Bound To The Wrong Sister

[ IRIS’S POV ]

The air to the grand ballroom of the Russo estate was thick with the scent of money,  blood, and a thousand freshly cut roses.

Chandeliers dripped light softly, making the room look alive. So much that it's reflecting off the polished marble floors where the elite of the underworld mingled.

Tonight was not just a celebration, it was a truce, a public peace-making and alliance between the Russo and the Moretti families, and an end to a decade-long feud that had painted the streets of New York red.

I hate galas. I hate the forced laughter that never reaches anyone’s eyes.

The whispered behind crystal glasses, the way every glance weighed on me like a number written in blood. I would kill to be anywhere but here.

My name is Iris Russo. Nineteen. Old enough to be exchanged, young enough to be ignored.

I lingered where I always did, near the velvet curtains, half swallowed by shadow.  A place where I would be hardly noticed or never. My dark red dress was simple, almost severe. I wore it like armor.

Sofia never did.

She didn’t need to. Because she was born into this. To be daddy’s little heir and princess.

She stood beside our father as she belonged there, and the room had been built for her. Well, tonight's gala is also in her name.

 Ivory silk hugged her body. Sequins caught the light with every move she made. Blonde hair. Perfect wave. 

A smile trained.  Warm enough to calm a soul, hard enough to set a fire. To disarm men and kill for sport.

“Iris, I knew I would find you here.” She murmured as she passed me, lips curved sweetly, eyes sharp.” You look like you’re waiting for a coffin, like we’re here for a burial and not a celebration.

“Someone has mourned what this family used to be,” I replied quietly but enough to hear. ” And you’re busy selling what’s left.”

Her smile tightened, just for a moment and it was gone as quickly as it came, just like a pro that she is.

“Careful,” she said softly.” People mistake bitterness for weakness.”

“You and I both know I'm not bitter, sister.” I said using my eyes to trace the room.” This is not just my style.”

“What is your style, Iris? staying in the room reading and acting like a widow?” I looked at her, to reply.

But she drifted away before I could. Sofia answered the rule.  And she lived by them.

————————-

The room shifted. The kind of quiet that settles before violence. Announcing a powerful presence even before he set foot in the hall.

All the guests in the room turned in the direction of the door as it opened.

Salvatore Moretti.

He didn’t walk in, he claimed the space. Tall. Broad. And good looking. He controlled the room as it belonged to him with just his presence.

 His suit was charcoal. Neat. Cut to precision. Power rolls