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Bash stiffened next to me. "What do you mean?"
"Yeah," Skylar said. "I think we need to talk."
Chapter Four: Hassan
The silk lining of my suit glided against my skin like a reminder—here in the opulent halls of the De Luca's domain, I was a wolf in sheep's clothing. My fingers deftly adjusted the tie, a nondescript navy that blended seamlessly with the sea of tailored suits and glittering dresses. The air was thick with the scent of wealth, each breath a heady mix of perfume and power.
We had all been invited because the De Lucas needed to keep up appearances, but Justice and Bash sent their regrets because they didn’t want Sebastian to be around his grandparents, even in public like this. Just in case.
Zane and Skylar were on a job.
That left only me, which was good enough to keep Vito De Luca from feeling insulted. I was one of Bash’s capos and my presence there meant that he couldn’t act insulted, even if he was. It was a tactical move, too; I would be able to run the party and figure out any information I needed to have so we could hopefully avoid a war.
"Blue dolphin," I murmured to the bartender, my request for the non-alcoholic concoction masked by the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversations. Sobriety was a silent vow I had taken, not for lack of temptation, but as an anchor to the reality that beneath this veneer, we were all predators hunting or being hunted.
I remembered losing control, and nothing scared me as much as losing control again.
My gaze swept over the room, where Vito De Luca, ever the charming host, navigated the crowd with an ease born of entitlement. His daughter had looked a lot like him. He was a tall, bronze-skinned man with salt and pepper hair, wearing an expensive tailored suit and a Patek Phillipe gold watch. His handshakes were weighted with promises and threats alike, his smiles brokered alliances more binding than any contract.
I sipped my drink, the cool, sweet tang of the mocktail a stark contrast to the warmth bubbling in my chest—a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline. Every nerve ending was attuned to the undercurrents of the event.
"Keeping away from the good stuff, Hassan?" drawled a voice I recognized—one of Vito's henchmen, Mario, his eyes sharp and knowing.
“It’s been a while, Mario,” I said.
“It’s always good to see you,” he replied. “You’re looking well.”
“As are you. I heard you got married?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he said.
“Italian?”
“Cuban,” he replied.
“Your parents must be thrilled,” I said.
He laughed. “Better than a paki–”
“Really? Grow up, Mario,” I said.
He shook his head, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m just busting your balls, man. It is genuinely good to see you.”
I tipped my drink toward him. “Congrats on your wedding,” I said.
“Yeah. I better mingle,” he replied.
I nodded and watched Mario leave. Every detail was a piece of a puzzle I was assembling—a nod here, a whisper there, all coalescing into a larger picture only I could see. It was a dance of shadows, and I had become adept at tracing their steps.
"Keep it together, Hassan," I whispered to myself, the mantra grounding me to the present. I couldn't afford to let memories cloud my judgment—not when there was so much at stake. Justice, Bash, Skylar, Zane...they were counting on me. And I wasn't about to let them down.
"Everything alright?" The bartender's question jolted me from my thoughts, and I realized my grip on the glass had tightened.
I shook my head. "Never better," I lied smoothly, setting down the empty glass with a clink that felt too loud in the silence of my mind. "Just enjoying the show."
“Do you want another one?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Keep my tab open.”