It took quite a while, long enough that I stopped keeping track of the road until finally the car came to a stop. Nico got out first, pocketing his phone. Then he turned back toward me and held out a hand, one I didn't hesitate to take.
Hand in hand, we walked toward the entrance of the gallery that was already packed and overflowing with people. The warm lights spilling from inside reflected off the glass doors, and the low hum of conversation mixed with soft music drifted through the space.
At first, there were welcoming smiles and polite nods from strangers who looked pleased to see Nico. That lasted only until I stepped fully inside and noticed a few people I recognized. I didn't know them personally, but I had seen them before in my father's home, standing in the halls during meetings that always carried the weight of quiet threats and dangerous alliances.
They were dressed nicely tonight, wearing tailored suits and polished shoes, smiling like respectable men attending a cultured event. But there were some things nice clothes couldn't wash away.
A cruel aura clung to their eyes and skin as they looked at me, the kind that only came from years of doing things that decent men wouldn't even think of. I had just glared right back when I heard Nico speak from right beside me.
"Smile," he whispered, his hand tightening over my arm tucked neatly into his elbow.
"This is an event. Moreover, I have no plans to leave your side if I can help it," he added calmly, and for some reason that didn't make me feel relieved at all.
"I can take care of myself," I replied quietly, keeping my eyes forward.
I heard him chuckle under his breath.
"…It's other people I'm worried about," he said lightly, pulling me toward the snack and wine section with a cool smile on his face, one that made him look like a man who had come to enjoy the event and nothing more.
"What snacks do you like?" he asked casually, and what annoyed me most was that I could tell he was genuinely curious. He actually wanted to know.
I hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, but one look at the carefully arranged spread made my appetite disappear entirely. Crystal trays held miniature cakes glazed with sugar, glossy fruit tarts, chocolates dusted with cocoa, and delicate pastries that looked far too sweet to even attempt.
"Too sweet?" he asked, glancing down at me.
I nodded as I looked at him, hating how easily he could pretend to enjoy himself when the torture was only just about to start.
And it did, as people began drifting over to speak to him. Some faces I didn't know, others whose roles I was painfully aware of.
Like Vito Coleon, the mafia don in charge of the territories in the east, and John Gotti, who controlled the South.
They were older men, the same generation as father, and their perverted gazes didn't make them look any younger. Greying hair and wrinkled faces framed expressions that had clearly spent decades sneering at people they considered beneath them. The only difference between the two was that Vito was shorter with a thick, hefty beard covering most of his jaw, while Gotti stood taller with a much skinnier frame that made him look almost skeletal inside his expensive suit.
Each of them held gold canes, not because they needed them, but because the cane itself was a symbol of who they were. A quiet reminder of the power they carried in their territories. Nico, on the other hand, had never seen a reason to carry one.
"Nico!" Gotti called out first, his voice loud enough to turn a few nearby heads. "Fancy seeing you here. I figured you'd still be licking your wounds in regret for wasting so much money on a dog."
As he spoke, his gaze shifted directly to me, the nasty look on his face making it clear he utterly despised me enough not to even see me as human. Just something that could be useful.
"…I agree," Vito added smoothly, his voice slower and heavier. "One that's not even useful, especially to you. Not worth the money."
His gaze slid over to me with a sly look on his puffy face. It was obvious the man enjoyed his food, his stomach pressing firmly against the buttons of his vest, but even then, he wasn't a slacker. The way he carried himself made it clear he could still fight if he needed to.
"…Is the dog useful to you?" Vito asked casually.
Any woman in my place would have lost her cool, considering I was the dog they were talking about. But I didn't.
"Is it something you want?" Vito continued, and the greed in their eyes was obvious.
"Not for the value," Gotti answered first. "…More for what it stands for. Especially with the nasty business of Castilo dying. He should not have been so proud."
"He was not careful enough," Gotti continued with a mocking laugh. "I mean, how can he call himself a mafia don and be stupid enough to get himself shot in his own district?"
I could already feel myself seething.
I knew exactly what they were doing. It was painfully obvious. Yet that didn't stop the anger building inside me. If I attacked one of them publicly, they would have every right to demand recompense for the insult.
Those were the rules. The mafia world had rules and laws, and it was why all of us learned to play dirty.
"Castillo was a fool, God bless his dead soul," Vito chuckled as Gotti spoke, raising the wine glass in his hand before taking a slow sip.
"He thought he was untouchable… but I guess he learned his lesson."
At that point, I had heard enough. They opened their mouths to continue, only for me to rudely interrupt before another insult could slip out.
I couldn't attack them, but I didn't have to swallow it either.
"Nico," I whined softly in a tired voice, leaning slightly toward him. "I'm going to head back to the drink corner and get a glass for myself. Listening to these old men talk makes me feel like I'm already one leg in the grave."
I sighed dramatically.
"Any more and I'll die of boredom."
I met his gaze and could see instantly that he was reluctant to let me go.
We had only brought one bodyguard and a driver tonight. There was no one else to keep an eye on me. But at that moment I didn't care. I practically begged with my eyes.
Nico didn't speak immediately. He kept that gentle smile on his face even though his eyes might as well have been blaring a warning at me.
"Get me a drink, will you? Something sweet," he said finally.
I nodded quickly before pulling away from him and heading toward the corner where the drinks and food were piled up behind the long marble bar.
I desperately needed something to calm my nerves before I turned around and walked back over there to slap the shit out of two old men who thought calling me a dog was amusing.
I was already a prisoner. How much lower could I fall?
For a moment, I glanced back over my shoulder, watching Nico speak to them in muted tones.
And suddenly the thought crossed my mind.
I could run.
I could leave through the back door, disappear before anyone noticed, find allies who could hide me somewhere safe while I figured out my next move.
But then what?
The question stopped the thought before it could grow any further.
I moved faster toward the drink bar and leaned slightly against the polished counter.
"I want a Sunset Mist," I told the bartender, deliberately ignoring the presence of the woman who came to stand beside me, a foot away, as if she didn't exist.
"…Make me a Fire Spiral on ice," she cooed smoothly from beside me.
And in that moment, all I could think was that Nico needed to get here fast enough.
Because if he didn't, I might actually strangle his mother, Bianca, half to death in the middle of a public event.