The engagement party is at the Irongate estate. I knew it would be big. I didn't know it would be a fucking coronation.
Locke's hand is on my lower back when we walk through the front doors. The pressure's light but I feel it like a brand. Every face turns. Sixty, maybe seventy people in the entry hall alone. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors so polished I can see my reflection looking pale and underdressed even though the stylist Locke sent this morning put me in a black silk gown that cost more than Dad's car.
I'm supposed to smile. I practiced in the mirror for twenty minutes. My face feels like a mask that might crack.
"Breathe," Locke says in my ear. His voice is calm. Almost bored. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine."
"You're not. But you will be." He guides me forward. His jacket smells like expensive cologne and something darker underneath. Smoke maybe. Or gun oil.
The crowd parts. I see Vito Gates across the room near the bar. He's watching us with a champagne flute in one hand and a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He's older than Locke by maybe five years. Slicked-back hair. Tailored suit that screams old money. The kind of guy who'd slit your throat and not get blood on his cuffs.
Locke doesn't look at him. Doesn't acknowledge him at all. But his hand tightens on my back.
"Is that him?" I whisper.
"Yeah. Don't stare."
Too late. Vito's already moving toward us. He cuts through the crowd like he owns the room. Maybe he thinks he does.
"Locke." Vito's voice is smooth. Friendly even. He offers his hand and Locke shakes it without hesitation. "Congratulations. I didn't think you'd actually go through with it."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Well." Vito's eyes slide to me. "Your taste has always been a little... unpredictable."
I feel my jaw tighten. Locke's hand moves from my back to my waist. Possessive.
"Ivy, this is my cousin Vito. Vito, my fiancée."
Fiancée. The word tastes like poison.
Vito takes my hand and kisses the knuckles. His lips are cold. "Charmed. Tell me, how did you two meet? Locke's been very secretive."
"At a coffee shop," Locke says before I can answer. "She spilled espresso on my jacket."
That's not true. Obviously. But Vito laughs like it's the funniest thing he's heard all week.
"How romantic. And now you're getting married. Fast work, cousin."
"When you know, you know," Locke says. His tone is flat. Bored again. Like this conversation is beneath him.
Vito's smile sharpens. "I'm sure the family will want to know more about her. Background checks, you understand. We have to be careful about who we let in."
"Already done."
"By you. Not by the family."
The air between them shifts. I feel it like static before a storm.
Locke's voice drops. "Are you questioning my judgment?"
"I'm questioning your timing." Vito gestures to the room. "A week after your mother's memorial and you announce an engagement to a girl nobody's heard of. It looks desperate."
"It looks like I'm moving forward. You should try it."
Vito's jaw twitches. For a second I think he might throw the champagne. But then he laughs again. Short and ugly.
"We'll talk later," he says. He nods to me. "Enjoy the party, sweetheart."
He walks away. I exhale.
"Charming guy," I mutter.
"He wants me dead," Locke says casually. "And now he wants you dead too. So stay close."
Great. Fantastic. This is fine.
The next hour is a blur of introductions. Old men with dead eyes. Women in furs who look at me like I'm a stain on the furniture. Locke's hand never leaves my waist. He introduces me over and over. Ivy Cash. My fiancée. We're very happy.
I smile until my face hurts. I sip champagne I don't taste. I nod at names I'll never remember.
And then Locke pulls me to the center of the room.
"Speech time," he says.
Oh god.
He taps a knife against his glass. The room goes quiet. Seventy pairs of eyes lock on us.
Locke doesn't look nervous. He looks like he was born for this.
"Thank you all for coming," he says. His voice carries. Confident. Controlled. "I know this is sudden. But when I met Ivy, I knew she was the one. She's smart. She's strong. She doesn't take my shit."
A few people laugh. I want to disappear.
"She's everything I didn't know I needed. And I'm not letting her go."
He turns to me. His eyes are dark. Unreadable.
"Give me your hand," he says quietly.
I do. I don't know why. Maybe because everyone's watching. Maybe because I'm scared of what happens if I don't.
He raises my hand to his mouth. For a second I think he's going to kiss it like Vito did. Performative. Fake.
But then his teeth sink into my fingertip.
Sharp. Fast. I gasp. Blood wells up. Bright red against my pale skin.
The room goes silent. Not polite quiet. Shocked silent.
Locke holds my finger over his champagne glass. Three drops fall. Plip. Plip. Plip. The blood swirls through the golden liquid like ink.
He raises the glass.
"To my future wife," he says. "Mine."
And he drinks it.
Nobody claps. Nobody laughs. Vito's face across the room is white with rage.
Locke lowers the glass and licks the blood from his lips. Then he wraps a napkin around my finger. Gentle. Like he didn't just bite me in front of seventy people.
"Smile," he whispers.
I can't. I'm shaking. My finger throbs.
"What the fuck was that?" I hiss.
"A message." He tucks my hand against his chest. "They needed to know you're not a placeholder. You're not leverage. You're mine. And if anyone touches you, I'll burn this whole family down."
"You're insane."
"Probably." He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "But you're alive. You're welcome."
The party bleeds on after that but nobody talks to us. They stare. Whisper. Keep their distance like we're contagious.
Good.
I want to leave. I want to scrub my skin raw and forget the way Locke's teeth felt on my hand. But he keeps me locked to his side until the last guest filters out.
Vito is one of the last to go. He stops at the door. Looks back. His eyes find mine.
"See you soon, sweetheart," he says.
Then he's gone.
Locke exhales. The first real breath I've seen him take all night.
"Stay here," he says. "I need to talk to security."
"I'm not a dog."
"No. You're a target. So stay."
He walks out. I'm alone in the empty hall. Champagne glasses scattered on tables. Lipstick stains on crystal. The smell of perfume and cigar smoke.
I should leave. I should run.
But I think about Vito's smile. About the way Locke's hand felt like the only solid thing in the room.
I think about Dad. Still unconscious. Still breathing but barely.
I pull out my phone. Devin's number is saved under a fake name. I stare at it. One call. That's all it would take.
But I don't press it.
Instead I walk to the study. The door is unlocked. Inside: dark wood. Leather chairs. A desk covered in files.
I shouldn't snoop. I know I shouldn't.
I do it anyway.
The lockbox is under the desk. Small. Steel. Combination lock. I try Dad's birthday. Nothing. I try mine. Nothing.
I try the date he went into witness protection.
Click.
It opens.
Inside: cash. A fake passport. A burner phone.
And a photo.
I pull it out. My hands are shaking.
It's a woman. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Beautiful in a way that feels dangerous. She's smiling at the camera. Behind her: a city skyline I don't recognize.
I flip it over.
On the back, in Dad's handwriting: "Fifteen years ago. Don't forget."
And a date.
The night of the bombing.
The bombing that killed half the Irongate family. The bombing that started the war between the feds and the mob.
I stare at the photo. At the woman's face.
She has Locke's eyes.
Footsteps in the hall. I shove the photo in my purse and close the lockbox. My heart is hammering.
Locke appears in the doorway.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just looking around."
His eyes narrow. He doesn't believe me. But he doesn't push.
"Car's ready," he says. "Let's go."
I follow him out. My finger still throbs where he bit me. The photo in my purse feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
Dad knew Locke's mother.
Dad knew her the night she died.
And he never told me.