Page 51 of Dominance

Ah. Right.

“Smile,” she grits out humorously through clenched teeth and I almost snort a laugh.

“I can’t stand this.” I mumble right back, my mouth barely moving, a fake grin plastered over my face.

“Five more seconds, turn, wave, and we’ll go upstairs.” Gloria tilts her head, and I couldn’t be more thankful for her wherewithal.

Away from the noise and flashing lights, we regroup, nodding to the guests along the upper walkway, heading toward the banquet hall as quickly as we can. Dom will be waiting to see us before we make our grand entrance at the ball.

Even so, I start to notice the inconsistencies, odd guests lingering in corners, sipping drinks in twos and threes, mixed in among the suits.

They’re … gang thugs.

And some of them have no concept of how to dress for an event like this.Ifthey even bothered to get dressed up at all.

Some are decked out in outrageous outfits; others are practically wearing pajamas. Sweatsuits. But they’re decked out in gold jewelry and sunglasses at night.

It makes sense, though.

These are the types of people Dom made promises to. Gangsters and small-time thugs who will do anything, back anyone for the promise of wealth and prestige.

It wouldn’t bother me at all, the contrast or the lack of classist exclusion, if it weren’t for the lack of any of our people, the old blood of the family. Like they don’t matter in the future of the organization.

Maybe they don’t

It’s precisely those dinosaurs who saw my brother dethroned.

And where are they now?

As if in answer, Vito Carlote, one of my uncles and the very same man who stood as the voice of the elders who caved to Dom’s threats and made us “kill” Alessandro, catches my eye, just outside the ballroom. All he manages is a curt nod before turning away and disappearing.

Coward.

The least he could do is face me and own up to his betrayal.

I tense, but the fingers threaded through mine squeeze gently, calming me. Even as we meet Dom just inside, the bastard embracing us like he actually gives a shit. And still, Gloria is there, anchoring me as the night kicks up into a barrage of claps on the back, handshakes, champagne toasts. All devolving into a drunken mess of lewd jokes and backroom handshake deals by midnight.

I wish I could say I kept my shit together.

Eight drinks in and all I can do is nod at the guy across from me, asking me about God-knows-what. It’s easy enough to look interested, nod. Let him do the talking.

Gloria plays the game so much better.

She’s pleasant, ingratiating.

Even when her father brings a never-ending string of well-wishers to meet us, taking the lead and diverting their attention from her very drunk companion.

Sorry, Gloria.

Adriano is out to lunch.

“Mr. Carlote, isn’t it? It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from my father. The reports coming out of your textile enterprises are outstanding this quarter.”

“Ah, Miss Vipera! As charming as rumor tells and twice as beautiful! Please, call me Vito, or Uncle. We are family, after all.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” I slur bitterly, grinning at him from my seat beside my future bride.

She glances at me sidelong, her fingers pinching my leg and twisting painfully. Through it all, she just smiles sweetly. Traitor.

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