Pushing your luck tonight, wife.

When I walked back from the bathroom, I expected Dario to be sitting exactly where I left him — composed, pretending nothing in the world could move him.

He wasn’t there, but his bodyguard was. That alone told me he hadn’t gone far.

I sat down slowly, smoothing my dress over my thighs. The room felt warmer and louder now, I reached for another glass of champagne from a passing tray.

If he thought I was going to sit quietly and behave like an obedient bride-to-be in front of his partners then he got it wrong.

I lifted the glass — and that was when I found him.

Across the room, standing with a cluster of men. He looked exactly like he belonged at the center of power. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he wasn’t even sipping from.

As if he felt me watching him, his gaze lifted.

It landed on me immediately. I didn’t look away.

Instead, I raised my glass slightly in his direction, like a mock toast.

His eyebrows drew together in a subtle warning.

I smiled. Then I drank the entire glass in one smooth swallow.

Slow enough for him to see it. Deliberate enough for him to understand it was for him.

When I lowered the empty glass, he was already excusing himself from the group.

I almost laughed.

He didn’t rush. That wasn’t his style. But there was something in the way he walked back toward me — measured, direct — that made my stomach tighten.

He stopped in front of me instead of sitting down.

“That,” he said quietly, “will be the last glass you have tonight.”

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “You’re counting?”

“Don’t test me, Fina.”

“Then don’t bring me somewhere and expect me to sit like decoration.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “You truly want to start something tonight?”

I leaned back in my chair. “If you don’t want me drinking, take me home.”

His eyes darkened at that. “Lower your voice.”

“Then stop talking to me like I’m your subordinate.”

Before he could respond, a woman’s voice cut through the tension.

“Don Rio.”

The familiarity in her tone made me turn before I even processed it.

She was beautiful. Not just pretty — composed. Confident. The kind of woman who knew exactly how she looked walking into a room. The silver dress clung to her curves, a slit running up her thigh, neckline low enough to be intentional. She wasn’t a girl.

She was a woman. In her thirties I guess.

And she looked at Dario like she knew him. Really knew him.

“Valentina,” he said evenly, not cold, not warm, but familiar.

She stepped closer and kissed his cheek lightly. The gesture was casual, but there was history in it.

“It’s been a long time, Rio,” she said.

Rio.

I filed that away. stood up slowly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Dario’s eyes shifted to me, and I saw the silent question in them: what are you doing?

Valentina’s gaze dropped to my ring. Her expression changed almost imperceptibly.

“So it’s true,” she said quietly.

“It is,” Dario replied.

“I thought it was one of those Nostra rumors,” she continued, recovering quickly. “You know how they exaggerate everything.”

“I made sure you received an invitation,” he said calmly.

There was tension there. Subtle, but present.

She smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I brought the boys. They’ve been asking about you.”

The boys.

Something in my chest shifted, but I didn’t show it. Before he could answer her, I slipped my arm through his.

“Husband,” I said sweetly, the word intentional, “you promised to show me around the estate. I haven’t been out much since we got engaged.”

He looked down at me slowly.

Disbelief flickered across his face for half a second. Then his lips curved faintly.

Valentina noticed, of course she did, but her posture stiffened.

Dario didn’t argue. He simply allowed me to guide him away.

As we walked, I glanced back. She was watching us. Not heartbroken. Just angry, and Interesting.

The moment we were a few tables away, his hand tightened around mine.

“What exactly are you doing?” he asked under his breath.

“Who is she?” I countered.

“I ask the questions.”

“Not when it concerns a woman who calls you Rio.”

“She’s a friend.”

I gave him a look. “Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like they’ve shared more than polite conversation.”

His voice dropped. “Watch your mouth.”

“Why? Does the truth make you uncomfortable?”

He leaned closer. “I don’t owe you explanations.”

“And I don’t owe you blind obedience.”

His eyes flashed. “You’re pushing your luck tonight, wife.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” I said, sharper than I intended.

A couple nearby glanced at us.

Embarrassment burned my skin, and before I could say something worse, I turned and walked away.

I didn’t realize how tight my chest felt until I sat down again.

That was when I heard it.

“Ikkohafina?”

The voice was familiar in a way that made my heart skip. I turned.

“Gabriel?”

He smiled the same way he used to in high school — warm, slightly crooked, like he never quite learned how to hide his emotions.

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

We hugged, and for the first time that night, I felt something uncomplicated. No politics. No power games, just memory.

“You disappeared,” I said, pulling back. “Last I heard, you were studying abroad.”

“My father dragged me into business,” he replied. “He works closely with Nelson now. Couldn’t make it tonight, so I’m representing him.”

Of course.

We sat down, and for a few minutes, the noise of the ball faded into the background.

We talked about school. About how he used to pass me notes during economics class. About the time we almost got caught sneaking out during a charity gala.

He laughed. “You remember tenth grade?”

I smiled despite myself. “When you told me you liked me?”

“And you told me you liked someone else.”

“We were sixteen,” I said softly.

“And I begged to tell me who it was, but you wouldn't,” he added gently.

My cheeks warmed slightly. I had been innocent. I had recently realized my love for a certain person then. Nothing like the calculated tension I live in now.

“We never dated,” I said. “That person and I.”

In fact, now we're getting married. Pathetic

“No,” he agreed. “Cause the love was unrequited.”

There was something unspoken there. Well know he owned me.

His gaze drifted to my ring.

“So this…” he began carefully.

“It’s complicated,” I said. “But it’s happening.”

He nodded slowly, masking whatever he felt behind a polite smile. “The Rivero family is powerful. You’ll be protected.”

Protected.

That word felt ironic. As we spoke, I felt it again, that weight. I looked up.

Dario was staring at us. Not casually. Not mildly annoyed.

Angry. I held his gaze for a second longer than necessary.

Then I turned back to Gabriel.

“Do you mind if we get champagne?” I asked lightly. A drink would help right now.

Gabriel hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He brought the glasses. We were mid-conversation when Gabriel’s expression changed.

“He’s coming,” he murmured.

I turned.

Dario didn’t look rushed. He never did. But there was something dangerous in the way he moved toward us.

Without a word, he took the champagne from my hand.

And dropped it.

The glass shattered against the marble floor.

The sound cut through the room. Conversations stopped.

He turned to Gabriel.

“The next time you hand my wife alcohol,” he said quietly, “you better make sure you’re prepared for the consequences.”

Gabriel straightened immediately. “My apologies, Don Rio. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

I opened my mouth. “Dario, what are you—”

The look he gave me shut me up instantly.

It wasn’t rage. It was possession.

Raw and unapologetic. He took my arm firmly.

“This party is over.”

And this time, when he pulled me away, I didn’t resist.

But my heart was no longer racing from champagne.

It was racing because for the first time that night, I wasn’t sure whether I had won that game…

Or just made things far worse.