Dance of Deception: Chapter 17

“Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear it…”

Milena’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.

“But you look fucking amazing.”

I know I should feel something. Excitement. Nerves. The thrill of anticipation. Fuck, even fear.

Nope. I just feel numb.

The mirror in front of me reflects a stranger. A girl all in white, her red hair falling in perfect waves over the delicate lace. Her eyes are vacant, as if it’s someone else’s life she’s watching unfold.

Milena stands behind me, her fingers fastening the last pearl button on my gown. The fabric is exquisite—hand-stitched French gossamer with intricate beading that probably took artisans months to complete. It’s a dress fit for royalty. But in the mirror, I don’t see a queen. Not a bargaining chip. Not even a sacrificial lamb.

Just a girl trying to get through the next few hours without her brain eating itself alive.

Milena smirks, adjusting my veil. “You know, your garter would be a great place to hide a flask…”

I snort. “Tempting. But no.”

She tilts her head. “Seriously, how’re you doing? I mean, mentally.”

I exhale slowly. “Like I’m about to do something huge and I have no idea if I’m ready?”

Milena grins. “Sounds about right.” She nudges my arm. “Just remember: you’re allowed to feel normal human emotions about a wedding.”

I roll my eyes. “I am feeling emotions. I just—can’t decide which ones yet.”

She smirks. “Bitch, that’s called being twenty-one.”

Before I can reply, the door bangs open.

Vera.

Wearing white.

Milena’s brows shoot up, her eyes dragging over my mother’s outfit, complete with lace roses and shawl.

“Is that what you’re wearing today, Mrs. Ostrova?”

Vera lifts her chin, smoothing a hand down the shimmering silk of her dress. “Of course.” There’s a trace of indignation in her voice, but mostly, there’s pride.

Milena and I exchange a look.

Vera steps further into the room, surveying me like a jeweler inspecting a gemstone. Her lips purse in thought, then curve into not-quite-a-smile. “You should be grateful. Most girls would kill to be in your position.”

I say nothing.

She exhales dramatically, the sound weighty with self-importance. “Meanwhile, I’m still rotting away in that charming Hell’s Kitchen apartment while you’re living in a goddamn Central Park mansion.”

She steps toward me, fingers tracing lightly over the beading on my gown. “Nice,” she murmurs. “Custom, I assume?”

I nod stiffly.

Vera turns to the mirror, humming as if she’s the one being admired. “And to think, we barely used to scrape by.” She flicks her gaze back to me, sharp and assessing. “Well?”

I frown. “Well…what?”

She exhales dramatically. “The living situations, Lyra. It’s not a good look for you to be where you are while I’m still languishing in that moldy roach hotel. What are you going to do about it?”

I don’t know how to answer that.

Vera tilts her head. “Don’t play dumb, Lyra. You’ve never been good at it. What I’m saying is—fix it.”

I swallow. “What do you think I should do?”

“I’m sure there’s space somewhere in that—what, twenty-bedroom mansion for your dear mother?”

My brows knit. “I… I mean, I can ask Carmine⁠—”

“Yes. Do that.”

“I just don’t know if he’ll agree⁠—”

Her smile is slow, condescending. “Then do what wives often do to get their way with their husbands, darling.”

Milena makes a disgusted, gagging noise in the back of her throat.

I feel my skin crawl. “Absolutely not.”

Vera rolls her eyes, smoothing the fabric of her gown like she’s ending the conversation. “Well then,” she mutters, picking imaginary lint from her sleeve. “Surely you can afford to ensure that your own mother doesn’t have to live in squalor.”

“Mom, I don’t have any money⁠—”

Vera scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re marrying Carmine Barone.”

I clench my jaw. “He’s giving me a ring, not a credit card.”

Her expression darkens, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “Ungrateful, as always.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s not⁠—”

“Never could resist biting the hand that feeds you, could you?” she sneers. Her voice turns venomous. “Just like when you testified against your father. Such a good little daughter you were.”

The words land like a slap, knocking the breath from my lungs.

She presses on, her voice becoming more insidious. “After everything I did for you. After all the sacrifices I made. Keeping a roof over our heads, stretching every penny while you played at being a ballerina.”

My fingers tighten, twisting together.

