Dante
The Palazzo Grande Hotel didn’t host parties. It staged coronations.
Crystal dripped from the ceilings in tiers, throwing constellations of light across gold-leaf walls and marble floors polished so hard the chandeliers blinked back in them. A string orchestra warmed up beneath a mezzanine lined with velvet. The lobby outside roared with press; the red carpet was a river of flashbulbs. Inside the ballroom, power collected in black suits and gleaming gowns.
Matteo took it in with a satisfied sigh. “If we trip, we fall into Versailles.”
“Don’t trip,” I said.
He grinned. “If I do, I’ll take Nico with me. He looks too perfect. Offends the eye.”
Nico ignored him, eyes scanning the room in disciplined passes. He wore the tux like a uniform and the ring like a reminder—Romanos d
