FOOTSTEPS IN THE DARK.

Humiliation is a very slow poison, and it tastes best when served in front of a stadium full of your wealthiest peers.

The grand ballroom of the Grand Regent Hotel was a blinding sea of glittering gold lights, expensive crystal chandeliers, and the soft, snobbish chatter of the city's highest elite. Women in silk dresses and men in dark tuxedos sipped champagne, completely unaware that a war was brewing right in the middle of their charity gala. I walked through the crowd like a queen entering her court, wearing a stunning emerald green silk gown that flowed behind me like liquid glass. My hair was swept up, exposing the sharp, unyielding lines of my face. Beside me walked Silas, his arm linked tightly with mine, his chest puffed out with pride. We were the most powerful couple in the room, defying the old blood feud laws just by standing together.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the ballroom burst open, cutting through the classical violin music like a meat cleaver.

Dante marched into the room. He wasn't wearing his usual neat, pristine suits. His tie was loose, his hair was messy, and his eyes were wild and bloodshot, fixed entirely on me. He ignored the security guards who tried to step in his way, pushing them aside with a single, aggressive shove. The entire room went dead silent, the wealthy guests backing away to create a wide, tense circle around us.

"Lyra!" Dante shouted, his voice echoing off the high ceilings, raw and heavy with a desperation that didn't belong in a room this beautiful. "Stop walking away from me! Please!"

I stopped in my tracks. I didn't turn around immediately. I slowly turned my head, my hand remaining firmly tucked into Silas's arm. I looked at Dante as if he were nothing more than an annoying piece of dust on my expensive dress.

"Mr. Maroni," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the silent ballroom. "This is a private charity event for my medical foundation. You are not on the guest list. Leave before I have security throw you into the street."

Dante didn't care about the hundreds of eyes staring at him. He didn't care about his reputation as the most feared man in the underworld. He walked right into the center of the circle, his chest heaving as he stopped just three feet away from me.

"I don't care about the list! I don't care about any of this!" Dante cried, his voice breaking as he looked at me. He looked at Silas's hand resting protectively against my back, and a look of pure agony crossed his face. "I made a mistake, Lyra. Five years ago... it was the biggest mistake of my life. I thought I was protecting you from the war. I thought if I pushed you away, you'd be safe. I didn't know Celine would... I didn't know they would hurt you. I'm sorry. I will tear my own world apart to fix this. Just give me five minutes to talk to you. Please."

Before I could answer, Silas stepped forward, his massive frame completely blocking Dante’s view of me. "She gave you her answer in the clinic, Maroni. You are a ghost from a past she already burned to the ground. Get out."

"Shut up, Silas! This is between me and my wife!" Dante roared, stepping closer, his hands balling into tight fists.

"She was never your wife," Silas reminded him, his voice dangerously low, his hand slipping toward the inside of his tuxedo jacket where his gun was hidden. "You threw her out like trash. Now she is mine. And I actually know how to keep a queen on her throne."

To make the knife twist even deeper in Dante's chest, I didn't step back. Instead, I slowly reached out and laced my fingers tightly with Silas’s, lifting our joined hands so the entire room—and especially Dante—could see it. I leaned my head slightly against Silas's shoulder, looking at Dante with cold triumph.

Dante stared at our joined fingers, and it looked like something inside him finally snapped. The proud, arrogant mafia king dropped his head. Then, slowly, shockingly, his knees hit the polished marble floor.

A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom. The king of the underworld was kneeling in front of a woman, publicly destroying his own pride in front of the entire city.

"I'm begging you, Lyra," Dante whispered, a tear finally escaping his eye and rolling down his rugged, scarred cheek. "Look at me. Don't do this to us. I will give you everything. My empire, my life, my soul. Just don't look at him like you used to look at me."

I opened my mouth to deliver the final, crushing blow, but before a single word could leave my lips, the heavy velvet curtains near the stage parted.

"Mommy!" a small, sweet voice called out.

A little five-year-old boy came running out from the backstage area, his little black dress shoes pattering loudly against the floor. It was Julian. He had escaped from the private green room where his nanny was keeping him safe. He ran straight past the shocked crowd and grabbed my free hand, burying his face into the silk of my dress.

Dante’s head snapped up. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at the little boy standing right next to me.

Julian turned his head, his small features illuminated by the chandelier light. He had the exact same thick, dark hair as Dante. He had the exact same sharp, prominent jawline. But most of all, he had the exact same deep, piercing dark eyes that were currently staring right back at the man kneeling in the dirt. Dante froze, his entire body paralyzing as he looked at the child, seeing his own reflection staring back at him from five years ago.