“V might know. He’s here tonight.”
Pausing, I turn to study him. “Why is he here? Did he come with us?”
“No, he told Frank he’s known Sophia forever. Apparently, his sister and Sophia are best friends.”
It hits me then. Ursula—the friend from last Halloween. Could Sophia Chavez… be my Princess? Surely not.
“You’d better go—Dad’s looking annoyed.”
Nodding, I cast Sophia Chavez a quick glance. My pulse quickens, and a low, familiar heat coils in my chest. It could be her.
I push my thoughts of her aside—just for a moment—and head toward my father. He’s across the lawn, flanked by a group of Chavez men who look every bit as tense as the atmosphere itself. Everyone here knows the rules, knows the stakes, and one wrong move could undo a year of careful planning.
“Father,” I say, keeping my tone measured, formal.
My father’s eyes narrow beneath the brim of his hat, scanning me like he’s reading for weakness.
“Raphael,” he acknowledges with a curt nod, voice low, controlled. “Enjoying yourself? This is Antonio Chavez, oldest son of Hector. Antonio, this is my oldest son, Raphael.”
Antonio holds out his hand. “The Reaper?”
“Raphael is fine.” I give a tight smile.
“Your work precedes you,” replies Antonio.
“As does yours.”
“Gentlemen, we aren’t here to fight but to find common ground. You two will one day rule—it’s important we get along,” my father states.
Dad pats us both on the back and walks toward Hector Chavez. I look pointedly at one of our men; he taps another, and they flank him but stay a few steps back.
“Paranoid?” asks Antonio.
“Not at all. I’ve found it pays to be careful.”
I glance at the Chavez men standing close, posture rigid, hands just shy of the weapons hidden beneath their coats. They’re watching me as closely as I watch them. Tension crackles in the air like static before a storm.
“Does your family do this often?” I ask Antonio.
“This is Papa’s biggest party all year. Christmas is a less formal affair, family only.”
“Everyone who’s anyone is here. Looks like a success.”
Antonio makes a sucking sound, hands in his pockets, and nods toward our fathers. “I guess that remains to be seen. Enjoy your night.”
I tilt my head slightly. “I will.”
The conversation is brief, but enough to remind me why this gathering is a dangerous game. I pivot, taking a slow path through the crowd, eyes scanning, calculating.
And then I see her—not in a crowd, just beyond the fountains, standing with Ursula. Crimson against the cold marble, her head tilts slightly as she laughs with her friend. My breath catches. My pulse hammers.
I move carefully, deliberately, keeping the crowd between us as cover. Every step is measured, every inch a balance between not drawing attention and closing the distance. My handstighten briefly on the lapels of my jacket. She doesn’t know it yet, but I see her. Iknowher.
As I get closer, I notice the subtle details—the way her fingers curl around Ursula’s arm, the light catching the edges of her mask, the tension in her shoulders as if she’s aware of every movement around her. I remember last year—the reckless defiance beneath a carefully guarded exterior.
Tonight, I will find out if she’s the same girl who haunted me for twelve months.
Weaving through the clusters of guests, being careful to appear casual, but every sense is sharpened. Music pulses through the air, laughter and chatter a mask for the watchful eyes beneath ornate costumes. Men in tailored suits and masks of gold and black glance my way; I nod, polite, formal and but I am not here for them. I am here for her.
