Chapter 10 THE DINNER
Jasmine POV:
He won. Unfair and definitely not square.
I stood by the mirror; my lips pulled into a sneer as the cold excuse for a dress touched my skin.
The metal-and-chain ensemble clung to my body like a second cage, molded to me. Nikolai really had outfits like this and many more stocked in my closet, each more scandalous than the last. The one I had selected was silver toned, its chains draping strategically across my torso, exposing far more skin than I was comfortable with.
But I refused to wear it the way he intended. I altered it.
I put on a sheer black silk overskirt that flowed from my waist to my ankles, with its split high enough to show movement while maintaining an air of dignity. I tightened the chains at the shoulders, turning exposure into structure and embracing power instead of mere display.
When I was done, I was happy with the girl staring back at me.
“Fuck you, Nikolai Moretti.”
If I was going to be paraded, it would be on my own terms.
I strutted my way through the corridors and slowly descended the stairs. His eyes were fixated on mine all along, never daring to look away for even a second.
He stretched his hand to mine. I took a glance at it and returned my gaze to his gray ones.
“Not satisfied with the result?” I said, voice mocking.
He cleared his throat, standing upright.
“Here,” he handed me a mask. “It’s a masquerade gala.”
My eyes scanned his hulking form from head to toe, looking annoyingly impeccable in his well-fitted suit. I wanted some reaction from him. An outburst, a glare, just something I could use as an excuse to attack him but he just… accepted.
WIth a groan, I took the mask from him.
“Shall we?” He said, addressing the driver who had been quietly standing by the door.
The driver nodded, so we got into the car and drove to the dock where his private yacht stood gloriously.
My mouth opened in a silent gasp, trying so hard yet failing to conceal my surprise. I knew rich when I saw one, hell, I was doing very okay myself but this.. This is something else entirely.
From my periphery, I noticed the small smirk on his lips and chose to ignore him.
The cruise to the private island was silent. But once we finally approached there, music drifted through the air.
This was the kind of gathering whispered about but never photographed and never acknowledged. The kind where deals were made over drinks and blood feuds.
As I stepped onto the dock, my nerves screamed.
I lifted the small hand-held mask to my face, covering my eyes just in time.
But still, my pulse pounded.
I didn’t want to be seen, not like this. I told myself it was because of my career. Because I knew that recognition would bring questions, cameras, and consequences. That was easier to swallow than the deeper, gnawing fear that someone here might recognize me for reasons far more dangerous.
“Stay close, Jasmine,” Nikolai instructed, wearing his simple black mask.
His fingers moved a little, trying to reach for mine. He wanted to show the world his possession… and I let him. I didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention with any act of defiance.
So, we held hands as the main hall opened before us, an open-air pavilion surrounded by sea on all sides. Swarovski crystal chandeliers were hung above a long table that seemed to stretch forever. There were sets of gold-rimmed plates and flickering candlelight arranged on that same table. Men and women filled the space, dressed in tailored suits and gowns and masks that screamed wealth and menace in equal measure.
Mob bosses, lieutenants, kings without crowns. Every instinct in my body told me to run.
Nikolai hadn’t looked at me since we got here, yet somehow, I knew he was aware of how uncomfortable this gathering made me feel.
As we reached the head of the table, the room quieted. Conversations began fading, and eyes turned.
Nikolai lifted a glass.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said calmly, voice carrying like that of a leader. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
He paused.
“This evening, I present to you my ‘La Prescelta’.”
The effect of what he said was immediate. I felt it ripple through the room like a shockwave.
People began to whisper, their eyes turned to me, curious, envious, and dangerous.
That was all Nikolai needed to say. There was no explanation, no justification; he didn’t even say my name.
I understood then. This title wasn’t a shield alone. It was a target. I was protected because I was his.
And with dangerous people around me, I might be hunted because of it.
Throughout the evening, I moved like a chess piece across the board. Every step I took was measured. Every breath I inhaled was watched. Conversations paused when I passed. People tightened their smiles, and their eyes lingered a tad too long for comfort.
Nikolai, on the other hand, barely touched me afterwards. He controlled the room with glances alone. When he looked at someone, they straightened. Power was written all around him, tangible and terrifying.
But even at that, there was tension between us beneath every exchange.
At one point, a man from another mafia group, with a foreign accent and smug eyes, leaned closer than necessary.
“So,” he said smoothly, gaze dragging over me in a way that made my skin crawl. “The great Moretti finally chooses decoration.”
The room went still. Nikolai didn’t move. He simply looked at the man.
“Careful,” Nikolai said quietly. “You’re confusing admiration with disrespect.”
The man laughed nervously. “I meant no offense."
“Good,” Nikolai replied. “Because offending her is the same as offending me.”
Everywhere went silent. The message that landed was as clear as day.
The man nodded stiffly and retreated. No one else tried again.
Hours had passed now, and by the time the music softened and the night got darker, I slipped away unnoticed towards the edge of the island, where the cliff met the endless sea.
I watched how the waves crashed below, dark silhouettes of birds flying past the moon, all wild and free.
How I yearned to be like them.
I scanned the area, hoping no one saw me, then I fished the phone from the folds of my dress with trembling fingers. I’d stolen it earlier from one of the guests I had passed by.
The screen lit up. Fortunately, there was a signal. So I dialed Tasha’s line. It rang once, then twice,
Then:
“Who’s this?"
I’d heard Tasha’s voice a million times, but boy was I extremely glad to hear it this time.
“Tash, it’s me, Jasmine—“
“Oh my God, where are you? What the hell happened?"
“I—” My voice wavered. I swallowed. “I’m okay. I’m safe, I promise. I just… I needed to hear your voice.”
“I can’t explain,” I said quickly, fear spiking. “Not now. Please don’t ask. And don’t open a missing person file for me."
“Jasmine, just—”
“I’m okay,” I repeated. “Really. I just wanted to hear from you again. What about—”
Just then, the phone was ripped from my hand.
I froze. Then slowly, I turned.
It wasn’t Nikolai as I'd expected.
The man before me was tall and broad, and his presence was instantly familiar in the worst possible way. He wore a mask like the others, but I knew that build.
He removed the mask, and my blood ran cold.
The man who had ordered my death, that night at my place. The man who led to the entire change of my simple and calm life.
Sergio’s boss.
He smiled.
“Well,” he said softly. “Looks like we finally meet again, little girl.”