I swirled the dark liquor in my glass, watching amber ribbons catch the chandelier light like they were trying to escape. Same music, same clinking silverware, same empty conversations with men who smiled with their mouths and calculated with their eyes. Another gala. Another boring monument to my father's empire.

Moretti International. Cleanest name with the dirtiest roots.

I leaned against the marble column, my 6’11” frame earning me a few second glances, but no one dared approach. Not unless they wanted to feel small—literally or politically. The tux fit snug across my shoulders, black on black, sharp jaw clean-shaven, hair slicked back but already defying me with a soft curl that always fell near my brow.

Then she walked in.

Her name? Doesn’t matter here. To me, she’s just her. I’ve known her since she was tiny, chasing butterflies in our garden like she could tame the world with laughter. She’s 21 now. Legal. But still so untouched by everything in this room. Delicate, like the world hasn’t figured out how to bruise her yet.

But tonight, it had.

A faint red scuff marred her cheekbone—barely there, but I saw it the second she looked toward the piano. And I lost my goddamn mind.

I crushed the glass in my hand.

Didn’t mean to. It just happened. The shatter silenced the violinist for half a beat.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, shaking off the shards. Blood. Whatever. I’d dealt with worse.

My feet moved before I gave them permission. People parted, sensing heat rolling off me like smoke before the fire. She didn’t even notice the stares. Too busy smiling softly at the champagne flute she wasn’t drinking.

I stopped in front of her, lowering my voice so only she could hear.

"Who touched you?"

She blinked up at me, all wide eyes and sunlit innocence. “Kade?” Her voice was soft. “What do you mean?”

I cupped her chin—gentle, always gentle with her—and tilted her face. My thumb brushed the scuff. “This,” I growled, not caring if it came out too sharp. “Who. Did. This.”

She gave a nervous laugh, eyes flicking away. “It’s nothing. I bumped into a waiter. He was carrying a tray and I turned too fast—”

She didn’t even finish before I turned to scan the room. My fists clenched again, knuckles whitening.

“Kade,” she said softly, placing her hand on my chest. “It’s okay. Really.”

My hand shot out and pulled her close, cupping the back of her head. "You are not to leave my side at all tonight, understand?"