The sitting room belonged to a different world than the rest of the house. Where upstairs was all chrome fixtures and neon bleeding through blinds, here mahogany and brass caught lamplight like old money remembering its worth. Heavy curtains blocked the street entirely, sealing away the chaos of Sector 9 until only the soft tick of an antique clock marked time.
Her father sat in the high-backed chair by the window, a glass of dark whiskey balanced in his hand. The light caught the silver threading through his black hair, the deep lines carved into his cheeks, but nothing about Enzo Marcelli looked soft. His eyes lifted the moment she entered, pale, measuring, the kind that weighed without hurry.
"You kept me waiting," he said, not raising his voice.
Lina forced her shoulders square, carrying the bottle forward until the glass caught the lamplight. She set it down on the table in front of him, careful but deliberate, her fingers lingering on the neck a second longer than needed.
"Navarro sent this for you. Said it belonged on your table."
Her father's gaze flicked to the label, then back to her face. "Navarro remembers his manners. Do you?"
Lina met his stare without flinching. "Manners don't win us business. Fear does. Loyalty does." She set the bottle carefully on the table, fingers lingering just long enough to make her point. "And right now both are getting tested."
Her father's brows drew together, a flicker of interest breaking through the stillness.
"The pirates," Lina went on. "They're crawling into Sector Nine like they own the streets. Tonight I had to throw one off a girl under our protection. He wasn't alone either. More waiting at the corner, watching."
Enzo swirled the whiskey in his glass, gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder. His voice came low, almost to himself.
"Rafe Cortez." The name carried a weight, like it had been spoken too often these past months. "I know he's here. He's been circling Sector Nine since spring, sniffing at the edges."
His eyes cut back to hers, sharp again.
"After the nukes, Sector Nine stayed ours. That's why the family still breathes while others rotted. But Sector Seven?" His lip curled faintly. "That's pirate water. Always has been. They raid, they vanish. Now they're crawling back across the line, thinking time made us weak."
Lina's jaw tightened. "Then we should remind them where the line is. They touch our merchants, they pay for it. If you need someone to make that clear…" She leaned forward slightly, voice steady. "I'll go."
Enzo regarded her in silence for a moment, the whiskey glass turning once in his hand. Then he set it down, unfinished, on the side table.
"Tomorrow night," he said, rising from the chair, "there's a reception. Important guests. You'll wear a dress, and we'll discuss business there, properly."
He crossed the room with measured steps, the faint creak of leather underscoring his exit. At the doorway he paused, turning just enough for his words to carry back.
"And, Lina…" His eyes flicked over her, sharp and cool. "Your taste in women could use work. Stop wasting time on waitresses."
Without another glance, he stepped into the hall, leaving the unopened wine bottle where it sat.
The door closed behind him, the echo of his steps fading down the hall—followed by the heavier shuffle of half a dozen men, boots striking in unison until the sound thinned into silence.
Lina's eyes lingered on the bottle he'd left behind. She reached for it, fingers curling around the glass, lifting it just enough to feel its weight. For a second she only stared at the label, Navarro's neat gold letters gleaming in the lamplight.
Enzo had once sat her down for hours, dredging up stories of her mother as if the dead could still argue his case. She'd agreed to help with the business just to shut him up. And yet, no matter how many streets she walked or debts she collected, she saw it in his eyes—she was never enough. Not the heir he wanted. Sometimes she wondered if he still cursed the fact that her mother had given him a daughter instead of a son.
Her chest tightened, anger running hotter than the gin still in her veins. _Never enough. Never the heir he wanted._ His words still stung.
She set the bottle down with deliberate care. In the silence that followed, an idea edged sharp through her thoughts. If he wanted a dress for his reception, then she'd give him a dress.
Lina exhaled slowly, letting the room settle again. Then an idea slid into place.
"Elena," she called toward the door.
The maid stepped in at once, straight-backed as always, though her eyes flicked over Lina as if weighing what mood she might find.
"We're going out," Lina said. "Find me a coat. And make sure we've got a car ready."
Elena blinked, surprise breaking through her composure. "Out, miss? At this hour?"
Lina's smile curved faintly. "We'll need to stop by a dress shop."
For a heartbeat, Elena just stared. Then her face lit, the kind of unguarded delight Lina rarely saw from her. "Of course! I know two, maybe three tailors still open if we hurry. We can find something elegant, have it altered in time before tomorrow evening..."
Lina's laugh cut her off, soft but amused. She slipped on her coat, smoothing the lapel with idle fingers. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Elena. Tell me, Chrissy's still here?"
Elena hesitated, then nodded.
"Good," Lina said lightly. "She'll want to see the dress I choose."
The maid's smile faltered, confusion tugging at the corners. But Lina only laughed again, low and easy, before heading for the door.
-----
Chrissy tugged at the hem of her dress for the third time before they even reached the top of the stairs. The emerald-green fabric was smooth, cut to flatter, but on her it felt borrowed—like she'd stepped into someone else's life.
"Stop fidgeting," Lina murmured, catching her wrist and leaning close enough to fix the thin strap that had slipped from her shoulder. Her fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, a ghost of amusement in her smile. "You'll crease it before anyone gets to admire you."
Chrissy flushed, eyes darting toward the gilded doors below where voices already spilled through. Beyond them, she caught fragments—a woman's laugh cut short, the soft rustle of expensive fabric, men's voices dropping to whispers when footsteps passed too close.
Lina straightened, smoothing her own jacket with a casual hand, and nodded toward the light spilling out into the hall. "Come on. Time to see what my father's dressed us up for."
