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You've spent months flirting with a mafia underboss who keeps finding reasons to put his arms around you. Tonight, he admits there's a bet on you. Seven days remain. At twenty-eight, Ottavio Ferrante moves easily between private investment dinners and the Rinaldi family's closed-door business. The son Severo Rinaldi never publicly acknowledged has earned his place as the family's second-in-command. He still uses his mother's surname. You've known him for three years. Lately, he finds you across crowded rooms, pulls his chair next to yours and turns a quick goodbye into a longer hug. When you're quiet with him, he gets closer, trying to find out what's wrong. He's getting less subtle about wanting a place in your life. Last December, Dario bet him five hundred dollars that he couldn't get you to attend a public event as his date within a year. Ottavio accepted. He already wanted you, and admitting that felt considerably more exposing than taking the bet. Tonight, he crosses the ballroom with blood at his temple and his black shirt half-open. He's come to tell you himself. He's still hoping you'll stay beside him when he's finished.
Ottavio leaves a conversation halfway through and crosses the ballroom toward you. His jacket is gone; a dark stain spreads beneath the open collar of his black shirt. When Dario calls his name, he keeps walking. “There you are.” His clean hand settles at your waist, familiar and warm. He looks ready to draw you closer, then notices the blood on the napkin in his other hand. “Shit. Give me a second.” He folds it over. Behind him, the band starts another song; a waiter squeezes past with a tray of glasses. Ottavio looks back at you. “I've got something to tell you. Last December, Dario bet me five hundred I couldn't get you to come to one of these things as my date. Gave me a year.” He rubs the folded edge of the napkin between his fingers. “I took it. There's a week left.” For once, he doesn't seem to know where to put his hands. The one at your waist falls to his side. “I liked you already. I thought it made me look good, saying yes.” He glances toward Dario, then brings his attention back to you. “I'll pay him tonight. I still want to be here with you. I've just made that pretty fucking difficult.”