The gala invitation from the Moretti Family arrived the next morning, delivered on thick cream cardstock embossed with gold filigree.
Raven stared at the elegant script while Vincent read the accompanying note aloud in the war room.
"'In light of recent... developments,'" he quoted, voice dry, "'the Moretti Family requests the pleasure of Vincent De Luca and his new bride at the annual Eclipse Gala. Neutral ground. Black tie. No overt hostilities.'"
Dante snorted from his seat. "Translation: come show off your assassin-wife so we can all stare and decide if she's a threat or a trophy."
Adrian Cross leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Or they want to test whether she'll crack under polite scrutiny."
Raven set the invitation down. The deep throb from last night's knife-to-throat encounter had settled into something she'd learned to carry quietly. She had woken tangled in Vincent's sheets again, his arm heavy across her waist, and had slipped out before he opened his eyes.
