The ballroom glittered like a trap. I stood at the edge of the Castellano estate's grand hall, watching crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across marble floors slick enough to see your own reflection. My reflection looked terrified. Twenty-two years old, wearing a white debutante gown I hadn't chosen, about to face a family tradition that would decide the rest of my life. No date meant no choice. That was the rule. Every unmarried Castellano woman had to attend the annual ball with an escort, or the family would arrange a marriage for "strategic purposes." Translation: they'd sell you to whatever crime family needed a treaty signed in blood and wedding vows. I'd asked Marco three weeks ago. "Please," I'd said, hating how my voice cracked. "Just as friends. You know what happens if I show up alone." Marco Vitale had been my only friend since I was seven years old and freshly adopted into this nightmare. He'd found me crying in the garden after Victoria—the Castellanos' biological daughter—had convinced the other kids I was cursed. Marco had handed me his jacket and told me Victoria was jealous because I was braver than she'd ever be. I'd loved him since that moment. "Of course I'll go with you, Elena," he'd promised, his dark eyes warm. "I won't let them marry you off to some monster." I'd actually believed him. Now I watched him descend the main staircase with Victoria on his arm. She wore red—always red, because it made her look like power incarnate with her black hair and sharp smile. The dress probably cost more than most people's cars. Marco wore a tuxedo that fit him perfectly, his hand resting possessively on her waist. They looked like they belonged together. My stomach turned to ice. Victoria saw me first. Her smile widened, victory gleaming in her eyes as bright as the diamonds at her throat. She whispered something to Marco. He looked up, found me standing there in my mandatory white gown, and his expression flickered with something that might have been guilt. Then he looked away. I couldn't breathe. The ballroom suddenly felt too small, too hot, even though it could hold three hundred people easily. Families from every major crime organization on the East Coast filled the space—Romanos, Morettis, Salvatores—all watching, evaluating, calculating. Hunting. "Elena." My adoptive father's voice cut through my panic. Vincent Castellano materialized beside me, his silver hair immaculate, his tuxedo custom-tailored. He looked every inch the crime lord he was. "Where is your escort?" I couldn't make my throat work. His eyes followed my gaze to Marco and Victoria, now greeting the Moretti family like royalty holding court. Understanding hardened his features. "I see." "Papa, I—" "You know the rules." His voice held no warmth, no comfort. It never did, not for me. I was the charity case, the orphan he'd taken in for reasons he'd never explained. Victoria was his blood, his princess, his heir. "Every unmarried woman presents with an escort or accepts the family's arrangement." "Marco promised—" "Marco Vitale is not family. He made his choice clear." Vincent's hand closed around my elbow, firm enough to bruise. "You have until midnight to find an escort, or I will announce your engagement at dawn. Do you understand?" Midnight. Three hours. "Who?" The word came out broken. Vincent's smile was colder than winter in Moscow. "Dante Romano has expressed interest. His family needs to strengthen ties after that unfortunate business with the Salvatores last month. You'll do nicely." Dante Romano. The name alone made my blood run cold. I'd seen him once, at a funeral for a rival family's son. He'd stood in the back, watching the grieving family with dead eyes and a smile that suggested he'd been the one to put the boy in the ground. Rumors said he'd killed his first man at fifteen. That he collected debts in fingers and teeth. That his last fiancée had disappeared three days before their wedding. "Please." I hated myself for begging, but terror made me desperate. "Please, there has to be another way." "Then find an escort." Vincent released my arm and straightened his cufflinks. "Three hours, Elena. Don't embarrass this family more than you already have." He walked away, leaving me standing alone in a sea of predators. I searched the crowd for Marco, found him laughing at something Victoria said, his hand now resting on the small of her back. The same way he'd touched me once, two years ago, when we'd almost kissed in the garden before Victoria had interrupted. Had that meant nothing? I pushed through the crowd, my white gown marking me like a target. People moved aside, their eyes calculating. They knew. Of course they knew. In this world, information was currency, and my humiliation was already common knowledge. "Marco." I caught his arm, not caring that Victoria stood right there, not caring about pride anymore. "Please, I need to talk to you." He turned, and the warmth I'd spent fifteen years loving was gone from his eyes. "Elena, this isn't a good time." "You promised." My voice cracked. "You promised you'd come with me tonight." Victoria's laugh was like breaking glass. "Oh, sweetie. Did you actually think Marco would choose you over me? How adorable." "Victoria—" Marco started, but she cut him off with a look. "No, let's be honest." Victoria stepped closer, her perfume expensive and suffocating. "You're not really family, Elena. You're a stray Papa took pity on. Marco and I have been seeing each other for months. Did you really think he'd waste his time being your pity date when he could be with someone who actually matters?" Months. They'd been together for months while Marco had smiled at me, had coffee with me, let me believe— "I'm sorry," Marco said, but he was looking at Victoria, not me. "I should have told you sooner." The ballroom spun. "I need you," I whispered, hating how pathetic I sounded. "If I don't have an escort by midnight, they're marrying me to Dante Romano. Please, Marco. Please." For a moment—just a heartbeat—something flickered in his expression. Then Victoria touched his face, turning him toward her. "Let her go, baby. She's not your responsibility." Marco looked at me one last time. "You'll be fine, Elena. The Romanos are powerful. It's a good match." He walked away. Victoria leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "You never belonged here. At least this way, you'll be someone else's problem." She followed Marco, leaving me standing in the middle of the ballroom, drowning in white silk and broken promises. The clock above the orchestra read nine-fifteen. Two hours and forty-five minutes until my life ended. I ran.