Chapter 2

Damien's nostrils flare. He must think I just shamed him.

He throws his jacket open and points up the staircase.

"Boys—if Miss Castellano doesn't understand manners, escort her down. She owes Celeste an apology in person."

A dozen men with baseball bats start up the stairs.

The bats thud against the staircase railing — slow, deliberate, meant to scare.

My fingers slide into the pocket of my gown.

The Castellano family ring waits inside.

Downstairs, Damien's private security disarms my own bodyguards, twisting their wrists until they drop to their knees.

Damien climbs the marble staircase one step at a time.

He stops in front of me. Tips his chin down like he's the one with the moral high ground.

"Aurora. I've put up with your jealousy for three years."

He gestures at the three girls behind him.

"There are four lives on the line tonight. How can you be this cold?"

Down below, Celeste gets walked out from the back.

Cheap white dress. Red-rimmed eyes. Mascara smudged just enough to look helpless.

She drops to her knees at the foot of the staircase like she rehearsed it in a mirror.

"Damien! Please—don't ruin what you have with Aurora because of me!"

She lifts her face. The perfect tremor in her voice.

"I'm not worth this. Let me die. Let you two be happy."

Brittany and the other two scramble across the floor to her, sobbing on cue.

"You happy now, you cold bitch? You won't be satisfied until she's dead!"

The gamblers around the room shake their heads. They point up at me. They mutter the kind of things men mutter when they want to feel righteous.

I watch the show downstairs.

I don't bother lifting the corner of my mouth.

But Damien stares at my blank face. His jaw locks.

And now Celeste shivers right on cue — just one little shoulder twitch, arms wrapped around herself like she's freezing.

Damien's eyes drop to the white sable coat draped over the back of my chair.

Don Salvatore—the Don of this city—draped it over my shoulders himself on my eighteenth birthday.

He suddenly steps forward and reaches for the clasp at my throat.

"Celeste's freezing. Just give her your coat for now. I'll buy you ten."

His hand moves like he's allowed to. Like I'm something he already owns.

I step back at once.

His fingers close on empty air.

I look up at him.

"Damien."

My voice is cold.

"You put a hand on my anything— you'd better make sure you still have a hand afterward."

Damien's hand stopped halfway. His jaw tightened, and the color drained from his face.

"Just a coat, Aurora."

"Seriously, Aurora? Over a coat? Celeste's been through enough tonight. If she gets sick out here, that's on you."

"Her life matters." I laugh once. Short. Cold. "Mine doesn't?"

"This whole night. I've been watching it. You've been showing me exactly who you are. Damien."

Downstairs, Viktor’s smile disappeared completely.

He was done waiting for Damien’s check.

He shifts his stance. The warmth drops out of his eyes.

"Listen up, Mr. Cross — no cash, no exit. You gambled away your fiancée. House rules."

He waves one fat hand.

"Boys! Get her changed and onto the stage. Let's see what an Ivy League princess looks like in lingerie."

I keep my body calm. My right hand slides into the hidden pocket of my gown.

My thumb finds the inside of the Castellano family ring.

Three small grooves.

The signal my seven brothers told me I could press exactly once in danger.

*Tap.*

*Tap.*

*Tap.*

Somewhere across Manhattan, seven phones light up at the same second.