Chrissy let Lina steer her forward, heels clicking against polished stone. The hallway stretched longer than she expected, its arches repeating until she lost count. A line of portraits watched from the walls—solemn faces, each pair of painted eyes carrying the same sharp Marcelli jaw.
By the time they reached the next landing, her breath caught. The corridor opened into a gallery lined with windows that overlooked the inner gardens. She slowed, gaze flicking from the black glass outside to the chandeliers ahead. "It's… endless," she whispered, more to herself than to Lina.
Lina only smirked, tugging her along again. The air thickened with music the closer they came, the hum of strings rising against the deeper thrum of conversation. At the far end, the gilded doors stood half-open, spilling gold light across the marble. Through the gap she caught glimpses—men in tailored suits, women glittering with borrowed starlight, the swell of voices shifting like a tide.
They stepped through together, the hall swallowing them whole. Crystal light fractured across marble, glinting off sequined gowns and polished shoes.
Chrissy froze for a heartbeat, her eyes sweeping over the crowd. She leaned closer, voice low and sharp. "You told me twenty people. That looks like a hundred."
Lina tilted her head, taking in the same room with far less urgency. Her smile came slow, almost teasing. "Don't worry. You look beautiful. What's the difference between twenty or a hundred, if they're all going to stare anyway?"
Chrissy exhaled, not quite reassured, and let herself be pulled deeper into the tide of music and voices.
A waiter in a black vest swept past with a tray, and Lina plucked two flutes of champagne without breaking stride. She pressed one into Chrissy's hand.
On the left, beneath the vaulted arches, a string quartet played.
Heads turned as they moved deeper into the hall. The nearest guests turned first, their eyes catching on Lina before sliding to the young woman beside her. A flicker of surprise crossed a few faces, quick as the lift of an eyebrow, then smoothed away into polished smiles.
Glasses tilted in greeting, voices softened into cordial acknowledgment—the sort reserved for a Marcelli heir, even one who chose to arrive with an unexpected companion.
From across the floor, Enzo Marcelli had seen it too. His gaze lingered, cool and cutting, before the faintest shadow of displeasure crossed his face. Then, as swiftly as it came, it was gone. He straightened, the perfect host once more, his smile as practiced as the weight of his glass.
At his side stood a tall blond man, shoulders squared, his suit cut with military precision. Enzo touched the man's arm lightly, guiding him toward Lina with the ease of someone who always decided where the current would flow.
His hand settled briefly on Lina's shoulder as he drew her into the circle of light. The smile never wavered.
"My daughter, Lina Marcelli," he said, the words pitched for the room around them. "And this is her girl…", a pause so slight it could have been nothing, "…friend, Chrissy."
The correction slid out smooth, but the pause had already done its work. A ripple passed through the nearby guests, surprise polished into gracious smiles, glasses raised in effortless acknowledgment.
Enzo's tone shifted, carrying just enough deference now. "Adrian Caldwell, the governor's son. His father regrets he could not attend tonight, but Adrian speaks in his stead."
The blond man inclined his head, smiling as his gaze weighed both Lina and the companion at her side.
"And you've brought a guest," Adrian added, inclining his head toward Chrissy. "Sector Nine could use more beauty in its halls."
Lina's lips curved, sharper than she intended. "It's my house. I don't recall needing anyone's permission to decide who walks beside me."
The air tightened—just a fraction, but enough. A glance or two shifted, ears tuning closer.
Chrissy's fingers found the hem of her dress, tugging once before she steadied herself. "I only came to enjoy the evening," she said quickly, her voice low but clear. "I hope I'm not intruding."
The words softened the edge without erasing it, though Chrissy's eyes flicked toward Lina, searching, as if to check she hadn't spoken out of turn.
Enzo's laugh broke in smoothly, low and practiced, his hand brushing the air as if nothing heavier than a jest had passed. "My daughter takes after her mother. Sharp tongue, quick wit. Forgive her, Adrian, she is still learning when to use both."
The ripple of tension smoothed, but Lina caught the faint pressure of her father's gaze as it lingered a second too long.
Lina's smile lasted until the next glass of champagne was in her hand. By then her jaw ached from holding it. The music swelled, laughter swirled, and her father's voice carried smooth as oil through the crowd.
She didn't wait for another round of introductions. Fingers closing around Chrissy's wrist, she steered them toward the balcony doors. The air outside hit cooler, sharper, the noise dropping into a muffled hum behind glass.
Lina lit a cigarette with steady hands, exhaling slow. The ember flared, then dimmed against the night, while Chrissy smoothed her dress and tried not to stare too obviously at the glittering crowd inside.
The glass door opened again. A young man stepped out, tall but not yet filled out, his suit tailored in the latest cut. His skin was sun-dark, his features sharp, his movements too self-assured for a servant. He looked straight at Lina, as though he had come for her and no one else.
"Señorita Marcelli," he said, voice low but clear. "An honor to finally meet you."
Lina's eyes narrowed. "Do I know you?"
The young man's smile came slow, deliberate. "Iker. Iker Cortez."
The name struck hard enough to still the smoke in her lungs. She caught Chrissy shifting closer at her side, uncertainty tightening her face.
Lina glanced back through the glass at the hall—her father was in conversation with a knot of officials, glass in hand, expression smooth as stone. He had seen the young man come out. He wasn't surprised.
Her gaze snapped back to the young pirate. "Tell me," she said, voice low, sharp as broken glass, "why does the brother of a pirate king walk into my father's house like an honored guest?"
For the first time that night, Lina realized she had no idea what game Enzo Marcelli was playing.