Chapter 43 -
“Loosen up, Wallace. You are at a party, not a funeral,” Michael said as he materialized from the fog of the crowd. He looked rumpled and lethal, holding two glasses of amber liquid. He extended one toward her with a grin that did not quite hide the restless energy in his blue eyes.
“I am a prisoner with a chaperone,” Nia replied, her voice dry as she accepted the glass. “Forgive me if I do not feel like dancing.”
Michael leaned in, his shoulder brushing hers with casual defiance. “A cage is still a cage, sweetheart. But even a bird can enjoy the view before the cat arrives”.
Nia stood by a fluted pillar, taking a slow sip of the drink Michael had provided. She watched the room with the detached clarity of someone waiting for a storm. In the dark corners of the hall, men discussed ‘business’ in low, guttural tones, their heads bowed like conspirators. She saw stacks of thin envelopes change hands with practiced discretion, the currency of power in this house.
Nia moved through the crowd, feeling the eyes of the Cimmera underworld crawl over her skin like spiders. Made men with thick necks stood in tight circles, their laughter sounding like gravel grinding together in a mixer. Women in silk dresses that cost more than Nia’s entire old life draped themselves over dangerous associates. It was a landscape built on blood and tradition, where the light from the chandeliers reflected off the cold steel of firearms tucked into waistbands.
The atmosphere shifted. The temperature seemed to drop, or perhaps it was just the sudden, predatory focus that settled on the room. Santiago Estrella had arrived.
He stood at the entrance, his dark hair slicked back with military precision and a smile that looked like a scar. His eyes, dark and calculating, swept the floor until they locked onto Nia. He did not hesitate. He began to cross the room toward her, moving with the slow, purposeful grace of a shark in shallow water.
Beside her, Matteo went rigid. His posture shifted from observation to defense, his jaw tightening into a hard line.
“Nia Wallace. Enjoying the party?”
The voice was smooth like oil poured over a blade. Nia stiffened as Santiago Estrella appeared beside her. He looked perfectly polished, his dark hair slicked back with military precision and a smile that looked more like a scar than an expression of joy.
“It is fine,” Nia replied. She kept her voice flat and focused on the amber liquid in her glass.
“You should be careful,” Santiago murmured. He took a slow step closer, invading her personal space until she could smell the peppermint on his breath.
Nia looked him in the eye, her jaw set. “Of course. Of what?”
“Getting too comfortable here,” he said. His dark eyes were calculating, searching her face for a weakness he could exploit later. “Nothing lasts forever. Especially not false security.”
The threat was clear. It sat heavy in the air between them. Santiago’s smile never reached his eyes, which remained as cold as a winter night. Before Nia could think of a retort, a shadow fell over them. Matteo stepped between them with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture as rigid as a stone wall.
“The boss wants her kept in sight, sir,” Matteo said. His voice was a low warning.
Santiago let out a soft, mocking laugh but he stepped back. “I was only being polite, guard. We are all family here, are we not?”
He gave Nia one last lingering look before disappearing back into the crowd like a shark returning to deep water. Nia felt the air leave her lungs in a ragged sigh. She gripped her glass until her knuckles were white.
“Do not mind Santiago. He is always being dramatic.”
Micheal appeared from the fog of the party, looking rumpled and far more cheerful than anyone else in the room. He reached out and gently pulled Nia away from the pillar she had been hiding behind.
“He seemed serious,” Nia said. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs.
“He is just bitter because Leo is the favorite,” Micheal joked, though his blue eyes remained observant. He saw the way her hands were shaking. “Come on. Let us get some air before you pass out from the smell of cologne and bad intentions.”
Micheal led her through the shifting crowd toward the large glass doors at the end of the wing. They stepped out onto the balcony, and the transition was instant. The thumping bass became a muffled heartbeat behind them, replaced by the cool, crisp air of the Pearlbot night.
“Want to talk about it?” Micheal asked. He leaned his back against the stone railing, looking at her instead of the view.
“There is nothing to talk about,” Nia said. She hugged her arms across her chest, feeling the silk of the black dress Lucia had given her. It felt like a costume that was starting to itch.
Micheal let out a short, knowing chuckle. “Liar. But I will let it slide for now because you look like you have seen a ghost.”
They leaned against the railing together. Below them, the lights of the city spread out like a field of fallen stars, bright and unreachable. For a moment, the mansion felt less like a fortress and more like a high perch above a world Nia used to belong to.
“Can I ask you something?” Nia asked quietly.
“Shoot,” Micheal replied. He took a sip of his drink, his expression turning uncharacteristically still.
“Why are you always so nice to me?” Nia turned her head to look at him. “You are a DeSanto. You should be treatng me like a problem to be solved or a tool to be used. Why are you different?”
Micheal considered the question for a long time. The humor left his face, replaced by a rare moment of honesty. “Maybe because you are real,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Everyone here wears masks, Nia,” Micheal explained. He gestured toward the party inside where the shadows of men moved against the gold leaf walls. “Lucia wears her anger like a shield. Christian wears his silence. Leo wears his duty until it chokes him. But you? You do not. You show your fear, your temper, and your heart. It is refreshing in a house full of actors.”
Nia looked back out at the city. She felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “I do not think I know how to be anyone else.”
“Stay that way,” Micheal said. He nudged her shoulder with his own in a friendly gesture. “It is the only thing that will keep you human in this place.”