Chapter 7: The Dance of Lies

The crystal chandeliers above the grand ballroom threw prisms of light across the marble floor, catching the glitter of diamonds and the sheen of silk gowns. It was a world of gilded opulence, of champagne flutes and hollow laughter—and I was suffocating in it.

Dante's hand was a brand against the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd with the effortless authority of a predator among prey. He wore his tuxedo like armor, black on black, the cut of it emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. Every step he took was deliberate, and every glance from the assembled elites of the underworld whispered of fear and deference.

I was the ornament on his arm. The captive princess dressed in crimson silk, the blood-red fabric chosen by him to match the blood on his hands.

"Smile, Aria," he murmured, his lips brushing my ear as he leaned in. The warmth of his breath sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. "You're supposed to be enjoying yourself."

"Am I?" I kept my voice steady, even as my pulse hammered against my ribs. "I wasn't aware that being your prisoner included mandatory attendance at your social functions."

"It does when your father is here." He said it casually, but the words hit me like a physical blow. My steps faltered, and his hand tightened on my back, steadying me. "You didn't think I brought you here just for the pleasure of your company, did you?"

I scanned the crowd, my eyes darting across the sea of faces. And then I saw him.

My father stood near the far end of the ballroom, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his gray-streaked hair slicked back, his smile in place as he spoke to a man in an immaculate white suit. He looked comfortable. At ease. As if he hadn't sold his only daughter to a monster to pay off his debts.

As if I were a stranger.

"I've greeted everyone else," Dante said, guiding me forward. "It would be rude not to greet your father."

"You're enjoying this," I accused quietly. "Watching me squirm."

"I'm enjoying watching him squirm when he meets my eyes and knows exactly what he owes me." He paused, his thumb tracing a slow circle against my spine. "And what he's lost."

We stopped in front of my father, and the world seemed to slow. The chatter around us faded into a dull murmur, the music from the string quartet distant and mocking.

"Alessandro." Dante's voice was silk wrapped around steel. "How lovely to see you."

My father's smile faltered. His eyes darted from Dante to me, and I saw it—the flash of recognition, the flicker of guilt quickly suppressed beneath a mask of practiced charm.

"Aria." He said my name like it was a question. Like he couldn't quite believe I was standing there in front of him. "You look... well."

"Do I?" The words tasted like ash. "Considering that I was shot at on my way here, I suppose I do look well."

My father's jaw tightened. "Dante, perhaps we should discuss—"

"Discuss what?" Dante's tone was light, but his eyes were hard. "The fact that you promised me your daughter's hand in marriage to settle a debt that you failed to mention was already owed to the Morozov family?"

The name hit me like a slap. The Morozovs. The Russian faction that had been waging a quiet war against Dante's organization for months. The same faction that had, apparently, held leverage over my father long before Dante ever entered the picture.

My father's face went pale. "That's a private matter—"

"Nothing is private once it affects my interests." Dante stepped closer, and I felt the shift in the air—the subtle tension that preceded violence. "The Morozovs are demanding payment. They're under the impression that your debts are now mine. And I don't take kindly to being used as a shield."

"Please." My father's voice cracked. "I had no choice. They threatened your mother, Aria." He turned to me, his eyes pleading. "Your mother. They said they'd kill her if I didn't—"

"Didn't what?" I shook my head, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. "Didn't give me to Dante as payment? And then to the Russians when they came calling?"

"No, it's not like that—"

"Then what is it like?" My voice rose, and I felt Dante's hand tighten on my back in warning. But I didn't care. "Tell me, Father. What exactly did you do? Because from where I'm standing, you sold me to one monster to escape another."

My father's shoulders slumped, and for a moment, I saw the man who had taught me to ride a bike, who had read me bedtime stories, who had promised to always protect me. But the moment passed, and all that remained was the hollow shell of a man who had betrayed me for his own survival.

"The Morozovs have something on me," he whispered. "Evidence of... other transactions. If it were to come out, I'd be dead within the week. You have to understand, Aria—"

"I don't have to understand anything." I stepped back, and Dante let me go. "You made your choice. I just hope it was worth it."

Dante moved to stand beside me, his hand finding mine. His fingers were warm, steady, and I hated how much I craved that anchor. "Your daughter is under my protection now," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a vow. "The Morozovs will not touch her. But if you come near her again—if you use her as a bargaining chip one more time—I will personally ensure that your debts to them become the least of your problems."

My father swallowed hard. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." Dante's smile was cold and sharp. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I believe my fiancée and I have a dance to attend to."

He pulled me toward the dance floor, and I went willingly, my legs trembling beneath me. The music swam in my ears as he pulled me close, his hand on my waist, our bodies moving in an intimate choreography I hadn't been prepared for.

"Breathe, Aria," he murmured, his lips against my hair. "You're going to faint."

"I'm not going to faint," I managed, though my lungs felt like they were full of glass. "I'm just trying to figure out how many people have sold me tonight."

"Just one," Dante said, spinning me, his eyes never leaving mine. "Your father. But I'm not going to sell you, Aria. I told you before—you belong to me now. And I protect what's mine."

The words should have been terrifying. They were terrifying. But as I looked into his eyes, watching the flicker of something almost human in their depths, I couldn't help but wonder if being his might be safer than being free.

The music swelled, and I let myself be swept away.

And then the lights went out.