after they met her

fourtyfive

i v a n a

The ball had loosened up considerably, the tension from earlier dissipating as people grew louder and more relaxed.

The stench of alcohol hung heavily in the air, hitting me long before I reached the main room. I hated that smell.

It reminded me too much of the stairwell to my old apartment, where the stench of booze and urine clung to the walls like a bad memory I couldn't shake.

A shudder ran through me as I tried to push the thought away.

I watched as Matthew, with quick, precise movements, delivered the news to our brothers. He used only a few words, but it was enough to darken their expressions immediately.

Even our father, who to my surprise was still sober, looked grim. Logan and Asher appeared on either side of me, linking their arms with mine as we stood off to the side, away from the main crowd.

"Will this go on much longer?" I asked, glancing up at Asher.

"Probably," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of weariness. "It's just getting started."

Logan grunted beside me. "We can leave after the first fight breaks out."

Were they serious?

I looked up at Logan, but his face gave nothing away. I wondered if this was how they coped—with dark humor and a readiness for violence.

Their eyes scanned the crowd, searching for someone specific.

"Are you looking for him?" I asked, though we all knew who I meant.

"We'll kill him," Asher said, his voice cold and resolute. "If he ever dares show his face, he'll be shot on sight."

"That's how we deal with traitors," Logan added, his tone equally chilling.

I didn't know how to feel about that.

I hated Raymond for what he'd done, for the way he had manipulated me, but death? The idea of it unsettled me, left a strange taste in my mouth.

Asher was suddenly called over by a man around his age who looked like he'd had too much to drink.

They exchanged a few words, but when the man's gaze lingered on me a little too long, Asher's grip on his shoulder tightened, causing the man to wince in pain.

"Let's continue this conversation somewhere else," Asher said, his voice calm but firm as he dragged the man away.

"Dirtbag," Logan muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

Logan tried to get me to talk more about what Raymond had said, but I wasn't in the mood.

Logan leaned in closer as he tried to coax more out of me. "Ivana, you have to tell me exactly what he said. We need to know what we're dealing with." His eyes were intense.

I couldn't face it, not now. Not when the words still echoed in my mind, sharp and painful.

"Logan, please," I said, my voice softer than I intended, almost pleading. "I just... I can't talk about it right now."

He hesitated, clearly torn between wanting to push further and respecting my need for space.

His eyes searched my face, looking for any sign that I was okay, but all I could offer him was a tired smile that didn't reach my eyes.

I needed a distraction.

Just when I thought he might ask another question, the music in the room shifted, and a new melody filled the air. It was light, delicate, like a soft breeze after a storm—a waltz.