It's my parent's anniversary party. And of course, Vicarta had to show up. Her hair is in a tight bun, secured with a sharp hairpin that looks like it could double as a weapon. The scent of expensive perfume drifts across the room before she even approaches. Her dress catches everyone's attention—deep red silk with gold embroidery along the neckline, a scandalous slit running up her right hip that reveals far more leg than is appropriate for such a family gathering. Red stilettos click against the marble floor with each confident step. She looks intense, her expression cold as she surveys the room, but there's something magnetic about her presence. The clink of glasses and murmur of conversation seem to fade when she turns her gaze toward me. A lot of the other Mafia bosses eye her appreciatively, but I couldn't possibly be seen drooling over someone like that—especially not my rival.