The gala invitation from the Moretti Family arrived the next morning, delivered on thick cream cardstock embossed with gold filigree.

Raven stared at the elegant script while Vincent read the accompanying note aloud in the war room.

"’In light of recent... developments,’" he quoted, voice dry, "’the Moretti Family requests the pleasure of Vincent De Luca and his new bride at the annual Eclipse Gala. Neutral ground. Black tie. No overt hostilities.’"

Dante snorted from his seat. "Translation: come show off your assassin-wife so we can all stare and decide if she’s a threat or a trophy."

Adrian Cross leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Or they want to test whether she’ll crack under polite scrutiny."

Raven set the invitation down. The deep throb from last night’s knife-to-throat encounter had settled into something she’d learned to carry quietly. She had woken tangled in Vincent’s sheets again, his arm heavy across her waist, and had slipped out before he opened his eyes.

She refused to think about how right it had felt.

"I’ll go." Her voice was flat. "They want to see the Caruso Blade dressed in silk and diamonds. Let them look. I want to see who flinches first."

Vincent’s dark gaze slid over her, slow and approving. "You’ll wear the ring. And you’ll stand at my side as my wife. No visible weapons."

Raven met his eyes. "I never need visible weapons."

Sebastian Vale — The Serpent — grinned. "This should be entertaining. The sophisticated manipulators versus our lethal new queen. Place your bets, gentlemen."

The rest of the day blurred into preparation.

Stylists descended once more. This time Raven chose the dress herself: a floor-length crimson gown with a high neckline and long sleeves that covered the faint bruises and cuts from recent nights. The fabric moved like liquid sin, slit high on the left thigh for movement — and for the slender stiletto blade she strapped there. Black diamond earrings and the De Luca ring completed the look. She looked every inch the dangerous mafia queen.

When she stepped into the foyer that evening, Vincent was already waiting in a tailored black tuxedo. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on her.

"Red," he murmured, stepping close. "Bold choice for a woman who claims she still wants me dead."

Raven lifted her chin. "Blood looks good on me. Thought I’d remind the room."

His hand settled at the small of her back as they walked to the armored limousine. "Careful, wife. Keep provoking me and we may not make it to the gala."

The Eclipse Tower ballroom glittered under crystal chandeliers. Neutral ground meant every family had sent representatives, but the tension was palpable. Waiters moved like ghosts carrying trays of champagne. String music played softly, masking the undercurrents of power and threat.

The moment Vincent and Raven entered, conversations faltered.

Heads turned. Whispers rippled.

Lorenzo Moretti approached first, elegant in a midnight-blue tux, a charming smile fixed on his face. His Guardian — The Whisper — hovered nearby.

"Vincent. And the infamous Raven Caruso — or should I say De Luca now?" Moretti’s eyes swept over her with polite appreciation. "You clean up beautifully. One might almost forget you were sent to assassinate our host."

Raven offered a small, cool smile. "One might. But I prefer they remember."

Moretti laughed softly. "Sharp tongue to match the sharp blade. I like you already."

As they moved deeper into the room, Raven felt the weight of every stare. She cataloged them — Falcone’s enforcers watching with open hostility, Devereaux’s people studying her like a new variable in their equations. Alessandro Caruso was absent, but his influence lingered in sidelong glances and hushed conversations.

A young man detached from the Moretti group — Nico Moretti, Lorenzo’s second son. Handsome in a polished way, with an easy smile that didn’t reach his calculating eyes.

He bowed slightly. "Mrs. De Luca. A pleasure. May I say you look devastating tonight?"

Raven inclined her head. "You may."

Nico offered his hand. "Would you honor me with a dance? Purely social. I’d love to hear about your... transition into De Luca life."

Vincent’s hand tightened at her waist. Then he released her with a nod. "One dance."

Raven allowed Nico to lead her onto the dance floor. The orchestra shifted to a slow waltz. His hand settled at her waist, but his gaze was anything but respectful.

"You must be quite the woman to survive marriage to Vincent De Luca," he murmured as they turned. "Especially after trying to kill him. Tell me — is the king as terrifying in private as they say?"

Raven kept her expression serene. He was fishing — testing loyalty, looking for cracks. "Terrifying enough that Caruso now thinks twice before sending probes."

Nico chuckled. "And yet here you are, wearing his ring and his colors. Some might call that survival. Others might call it surrender."

