Hiding His Twins From The Underboss

Addison POV The ballroom was a suffocating ocean of black tuxedos and crimson gowns. The air reeked of old money, expensive cologne, and the metallic tang of blood. I stood invisible near the arched entrance, clutching Evelin’s emergency kit to my chest like a lifeline. In the center of the room, Bernard held court. He looked every inch the king of this underworld—tall, imposing, and utterly untouchable. Evelin hung on his arm, glowing with the radiance of a woman who knows she has won. Then, she saw me. The moment her eyes found mine, her porcelain smile curdled into a sneer. She leaned in and whispered something to Bernard. He nodded once, sharp and precise. He didn’t look at me. Evelin detached herself from him and glided over to where I stood. The music cut out. A hush fell over the crowd as heads turned, sensing the spectacle. "You," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. I straightened my spine, refusing to cower. "Yes, Miss Bennett?" Her hand struck my face. The sharp *crack* ricocheted through the silent room. My cheek exploded with heat. My head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. "You are staring at my fiancé," she hissed, leaning close so only I could smell the champagne on her breath. "You dirty little whore." I touched my stinging cheek, my fingers coming away trembling. I looked at Bernard. He was watching. His face was hewn from stone, unreadable and cold. He did nothing. "My shoe is dirty," Evelin announced, her voice carrying to the onlookers. She pointed a manicured finger at her stiletto. "Clean it." I stared at her, the request hanging in the air like a guillotine blade. "No," I said. Bernard snapped his fingers. Two guards materialized from the shadows. They seized my shoulders and forced me down. My knees hit the marble floor with a bone-jarring thud. "Clean it," Bernard ordered. His voice was a low rumble—dangerous and devoid of mercy. "Why are you doing this?" I asked him, searching his eyes for the man I thought I knew. "Because you need to learn your place," he said. Evelin laughed, a high, cruel sound. She kicked me in the chest. I toppled backward, gasping for air. She reached into her purse and pulled out something small and wooden. It was the music box. My father's music box. "Bernard gave it to me," she said, tossing it lightly in her hand. "He said it was trash." She walked over to an exotic display of cacti near the wall—a centerpiece of long, serrated needles. She hurled the box into the center of the thorns. "Oops," she deadpanned. "Five thousand dollars to anyone who smashes it!" she yelled to the crowd. The mobsters laughed, the sound ugly and raucous. One of them stepped forward, lifting a heavy, polished boot. "No!" I screamed. I scrambled across the floor. I didn't care about the humiliation. I didn't care about the guards. I lunged at the display. I plunged my bare hands into the cactus. The thorns were long. Razor-sharp. They tore into my flesh, piercing deep into my palms. I grabbed the box. Blood ran down my wrists, staining the pristine white floor crimson. I curled my body around the small wooden box, shielding it with my own skin. The mobster didn't stop. He kicked me in the ribs. I gasped, the air leaving my lungs in a pained wheeze. The box flew out of my blood-slicked hands. It hit the marble floor. It shattered. The tiny brass gears spilled out like guts. The melody died before it could even begin. I stared at the broken pieces, my heart fracturing along with the wood. The silence in the room was deafening. I looked up at Bernard. He was standing over me. He looked at my bleeding, mangled hands. He looked at the ruins of the wood. For a split second, the mask slipped. He looked like he was going to be sick. But then he stepped back, the ice returning to his eyes. He took Evelin's hand. "Let's go," he said. I lay on the floor among the thorns and the wreckage of my father's memory. I watched Bernard's back as he walked away. "I hope you die," I whispered into the cold stone. "I hope you die screaming."