Page 44 of Mafia Kingdom

The car slows as we approach the venue, a historic mansion ablaze with lights. Security guards flank the entrance, and photographers line the red carpet, cameras ready.

"Showtime," I murmur.

Sasha takes a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. "Let's give them something to talk about."

As the car stops and the door opens, she transforms before my eyes—anxiety replaced by confidence, reluctance by elegance. She steps out first, then turns to offer me her hand, a dazzling smile on her face.

It's so convincing that for a moment, even I almost believe it's real.

I join her, slipping my arm around her waist possessively. The cameras flash, capturing the moment—Marco Walsh and his mysterious date, a united front.

If only they knew what waits for us when the night is through.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sasha

THE CAMERAS START flashing immediately—apparently, this event is newsworthy enough to attract the press. I blink against the bright lights, instinctively moving closer to Marco.

"Smile," he murmurs, his lips close to my ear. "They're watching."

I don't know if he means the photographers or someone more sinister, but I force my lips into what I hope is a convincing smile. Marco's arm slides around my waist, pulling me against his side as we walk toward the entrance. The gesture is possessive, unmistakable. I'm his, at least for tonight.

Inside, the mansion is even more extravagant than I imagined—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, flower arrangements taller than me; people in evening wear mill about, champagne glasses in hand, jewels glittering under the lights. I've never felt more out of place in my life.

"Mr. Walsh," a woman approaches, her smile professional but warm. "So glad you could make it."

Marco nods, his public persona smooth and charming. "Wouldn't miss it, Mrs. Brennan. You've outdone yourself this year."

She beams at the compliment, then turns her attention to me. "And who is your lovely companion?"

"Sasha Gillespie," Marco introduces me, his arm still firmly around my waist. "Sasha, this is Eleanor Brennan, the chairwoman of the foundation."

I smile, trying to channel what little social grace I possess. "It's a pleasure to meet you. The venue is stunning."

Mrs. Brennan practically glows. "Thank you, dear. It's all for the children, of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must greet the other guests. Your table is near the front, Mr. Walsh."

As she moves away, Marco guides me deeper into the room. I notice several of his men stationed around the perimeter, their attentive gazes sweeping the crowd. Tony is already at our table, as promised.

"Everything secure?" Marco asks him in a low voice.

Tony nods. "All set."

I want to ask what exactly is "all set," but I remember my promise not to ask questions. Instead, I take the champagne flute a waiter offers me, grateful for something to do with my hands.

"Don't drink too much," Marco warns softly. "I need you sharp tonight."

I raise an eyebrow. "I thought I was just arm candy."

His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes hardens. "Just be careful."

Before I can respond, a distinguished-looking older man approaches our table. His silver hair is perfectly styled, his tuxedo impeccable. From the way Marco tenses beside me, I knowthis must be the politician he mentioned.

"Mr. Walsh," the man says, his voice carrying the polished cadence of someone used to public speaking. "I wasn't expecting to see you here tonight."

Marco stands, offering his hand. "Senator O'Neill. It's been too long."

The senator shakes his hand briefly, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Indeed. And who is this charming young woman?"

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