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AURORA'S POV

The laptop showed up at six-fifteen.

Some staff girl I didn’t know...not Maria, dropped it on the corner desk and bounced without saying shit. I waited till her footsteps disappeared down the hall before I moved. Brand new, still wrapped in that plastic sleeve.

Top-of-the-line shit, the kind that costs more than my dad made in three months back in the day.

I ran my fingers over the edge and snorted. Nico’s face when he’d said it.. “It’ll be in your room by tonight”...like he was throwing a bone to a stray and already forgetting about it.

I fired it up, set it under a fake name, a fresh email, and a VPN that bounced through four countries before it even got serious. My hands knew what to do. Muscle memory from all those nights back home, Mom snoring down the hall, Jake doing homework on the floor next to my bed.

Eleven minutes and I was poking around their outer network.

Nothing deep, not yet. Just the boring stuff they let people see...vendor payments, utility bills for the building, some shell company called Meridian Group that owned this penthouse and a few others. I didn’t touch shit, just looked.

I felt out the shape of it, like running your hand along a locked door, figuring out where the weak spots are.

I shut it down at eight-thirty, slid it under the bed, and took a long, hot shower. Standing under the spray, I let myself grin. That little rush of fuck you for doing the exact thing they told me not to do, less than twelve hours after they said it.

You don’t go looking for things that aren’t yours.

Cute.

Everything was mine to find now, I was already in bed pretending to sleep when I felt it.

That low hum, like a guitar string getting plucked then going quiet. The bond thing, I’d felt it before, but this time it didn’t come with heat or phantom hands. Just… unease. Like someone breathing on the back of my neck.

Someone was right outside my door.

I stayed frozen, staring at the ceiling. The penthouse was dead quiet...rich-people quiet. No creaks, no nothing. But I could hear breathing, slow and controlled.

Then it stopped.

Footsteps padded away down the hall, and I didn’t move for a long time after that.

Thursday hit faster than I wanted.

By ten in the morning, two women rolled in with racks of dresses and were already set up in the bedroom like they owned the place. Polite smiles, zero eye contact. Everything on those racks was gorgeous and clearly picked by someone who wanted Nico’s wife looking like a trophy.

I went for the least slutty one.

Nico’s assistant, Sable—sharp as hell in her charcoal blazer...clocked my choice and didn’t say a word. Her silence said plenty.

By six I was back in front of the mirror.

Midnight blue dress, fitted as fuck, hugging my waist, neckline right on the edge of dangerous. Hair up, makeup smoky and expensive. Diamond earrings that weren’t mine sat cold against my skin.

I looked like Mrs. Black.

I practiced keeping my face blank while the thought sat heavy in my stomach.

You’re doing this for Mom, for Jake.

The door opened, and Nico stepped in, already suited up, dark tie, every hair in place. He looked at me in the mirror the way he always did, like he was adding me to some mental spreadsheet.

Then something flickered across his face, gone too fast to catch.

“You’ll do,” he said.

“Damn, high praise,” I shot back.

His mouth twitched...that almost-smile thing he does. He held out his hand, I took it because that’s what Mrs. Black would do, and we walked out into a night I’d only ever seen in movies.

The gala was at some hotel so bougie it made the penthouse look basic.

Chandeliers dripping like ice, flowers that probably cost more than Jake’s whole school year. Suits that screamed old money. Women dripping in silk and rocks, smiling those plastic smiles that don’t reach their eyes.

I wore mine too.

Nico kept one hand at the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd without looking like he was. We stopped to chat with guys whose names and faces I filed away like receipts. I laughed when I was supposed to, kept my wine glass barely touched. I was too busy mapping the place.

Four exits, visible security at three spots, two more I spotted by how certain guys moved...like they were working, not partying. Cameras standard. Wait staff too polished. This wasn’t a party, it was a meeting with expensive lighting.

I was still scanning when Nico’s hand tightened on my back. His whole body shifted, just a little, not tense exactly. Alert.

“My father,” he murmured against my ear.

I turned.

Dante Black wasn’t what I expected.

I’d pictured some cold, scary old-school mob boss type. Instead the guy coming toward us was warm, big shoulders, silver hair, still carrying that same vibe Nico and Matteo would have in thirty years. Gray eyes, but softer.

Laugh lines, he moved like he owned the room, because he did...but he actually stopped for people. Touched shoulders, remembered names.

When he reached us, his face lit up with a real smile.

“Nico.” He pulled his son into one of those manly hugs...hand on the back of the neck, quick and firm. Then he turned to me and the smile stayed full wattage. “And this must be Aurora.”

“Mr. Black,” I said.

“Dante,” he corrected, taking my hand in both of his. Warm. Strong. “Mr. Black is for people who want something from me, you’re family now.”

I smiled back, and it wasn’t even fake at first.

“Dante,” I repeated.

He held my hand a second longer, eyes scanning my face. “She’s lovely, Nico. And those eyes…” He shook his head, half-laughing. “Sharp.”

“She keeps me on my toes,” Nico said.

That actually surprised me.

Dante laughed, low and easy, and steered us toward a quieter corner, already chatting about random shit. For a minute I was actually… charmed. He was funny, magnetic. Told a story about Nico at fourteen that made Nico’s jaw flex and made me genuinely grin.

He asked about my mom, sounded like he actually gave a damn.

He knew her name, but I hadn’t said it.

The smile stayed glued on my face while I took a tiny sip of wine. Inside, something cold clicked into place.

He already knew her fucking name.

Men like Dante Black don’t remember details about people they’ve never met unless those details matter. Unless they’ve already looked into them.

I smiled at him over the rim of my glass and thought, I see you.

The gala kept glittering around us.

But the real game? That shit had just started.