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While he washed his hands and straightened his ensemble.

‘Part two later tonight,mi reina,’ he promised in a husky drawl as he unlocked the door.

‘You’re insatiable, baby,’ she chided as he chuckled.

‘Don’t blame me. You’re the one who wore that freakin’ dress,belleza.’

SAVVINE

Arm in arm, they strolled down the quiet stone path to the lakeside gala.

Savvine leaned on her man, her thighs still shaky from his ravenous lovemaking.

They headed towards a series of open tents, where strings of fairy lights stretched between pergolas, and soft music notes floated on the breeze.

The event space opened onto a dock with floating lanterns, hovering food stations, and terraces built into the artificial lake shore.

It was elegance and revelry, all set under the faux twilight dome, stars twinkling high above, a digital aurora dancing at the edges.

The space was packed as the Bianchi clan, the Syndicate Commission, and the Signet Company gathered for the first-ever Coalition Gala.

It was a celebration of their alliance, survival, and the official unification of the Syndicate clans and generational vessels under a shared agreement of peace and mutual cooperation.

The Bianchis were visibly surprised and impressed by the Signet event location. Elders of the grand family stood beneath olive-draped tents, sipping dark espresso andamaro, nodding their approval at the subtle glamour of the Signet ship’s lakefront.

Syndicate envoys mingled with tact and politeness, while guests enjoyed the delicious feast prepared by Signet’s chefs.

The spread featured slow-roastedporchettaand saffron-dustedpaella,steaming dishes of eggplant parmigiana, andjamón ibéricosliced so thin it melted in the mouth.

Also, garlic prawns fragrant in olive oil, and skewers of charred lamb marinated in chimichurri.

There were long trays ofgambas al ajillo, shrimp coated with red chili.Patatas bravassat golden and crisp in a dish alongside a fiery aioli.

For dessert, slices of cake and tarts were served with succulent fruits and cinnamon sugar sprinkled over them.

Shots of sangria flowed, and Negronis glinted in lowball glasses next to pyramids of roasted almonds and wedges of blood orange.

An orchestra in sleek navy uniforms blended modern symphony and old Earth flamenco.

The music shifted from sultry to jubilant, and soon the floor filled with couples, some graceful, some half-drunk, all laughing.

Savvine stood tall at Xander’s side, her hand resting against his forearm.

They chatted with suited guests from across the flotilla, accompanied by their stern-faced silver-uniformedcapos.

They greeted Don Caluccio of the Diaz-Granados family and General Arasteh.

The Carvajals were represented by Don Pedro and his wife, Gianna, who held hands tightly, aware of the underlying unspoken tension in the room.

The Valentes and D’Amatos remained on a balcony platform, guarded but cordial.

Of course, there was talk and whispers that the Lombardis were under house arrest, with Salvadore having vanished from public life altogether.

Savvine spotted a pair of familiar faces and pulled her man toward them.

Xander released her hand only long enough to bow over Gaya’s, lifting it with gallant flair to his lips.

‘Signora Bianchi,’ he said, his timbre smooth as dark honey. ‘An honor to finally meet you in the flesh after a few holo calls.’