"Others would be wrong." Her voice stayed cool. "I don’t surrender. I adapt. And right now, adapting means standing beside the man who saw value where my own family saw garbage."

Nico’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Raven filed it away.

As the dance ended, he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. His lips lingered a beat too long. "If you ever tire of the king’s shadow, the Moretti Family would welcome a woman of your... talents."

Before Raven could respond, a shadow fell over them.

Vincent appeared at her side. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against him.

"Careful, Nico." His voice was pleasant. "My wife is not available for recruitment. Or admiration beyond what is polite."

Nico raised his hands in mock surrender. "Merely paying respects, De Luca. No offense intended."

"None taken." Vincent’s eyes said otherwise. "As long as it remains that way."

He guided Raven toward a quieter alcove near the windows. The moment they were out of earshot, his grip tightened.

"You’re smiling at another man," he murmured against her ear.

Raven tilted her head. "Should I not?"

"No." His voice dropped. "You belong to the most dangerous man alive. And I don’t share."

Her breath caught. A low, insistent warmth stirred in response — the kind her body had stopped pretending wasn’t about him. She turned in his arms, meeting his gaze directly. "Jealous, husband?"

"Possessive." His thumb brushed her lower lip. "There’s a difference."

Before she could retort, a waiter passed with a tray of champagne. Raven accepted a glass out of habit — then froze.

The liquid smelled wrong. A faint, bitter almond undertone hidden beneath the bubbles.

Poison.

She had been trained to detect Caruso’s signature blends since she was fifteen. This was subtle — meant for someone who wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

She set the glass down untouched and scanned the room. A server near the bar avoided eye contact. His posture was too stiff. Caruso-trained.

"Vincent." Her voice was urgent but controlled. "The champagne. Third tray from the left. Poison. Caruso signature — slow paralytic. They’re testing whether I’d let you drink it."

Vincent’s expression didn’t change, but his body tensed. "How do you know?"

"Because I helped develop variants of it when I was seventeen. I recognize the scent."

Raven moved. She crossed the floor with graceful purpose, the high slit in her gown flashing as she walked. The server saw her coming and tried to melt into the crowd.

He wasn’t fast enough.

Raven caught his wrist, twisting it behind his back. The tray clattered. Glasses shattered. She pressed her hidden stiletto blade to his side, hidden by their bodies and the crowd’s sudden gasp.

"Tell your handler the De Luca wife sends her regards." Her voice was ice. "And that next time I won’t be this merciful."

She drove the blade in — shallow, non-lethal, but painful — then released him. The server staggered back, clutching his side, blood blooming through his white jacket.

Security moved in instantly, but Vincent raised a hand. "Let him go. He’s a message."

Chaos rippled through the ballroom, but no one dared escalate. Neutral ground had been violated, yet the culprit was clear — Caruso had struck first through a proxy.

Vincent pulled Raven against his side, one arm banded around her waist. His voice carried across the sudden silence.

"It seems some families still haven’t learned. My wife just saved my life in front of all of you. Consider this your only warning. The next attempt on a De Luca will not end with a shallow cut."

Lorenzo Moretti stepped forward, face tight with controlled anger. "This breach of neutrality will be addressed."

Raven met his eyes. "Address it with Caruso. Not with us."

The gala ended early. As they left the Eclipse Tower, Vincent kept her close in the limousine, the partition raised.

He turned to her, eyes dark with pride and raw hunger.

"You neutralized the threat with a blade hidden in silk." His voice was low. "In front of half the underworld. My deadly queen."

Raven’s blood still ran hot with adrenaline. The red gown felt too tight, the night too close. "They needed to see I’m not a trophy. I’m the blade."

Vincent’s hand slid up her thigh through the high slit, fingers brushing the sheath that had held her stiletto. "You’re both. And tonight you proved it."

His touch reignited something she’d been holding at bay all evening. Raven’s breath went shallow as his fingers traced higher.

"Vincent —"

He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "When we get home, I want every detail of how you spotted the poison. How it felt to draw blood in a room full of predators. And then..." 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

His fingers pressed firmly between her legs.

"...I’m going to fuck you in this dress. Blood on silk and all."

A soft moan escaped her despite herself. Raven’s head fell back against the seat.

The limousine sped through the night toward the mansion.

And Raven realized, with a mix of fury and dark thrill, that she was no longer sure whether she was still hunting Vincent De Luca...

...or willingly walking into his trap.