Page 269 of Merciless Daddy

She stood beside the dessert table, one hand around a champagne glass, the other held by Gemma while Cora showed them something on her phone. Her face was flushed from wine and laughter. Her pale eyes caught the gold light above the courtyard.

She looked happy.

Not guarded-happy. Not performing it for men who needed reassurance.

Just happy.

“I suppose we are coming,” I said.

Yelena looked over at me at once, a smile on her face.

Marco pressed a hand to his chest. “Good, good. I’m glad you listened to reason!”

Nero was a representation of Marco as a nightclub. It was sleek without being cold. Dark wood. Low amber light. Brass shelves behind the bar. Music that reached into the ribs without making conversation impossible. Tonight, the front doors remained locked. The staff moved with quiet ease, pouring drinks and setting out small plates nobody had requested but everybody ate.

No strangers watched us.

No one asked us to perform.

Dante danced with Gemma near the center of the floor. He moved with solemn concentration, like dancing was a matter of state security and Gemma’s feet were a border he had sworn to defend. Gemma laughed against his shoulder. Dante did not smile much, but I saw the shape of it when she looked up at him.

Santo had one hand extended toward Cora.

“I know how to dance,” he told her.

“You know how to throw punches in rhythm.”

“It is the same thing.”

“You’re delusional.” She laughed.

“Come here and find out.”

Cora stared at him for a long second, then took his hand. Santo immediately stepped on her boot.

Cora looked down.

Santo looked down too.

“I was testing your balance,” he said. Everyone burst into laughter.

Across the room, Pietro stood close enough to Angela that the rest of us had disappeared for them. He said something against her ear. She looked up, her guarded face softening in a way that still made me grateful. They moved slowly. Not much dancing. More holding on.

Marco had Serafina in his arms. She allowed him one turn. Only one.

He spun her beneath his hand, pleased with himself until she caught his wrist on the way back, reversed the motion, and put him off balance.

Marco laughed.

Serafina did not.

Then she smiled, small and sharp, and led him into the next step.

Tonio and Katerina danced with the reckless conviction of people who had no idea what they were doing and did not care. His hands were everywhere they were permitted to be. Her fingers gripped his shirt. They moved badly. Passionately. Like the music had insulted them and they intended to answer it.

Donatella sat at the bar with champagne.

“His left foot is a criminal offense,” she called. “Like literally illegal.”