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She picks up a glass, sips, and tilts her head toward me. “How did you do it?”

I fumble with the wine glass, gripping it with unsure fingers. I’ve never held one. I’ve never even tasted wine.

“How did I do what?” I ask softly.

“Get a man like Vieri,” she says, her voice low and dry.

I use the lie again. The one about the café. About him being kind.

She hums. Laughs. “You’re comfortable knowing what he is? How violent he can be?”

I hold her gaze even as something tightens in my chest. “We all have our flaws,” I whisper.

Her eyes sparkle with something mean. “Just giving you a heads-up, sweetheart. Men like Vieri—especially men in the families—don't settle. They take. Then they move on. Usually to women with better connections. You might just be his little game.”

I nod slowly. Because I don’t know what else to do.

I take a tiny sip of wine. It’s bitter. My throat closes around it.

She smiles wide again, her tone bright. “Well, we don’t want the boys to worry. Let’s go back.”

I walk beside her. My steps are steady, but my heart isn’t. My skin itches beneath the dress. My thoughts start to spiral.

I picture Vieri smiling at another woman. Touching her. Kissing her. Whispering things into her ear the way he whispered to me.

Something inside my chest twists.

And I don’t know what to call it.

Lapo is chuckling beside Vieri, his red face animated with whatever story he’s telling.

As we near the edge of the group, I feel someone step beside me.

“Are you okay?” Enzo whispers, his voice barely louder than the hum of the party.

I nod, curling my fingers tighter around Vieri’s arm. “I am,” I whisper back, though my heart’s hammering so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.

Almost immediately, a waiter crashes into me. Liquid runs down the front of my dress, soaking through the thin fabric and into my skin. I gasp softly, my hand flying instinctively to cover the wet spot.

Around us, the crowd stirs.

“Are you alright?” Vieri’s voice slices through the noise. He’s already turned around, eyes narrowing as they scan me. Concern—forced or not—I can’t tell. But it’s there, in his face, in the twitch of his jaw as he sizes up the waiter who is cowering and apologizing.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, glancing at Enzo whose brows are drawn together, sympathy in his eyes. “Can I go clean up?”

Vieri hesitates. His eyes flash—I hold my breath, waiting for him to say no. But instead, he looks over my shoulder.

“Alfio,” he says, his voice cool. “Take her.”

Alfio nods once and gestures for me to follow.

I walk with Alfio. My heels tap unevenly against the marble as we move into the corridor. My heart beats faster with every step, not from fear—but hope.

The bathroom is large—larger than any room I’ve ever slept in. The lights are soft above a gold-framed mirror. White marble tiles stretch from wall to wall, polished and cold beneath my feet. Alfio lingers outside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Inside, I turn to the mirror.

My reflection meets me—a face that looks too grown—and my dress, stained and sticking to my curves. My arms look too full, my chest even fuller beneath the cling of the wet fabric.