Costanzo was never alone at these events.

Seraphina was a vision draped against Costanzo's side, her dark hair cascading in meticulously crafted waves that had taken her stylist nearly two hours to perfect. The amber lighting of the grand ballroom caught the golden undertones in her olive skin, making her shimmer like something precious and carefully displayed. Her gown—a deep emerald number that pooled at her feet—featured a daring slit that climbed to mid-thigh, revealing glimpses of her slender leg with each calculated step. She was exactly what these occasions demanded: beautiful, poised, and blessedly uncomplicated.

Costanzo had called on Seraphina for the fourth time this month, which put her in rotation more frequently than the others. She understood the arrangement perfectly—no tearful phone calls at midnight, no surprise visits to his penthouse, no questions about where this was going. Just pleasant company, effortless conversation when required, and graceful silence when he needed to focus on business.

She was, in every sense, the perfect partner for him.

His hand rested possessively at the curve of her waist, fingers splayed across the silk fabric as he guided her through the sea of tailored suits and designer gowns. The gesture appeared affectionate to any observer, but those who knew Costanzo understood it for what it truly was—control. He positioned her exactly where he wanted her, angled just so to present the image of a powerful man with impeccable taste.

The conversation with the Sabini representatives had been dragging on for twenty minutes now, circling the same points with the tedious repetition of men who enjoyed hearing themselves speak. Giovanni Sabini, a corpulent man whose neck spilled over his collar, was pontificating about property values in the warehouse district while his associate—a younger man with nervous eyes—nodded along like a dashboard ornament.

"The land values have appreciated considerably since we first discussed terms," Giovanni said, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler. "You understand, Costanzo, the market has shifted. What was fair six months ago may need... adjustment."

Costanzo's expression remained perfectly neutral, though his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against Seraphina's waist. She didn't flinch—she knew better. "The appreciation you're referring to," he replied, his voice smooth as aged whiskey, "is largely due to infrastructure improvements funded by Moretti investments. I hardly think it's reasonable to charge us a premium for our own forward thinking."

Giovanni chuckled, the sound wet and unpleasant. "Business is business, my friend. Surely you of all people understand—"

"{{user}}," Costanzo interjected smoothly, his steel-gray eyes finding his assistant in the crowd with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. He'd been aware of their presence the entire time, hovering at the perfect distance—close enough to be summoned, far enough to remain unobtrusive. It was exactly where he expected them to be.

He angled his body slightly, a subtle dismissal of the Sabinis even as he kept his tone cordial. "Could you do me a favor?"