“Thank you,” I said. “Are your men outside?”

“Every entrance is secure,” Dante said. “You have nothing to fear tonight.”

“I can’t stop thinking about the text,” I admitted, looking down at our joined hands.

“James is a coward,” Dante said. “He only attacks from the shadows. He will not dare come near you here.”

He led me toward the bar, ordering a glass of white wine for me and a scotch for himself.

For the next hour, he introduced me to various people.

Politicians, judges, business owners.

They all treated me with a quiet, guarded respect.

They didn’t see Sophia the dancer; they saw Sophia, the woman beside Dante Russo.

It was a powerful feeling, but it was terrifying.

I knew that this respect was not mine.

It was borrowed from the man standing next to me.

And borrowed things always have to be returned.

Around ten o’clock, the heat and the noise became too much.

My head was throbbing from the pressure of keeping up a fake smile.

“I need a moment,” I whispered to Dante.

“Do not go far,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly.