The night of the Moretti Gala arrived like a slow-moving storm cloud.
Kaelen had rejected the white bridal samples for this event. Instead, he had a custom-made black silk gown delivered to my room. It was backless, with a slit that climbed dangerously high up my thigh, and it made me feel less like a victim and more like a weapon. Around my neck sat a heavy diamond choker-a gift from Viktor that felt less like jewelry and more like a gilded leash.
I stared at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back. The red lipstick was bold, almost bloody, and the black lace mask obscured everything but my eyes. I wasn't the girl with the cello anymore. I was a Volkov's shadow.
"You're late," Kaelen's voice vibrated through the room.
He was leaning against the doorframe, looking lethal in a midnight-black tuxedo. His hair was slicked back, and his expression was a mask of its own-one of cold, untouchable power. He walked toward me, his footsteps silent on the rug, and stopped just inches away. The scent of sandalwood and expensive whiskey followed him.
"Remember the plan," he whispered, his hand settling on the small of my back. The heat of his palm burned through the silk. "We are the perfect couple. We don't leave each other's side. Every eye in that ballroom is a camera, and every smile is a lie. If anyone mentions your father, you let me handle it. Don't let them bait you."
"I'm not a child, Kaelen," I said, checking the small lace clutch that hid the earpiece he'd given me. "I spent my life performing on stages. I know how to play a part."
"Performing for an audience is one thing," Kaelen muttered as he led me toward the waiting SUV. "Performing for a pack of wolves is another. They don't want to clap, Ivy. They want to see you bleed."
The drive to the Moretti estate was a blur of city lights and suffocating tension. When we pulled up, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi felt like a barrage of gunfire. Kaelen wrapped a heavy arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. It was a possessive move, a territorial claim that told the world exactly who I belonged to. We stepped into the ballroom, and the music-a haunting, screeching violin concerto-made my stomach twist. I should have been up there on the stage, but here I was, walking into a pit of vipers.
The room was a sea of masks. Gold, silver, and black silk covered the faces of the most dangerous people in the country. They swirled around us, their laughter sounding like the sharpening of knives.
"Kaelen! You finally brought the mystery bride out to play," a voice boomed, cutting through the music.
It was Lorenzo Moretti, Bianca's father. He was a barrel-chested man with a smile that was far too wide and eyes that were far too cold. He held a glass of dark champagne toward us, but his gaze was fixed on my neck-specifically on the star-shaped birthmark that no mask could hide.
"Lorenzo," Kaelen said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly calm tone he used when he was ready to kill. "A lovely party. Though I noticed your security is a bit... thin near the west wing. You're getting comfortable in your old age."
Lorenzo's smile twitched, a flicker of genuine rage crossing his face. "Always the critic. And this must be Ivy. You look just like your mother, dear. I remember her well. She was a beautiful woman... right up until the very end."
The air in my lungs turned to ice. I felt Kaelen's grip on my waist tighten so hard it would surely leave a bruise tomorrow. I knew he was seconds away from drawing a weapon. I stepped forward, putting on the "Queen" mask I had practiced in the privacy of my room.
"Thank you, Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice cool and clear as a bell. "It's a shame my parents couldn't be here to see this. But then again, I suppose it's better to be a ghost than a man who has to hide behind a mask in his own home just to feel safe."
The surrounding guests gasped. The clinking of glasses stopped. Lorenzo's face turned a deep, bruised shade of purple. He stepped into my personal space, the smell of expensive cigars and old malice rolling off him in waves.
"Careful, little bird," Lorenzo hissed, leaning down so only I could hear him. "The Thorne name might get you into this room, but it won't get you out of it alive if you don't learn to keep your tongue behind your teeth. This city has a way of swallowing girls who speak too loud."
"She'll speak however she damn well pleases," Kaelen interrupted, stepping physically between us. He didn't draw a gun, but the way he stood made it clear he was the most dangerous thing in the room. "Unless you'd like to settle this right now, Lorenzo? In front of all your friends and your precious daughter?"
The standoff was broken by the sound of a chime. Viktor Volkov was entering the room, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Everyone-including the powerful Lorenzo-bowed their heads.
As the crowd shifted toward the Don, Kaelen leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. The intimacy of it sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. "That was reckless. And brilliant. But look at the balcony, third one from the left. Don't make it obvious."
I glanced up as if adjusting the strap of my gown. A man in a plain grey suit was watching us from the shadows of the mezzanine, nodding almost imperceptibly toward Kaelen.
"Who is he?" I whispered.
"An old friend of your father's," Kaelen murmured, his voice tight. "A man who stayed loyal even when the world burned. He's the one with the codes to the Don's private vault in the basement of this house. We need to get him alone to exchange the data, but Bianca is watching us from the bar like a hawk. I need you to create a distraction. Something loud. Something that draws every eye in this room."
I looked over at Bianca. She was dressed in a gown of shimmering silver that looked like scales, staring at us with pure, unadulterated venom. She was waiting for me to fail. She was waiting for a reason to tear me down.
A plan formed in my head-one that involved a lot of drama, a bit of the Thorne fire, and a very expensive glass of red wine.
"A distraction?" I whispered, a small, dangerous smile playing on my lips. "I think I can handle that, Kaelen. I've spent my life making people look at me on a stage. This is no different."
"Ivy, wait-" Kaelen started, but I was already moving.
I broke away from his side, feeling the eyes of the room follow the movement of my black silk train. I headed straight for the bar, straight toward the woman who wanted my head on a platter. It was time to see if a Thorne could still set a room on fire.
"Meet me in the library in ten minutes," I called back over my shoulder. "And Kaelen? Don't be late
