Page 64 of Beneath the Shadows

Sitting at the bar, I swirl the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. The atmosphere is tense, thick with cologne and anticipation. Our guards search every guest as they arrive, but it does little to ease my nerves. I take a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep in my chest.

“Ready for your big debut tonight?” Valentino’s voice cuts through the noise as he slides onto the stool beside me. The bartender doesn’t even ask, immediately pouring him his usual—whiskey on the rocks.

I force a smile. “You know parties aren’t my thing. I would’ve preferred to slip into the role quietly.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is an event worth celebrating,” he says as he walks away.

Servers weave between the guests, offering drinks and hors d'oeuvres, while the low hum of conversation fills the room. Men in tailored suits gather in small clusters, talking business, veiling their threats with polite smiles.

With his drink in one hand and a cigar in the other, Valentino moves through the crowd, flashing that charismatic grin. As the night wears on, his laughter grows louder, each drink fueling his arrogance. He’s the center of attention, and he knows it.

A knot forms in my chest when I spot Alessia, not on Valentino’s arm where a queen should be. Instead, she’s waiting tables. Her face is composed, but I see the strain in her movements. The bruises that had been glaringly obvious earlier are now masked beneath layers of makeup. They’re still visible but far better concealed than before.

Isabella approaches, carrying another tray, and I catch her eye. “Did you help her with the makeup?” I ask quietly.

“I’ve been there,” she admits. “I learned how to hide the worst of it when I needed to. Figured I could help.”

I glance at Alessia again, then back to Isabella. “Thank you.”

Isabella offers a slight, understanding nod before returning to her work.

A movement catches my eye—Draco Moretti. He’s watching me, his gaze sharp and calculating. He follows my line of sight straight to Alessia. He looks at her with casual indifference before his expression darkens. Without a word, he makes his way toward Valentino.

“Ah, my favorite son-in-law,” Draco calls out as he claps him on the back, loud enough to draw attention. “Looks like you’ve been keeping her in line.”

Draco chuckles, glancing at me once more before turning his full attention back to Valentino, the jab unmistakable.

Vigo flashes a grin, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. “You know how it is. Sometimes, you have to remind them who’s in charge.”

Their laughter grates against my nerves, but I keep my expression neutral, watching the exchange from a distance.

The men around them chuckle. I grip my glass until my knuckles turn white. The urge to shatter it in my hand surges, but I force myself to stay calm. This is not the place to make a scene.

All I want to do is get the formalities over with and go home, but the night drags on.

Valentino's newest associates are deep in discussion, their tones low. I don’t trust either of them, but they’re here on Valentino’s invitation.

Dante catches my eye from across the room, his expression focused and knowing. He senses the same undercurrent I do—tonight’s balance could tip at any moment.

Lena moves cautiously through the crowd, trying to keep her distance from Valentino. Usually, she’d be all over him, but tonight, she’s avoiding him like the plague.

Valentino’s eyes follow her, a predatory gleam in them. He corners her near the kitchen, gripping her arm tightly. She tries to pull away, but he leans in, whispering something that makes her flinch. Then, with a rough tug, he drags her toward the stairs leading to the basement.

Disgust churns in my gut. I know exactly what he’s about to do—fuck his mistress downstairs while his wife is forced to serve the very men who should be bowing at her feet.

What feels like an eternity passes before Valentino returns, his face flushed. He grabs a fresh drink from a passing server downing in one go and grabbing another.

Lena trails behind him, eyes downcast, mascara streaking her cheeks. There’s a shift between them, subtle but unmistakable. From my seat at the bar, I watch as Lena blends into the crowd, hurrying toward the ladies’ room.

Valentino stumbles toward the stage at the far end of the room, tapping the microphone. A few people wince from the feedback. The chatter begins to die down, and all eyes turn to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice booming through the speakers. “Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate my dear cousin and his, let’s say, unexpected promotion to underboss.”

Polite applause ripples through the room, though I can see the skepticism in some of the men’s eyes. Vigo gestures for me to join him. I down the last of my drink before making my way over, keeping my expression neutral.

“Come on, Antonio, don’t be shy,” he grins, slapping me on the back as I reach the stage.

The applause fades, and Valentino’s voice drops. “Since we were kids, I’ve kept Antonio by my side because, as we all know, every leader needs a loyal side kick.” He pauses as the room erupts in laughter, the humor hitting precisely as he intended.

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