Papa straightens, shoulders stiff, eyes narrowing into razor slits. “Explain.”
Raphael’s voice drops, calm but hard, each word slicing through the tension in the room. “They were taken out before they could even react. Whoever did this is organized.”
Salvador shifts on his feet, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “This… this isn’t just a warning?”
“No,” Antonio says, his hand resting lightly on Raphael’s shoulder, a quiet show of control. “We think it’s the beginning.”
“Fuck,” Papa hisses, the words sharp enough to cut. “Most of our guests are wearing masks. We’ll never know who’s friend or foe.”
“Our men are not armed,” Salvador states.
Behind me, Gabriel sucks his teeth and peels back his jacket, revealing a gun snug in its holster. “Some of us are.”
“Gabriel!” Salvador snaps.
“Had we known this was a wedding and not some bullshit Halloween party, we wouldn’t be. But I thought it best to have a few armed in case it turned ugly—and it has.”
Papa taps the desk, knuckles rattling on the polished wood. “But not with us—with the Russians. What do we do?”
Raphael tilts his head toward the basement. “You have enough guns down there to arm us all.”
“And you know this how?” Papa asks, suspicion flashing across his features.
I raise my hand, and his frown deepens. “Raphael thought it best to keep us safe,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
Raphael steps closer, sliding an arm around my shoulders. The contact is warm and firm. “Sophia said you taught her and Maria to shoot. It was a wise decision.”
A part of me wants to pull away from him—this closeness feels dangerous—but another part can’t help but be impressed he’d stand up to my father and back me openly.
Papa nods once, sharp and deliberate. “All my children can shoot.” He glances at Salvador. “Can yours?”
Salvador tilts his head, a faint, cocky smile tugging at his lips. “Unlike you, I only have boys. They can all handle a gun.”
Raphael clears his throat. “We need to move discreetly, in groups. To keep everyone comfortable, groups of four. Two from your camp, two from yours.”
Salvador raises an eyebrow at my father. Papa just nods, slow and deliberate.
“This will work for us,” Papa says.
Raphael reaches for my hand. My pulse spikes, but I don’t pull away. “It needs to look like the wedding is going ahead. You need to get dressed, Sophia.”
“What?” My stomach knots.
“We need this meeting to look as though you had cold feet but that it was resolved,” he says, the edge of steel threading through his calm tone. “Your father goes out there and announces it. Let the guests know what’s happening.”
“As in… us getting married to merge the families?” I ask, my voice sharp, lined with steel.
Raphael’s jaw tightens. “Exactly.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. The thought of standing at the altar, pretending this is all normal, makes my stomach twist into knots. My eyes flick to Papa. He’s already staring at me, like a predator assessing prey.
“And we’re just… supposed to go along with this?” I ask, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“You don’t have a choice,” Raphael says quietly. “Not if we want to survive the night.”
I shiver, half from his nearness, half from the gravity of his words. Glancing around the room, my brother, Antonio, stands like a statue, his expression unreadable.
Papa leans back, exhaling slowly. “So, we do this quietly, efficiently, and without alarming anyone. Understood?”
