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Everyone is in high spirits, walking like big cocks in the yard.

I wish I had this confidence.

The day of the gala dawns and I am helpless. For days, Pyotr has been inundated with meetings, special visitors. Not even bothering to return a single text.

And we have been given orders not to come to the compound. To remain on our break until after he is crowned “king.”

But at least we can go put on airs at the event center.

Ciro looks incredible in his tux, a dark blue number with a black shirt, black bow tie. With his hair finally trimmed and styled, he is honest to goodness like a supermodel.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” he replies to my compliment, undressing me with his eyes as we enter the limo.

“Keep looking at me like this and we will take the long way…”

“I’ve always been fashionably late.”

We sip champagne, continuing our taunts on the drive. For a moment, I forget that we are on the verge of a war. That we are heading into a veritable invitation to anyone who would challenge my uncle and the brotherhood.

It’s almost enough to steal my desire for Ciro.

Almost.

“Right there…” he mumbles as I ghost my lips over the rim of his ear. His fingertips trace goosebumps over my sternum, deep into the revealing neckline of my dress.

Then his phone buzzes.

And again.

Then mine.

We pause, staring into one another’s eyes for a second. Before scrambling for our devices. With Alessandro’s visit and the imminent danger of Ero looming over us, we are both a little frayed around the edges.

“Oh, thank goodness. It is Fyodor. He says security is flawless. No signs of infiltration or threat.” Because I have bugged Fyodor for days about this. He is back on his feet, against all odds. And against the doctor’s judgment. With Pyotr safe, at least for the time being, I cannot blame him for wanting to be present and on duty.

I just wish my Papa would extend the same courtesy to me and Ciro.

Ciro. Who is still sitting next to me, not moving, staring at his phone. With stuttered breath, he turns the screen for me to read.

Last chance,mio fratello. Run. Clock is TICKING.

I practically roll over the bench seats to the window, banging until the driver rolls it down. After a vicious command and a threat in our language, I return to my seat and the car accelerates. We must reach the event quickly. Warn them and search for Ero.

And hope that his text does not mean what I think it means.

“We must change. This will not do for fighting.” I drag my go bag out from under the seat, filled with gear and clothing.

“You rocked that shit in Marrakesh.” Ciro wags his eyebrows, wiggling out of his jacket.

“Then you can wear skintight dress and I will change.” I snip, throwing my dress in his face.

“You aren’t wearing anything under there.”

“What would fit?” I flirt, slipping on underwear. I watch his disappointment as I cover myself.

“Me.”

Soon, my love.