jagged breaths.
The entire plaza was staring at her, cameras were eating up every inch of her skin, and every powerful bastard down there was holding their breath.
Look all you want, I thought, a dark, possessive grin carving its way onto my face as my fingers tightened around the balcony rail until the marble groaned.
In less than an hour, every single one of you will know she belongs to me.
The massive, gilded ballroom doors swung open below, and the murmuring chatter of hundreds of high-society guests suddenly hushed into reverent silence as the Marianos walked inside.
“Let’s go down and greet her,” David said quietly from my shoulder, straightening his lapels.
I gave a short, tense nod, my pulse thrumming in my ears like a war drum
I just needed to see her up close.
I needed to bridge the distance that had kept us apart for years.
We descended the wide, curved marble staircase.
Every step brought me closer, cutting through the parted crowd of billionaires, foreign delegates, and mafia capos who backed away the moment they caught sight of my face.
When I reached the lower floor, we were only a few paces away from the Mariano circle.
Then the air shifted.
A familiar, intoxicating fragrance drifted over the stale room, hitting my senses like a sledgehammer.
Amber Suede.
Warm amber, soft vanilla, and the delicate bite of crushed suede and citrus.
Fuck.
It was her scent.
The exact custom perfume I had given her for her fourteenth birthday, back when our world still had room for stolen laughter and private promises.
She had fallen in love with that fragrance instantly, refusing to wear anything else, raving about how perfect it was.
Just like my mother had.
Serina Watson had worn that exact blend before the world went to hell, and seeing Jay Jay standing here in my burgundy velvet, carrying the scent that tied my darkest past to my present obsession, nearly brought me to my knees.
She was here.
She was wearing my dress, wearing the scent I put on her skin, and in just a matter of minutes, she was going to wear my ring.
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