Vera sighs, shaking her head. “And where did that leave me? Stuck. With. You.”

Her eyes glint cruelly as she leans in. “Don’t think for one second that this marriage makes you special, Lyra. You were chosen for convenience, nothing more.” She gestures broadly. “Do you think Carmine cares about you? Think he’s marrying you because you’re some great prize? Please.”

I stay silent. I know better than to let her see how much the words hurt.

Vera watches me, waiting for a reaction. When I don’t give her one, she exhales with a puff, exasperated. “What I mean is,—this isn’t just about you anymore. You have an obligation to people other than yourself now.”

Her voice is all honey and glass, deceptively sweet yet dangerously sharp. “Remember that.”

“That’s. Enough.”

The three of us startle, turning at the sound of the voice. Vito Barone steps inside, his mere presence shifting the air, diffusing the venom Vera has been spewing like a toxic cloud.

My mother straightens but doesn’t look ashamed.

Actually, I’m not sure she’s capable of that emotion.

Vito tilts his head, a pleasant smile curving his lips, but his eyes are sharp.

“I think we’re done here, Mrs. Ostrova, don’t you?”

Vera lifts her chin. “I beg your pardon. This is a private conversation.”

Vito sighs, like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. “Was,” he says sharply. “And now it’s over, and it’s time to go.”

The way he says it is even and without a trace of anger. But there’s still a power that resonates just under the surface, and I can tell even my mother feels it.

Vera hesitates, then flicks her gaze toward me. “You think this marriage will save you?” Her lips curl. “Stupid thing. You don’t even know what you’ve walked into.”

She turns on her heel and strides out. Two Barone men fall into step on either side of her.

Vito clears his throat, turning to smile kindly at Milena.

“Ms. Kalishnik, would you mind if I had a moment with my soon-to-be daughter-in-law?”

Milena glances at me. I nod quietly. “See you out there.”

She reaches over and squeezes my hand before she slips from the room.

Silence lingers.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I’m still reeling.

Vito sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Weddings. They have a way of making people act out, don’t they?”

I laugh, but it’s forced.

Vito studies me for a moment. “I understand tough parents.” He sighs. “Trust me. My father was a tyrant.”

I glance at him, surprised by the warmth in his voice.

“You know, Lyra, I have a bit of a habit of taking in strays.”

A curious smile twists my lips. “Strays?”

“Dante. Bianca. Neither of them is mine. Well, you know that. But I raised them as my own. They’re family now.” He meets my gaze, serious. “After today, you are too. No matter what.”

My throat tightens. I blink rapidly, nodding. “Thank you,” I croak out quietly.

“You know,” he says chattily, “Carmine is a lot of things. Intense. Impulsive. Terrifying, when he wants to be.” His lips twist slightly, like he’s amusing himself. “But if nothing else, he’s loyal to the people he calls his own.”

I press my lips together, unsure how to respond. There’s something oddly comforting about Vito’s manner—like he understands exactly what’s running through my head without me needing to say a word.

“Carmine fights for what’s his,” he continues, leaning back against the vanity. “Always has. He doesn’t do anything halfway. That goes for business, family, and…well, marriage.” He watches me closely. “He chose you, Lyra. And once Carmine decides something is his, he doesn’t let go.’

That should probably unsettle me more than it does. Instead, I find myself nodding, rolling the weight of his words around in my head.

Vito smirks knowingly. “And if he steps out of line with you, you come tell me so I can straighten his ass out.”

That startles a laugh out of me, shaky but genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

His smirk softens, becomes more sincere. “Look, I know my son. He’s not easy. He’s got more rough edges than he does soft spots. But he doesn’t abandon the people in his corner. You may not have planned for this, but you’re in that corner now.”

I swallow hard, my fingers twisting in my lap. It’s a strange feeling, being reassured by a man whose family I barely know or understand. But Vito’s words ease something tight in my chest that I hadn’t even realized was coiled there.

Vito rubs his jaw. “I was hoping I, ah, might ask a favor of you.”

I tilt my head. “Of course?”

He smiles, his eyes finding mine. “How would you feel if I walked you down the aisle?”

I hold his gaze, then nod firmly as I blink rapidly. “I think I’d like that very much,” I say quietly.

Vito grins, straightening his suit. “Good. Now, let’s go get you married.”