Page 14

“You got it, boss.”
I stood up and walked toward the crowd. This wasn't just a show—it was a battlefield, and I was right at the heart of it. With every heartbeat, I wove through the throng of guests, my smile a mask, my mind a weapon. The Knives were my family, and in this den of vipers, I was their eyes and ears. And nothing, not the gold that gilded these walls nor the ghosts of my past, would distract me from my duty.
The chandeliers dripped with diamonds, casting prisms of light that danced across the marble floors like specters teasing the night. I leaned against a pillar, the coolness of the stone a stark contrast to the warmth of the bodies milling around me. My eyes scanned the crowd, decoding alliances and enmities hidden behind practiced smiles and clinking glasses.
"Quite a spectacle, isn't it?"
Her voice, a soft purr that grazed the edges of my consciousness, pulled me back from my surveillance. Valentina Rossi stood before me, her presence commanding attention without demanding it. Her gown, a cascade of black silk, hugged her curves with the possessiveness of a shadow in love with the form it followed. Since the last time I had seen her, she’d let her hair grow long, until it was practically at her waist.
"Valentina," I greeted, my tone measured, a balancing act between familiarity and detachment. "It's been too long."
"Too long or just long enough?" she teased, a playful glint in her emerald eyes. She took a step closer, the faintest scent of jasmine swirling between us.
"Depends on whom you ask," I replied, keeping my guard up while letting nostalgia color the edges of my words. "You look...I like the hair.”
"Flattery will get you everywhere—but not tonight, Hassan." She lifted her champagne flute in a mock toast. "To old friends—or whatever we were."
"Acquaintances with history," I corrected.
“And here I thought you were trying to flatter me.”
I laughed.
"Speaking of history, what brings you here, mingling with West Palm Beach’s elite? I thought the Knives usually didn’t leave Miami." Her gaze was sharp, searching, a reminder that for all our shared memories, Valentina played her cards close to her chest.
“We don’t,” I replied. “And you know. Business as usual. What about you?”
“I wasn’t going to miss this party,” she said. “I can’t wait to see what charitable contributions the De Lucas make tonight.”
“Nor can I,” I said, looking at Vito and his wife. She was wearing a green gown cut at the waist which flowed every time she walked, diamonds sparkling on the fabric as she moved.
“Aren’t you curious?” she asked.
I nodded. “Always.”
She sighed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I hear the Knives have been busy."
"Rumors tend to exaggerate," I said lightly, though my mind raced to catalog this tidbit. Valentina was more than idle gossip; she was information incarnate—if only one knew how to listen.
And I knew how to listen.
"Of course," she replied, but there was a weight to her concession, a silent dance of meaning between the lines. “Do you want to get out of here?”
I looked her up and down. “Don’t take this personally. You look amazing, but I’m not available.”
“Who is she? Is she here?”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about that. Can I get you a drink?”
She nodded. “It is the least you could do,” she said.
I smiled at her, gesturing toward the bar. “I’m surprised you’re here alone, Valentina. I heard you were engaged.”
“I was. Didn’t work out,” she said, her smile widening. “And you know. Work never stops.”
“I hear that. Though this is a party,” I said. My eyes scanned the darkness behind her—a force of habit—before settling back on her form. She was close enough for me to catch the scent of her perfume, a mix of jasmine and something darker, like secrets pressed between pages.
“Careful, Hassan,” she said. "Even shadows can betray you in this city."