Page 122 of Cara

There’s no posing for pictures.

No chatting with paparazzi.

Unlike those around us trying to stay relevant and impress the reporters, a crime lord avoids the spotlight. All catcalls go unanswered, yet they continue to try, waving their microphones behind the barriers.

“That’sSophia Marcello!”

A reporter stands under the spotlight, broadcasting live for a television station. "In a very shocking turn of events, Sophia Marcello, daughter of businessman Vito Marin, has made her first public appearance in years. Speculation surrounding her absence had grown, with many fearing for her safety, suggesting conspiracy theories of kidnapping or even death.” From her gossiping lips, the circumstances here sound insane. “Butnow she is here, in the flesh, a vision in red, appearing unified with her husband of five years, Xavier Marcello.”

A man stretches over the partition to get a microphone near Xavier’s mouth. The soldier beside me hits him with such force that he tumbles into the potted plants behind him. Mostly, I'm protected by Xavier’s back as he guides me into the venue, but occasionally I glance at the onlookers.

She’s probably his prisoner.

They look happy, though.

Yeah, but God knows where he’s had her all this time.

Unlike before, when Xavier was known to the world as a handsome brute, he now appears different to these people. A frightening figure, but their eyes can’t help but follow him like greedy moths to a flame. Other reporters concentrate on more pressing matters—like Xavier’s occupation.

You were cleared of the audit investigation. Who did you pay off to make that happen?

You’re the senator’s special guest tonight. Will you hold office if he’s reelected?

The coached smile fades from my face as soon as we’re behind closed doors, but we’re far from alone. The lobby is crowded with tuxedos and evening gowns as people file through metal detectors. Just as I expect we’ll follow suit, Xavier leads me around the edge of the room where one of his men, who was briefed back at the estate, is waiting to unclip a velvet rope, granting us access to the building without a security check. In that moment, I realize Xavier is armed, as are all the men around us.

Mimi turns, beaming widely, unfazed by the chaos. She’s simply delighted to be here, which brings a smile to my face despite the circumstances.

The corridor opens into a grand room embellished with stained-glass windows that transform sunlight into a mosaic of colors. Multi-tiered chandeliers dangle from the painted ceiling,casting soft light onto the polished floor below. On one side of the room, assigned tables beckon guests to congregate. The opposite side has a stage and dance floor, crammed with dancers. The sound operator is switching between Sinatra and Dean Martin, knowing his crowd.

“Is that who I think it is?”

“That’s her. That’s his wife.”

It’s hard to ignore them.

“He hasn’t let go of her hand since they left the car. He’s not letting her out of his sight. Possessive much?”

I'm seconds away from implosion when I notice Dante shake his head out of the corner of my eye, a silent reminder for me to get my shit together. Because it doesn’t matter what they think.

Xavier Marcelloisdangerous, and they know it.

A man interjects himself into the women’s conversation. “Just look at her. That’s why he won’t let her out of his sight. He knows every man in this building has their eyes on her.”

Xavier’s hand is squeezing mine hard enough to stop the blood flow to my fingers.

Prompted by the man’s words, my eyes scan the room now that Xavier’s soldiers have retreated to blend into the crowd more discreetly, and I realize that the man is correct. They are looking. Staring. While I should feel flattered, especially after years of not caring about my appearance, their gazes only trigger fear. Trauma. I instantly want to vanish, cover myself up, and dull my presence to merge into the background.

To those who hold any significance for him, Xavier wears a pleasant smile, kind yet reserved enough to leave them wanting more. His interactions with the guests are often cryptic, filled with hidden messages concealed within trivial small talk and the allure of a private conversation.

When the senator arrives to resounding applause, all of thechandeliers are dimmed. Candelabras enhance the atmosphere at every table as the dancing commences.

Xavier guides me to a chair, my designated spot, and that’s when I notice the senator walking toward the table.

We’reathis table.

I quickly rise to my feet as I'm introduced.

“Senator, you haven’t met my wife, Sophie.”