13. Graham

Istep back into the ballroom, feeling dazed. There's no way in hell the last few minutes actually just happened.

Mikayla appears beside me. "Gray, are you okay?" she asks, placing an arm on my shoulder.

The woman I spent the last three months thinking about and agonizing over just showed up and told me that she wants nothing to do with me. And then I had to watch as she was led away by another man.

No, I'm not fucking okay.

But I nod regardless, trying to school my features into normalcy. This is Xander's special day and I'm not about to ruin anything.

"Yeah, I'll just go see what dad wants now," I tell her.

"But—" she starts but I don't wait around to hear the rest.

I'm sure she's curious and wants to know about Isabella. But I can't talk about that now.

When I appear in front of my father, he's angry.

"Where have you been?" he snaps. "There were important people you needed to meet. If you're going to be spending time in New York, then you should be aware of who to mingle with."

"I'm sorry, Father. I had to answer an important work call outside."

"Alright. Now come with me and I'll introduce you."

I let him lead me around the room. The faces of the businessmen blur in my mind. I manage polite conversation with them, trying my hardest not to lose my shit. When my father's satisfied that we've met everyone of consequence, he turns to me.

"Have you been keeping tabs on the news?" he questions.

I nod. "Not one negative article so far."

"Good. We'll be lucky if the news of the wedding dies down without some foolish reporter trying to swing a hatchet at us," he mutters.

"There's no such thing as luck," I say, quoting words he's said to me several times.

"Exactly. Now go and tell your brother that I'll be leaving in a few minutes."

"Really? Did you even talk to Katerina's father? You're in-laws now, you could at least try to establish a relationship," I point out.

Even as I say the words, I realize it's highly unlikely. My father wants nothing to do with Katerina's family. He barely tolerated them getting married. I don't know why he's being such a snob; it's not like he's a saint. Quite the opposite, actually.

"I'm aware. And I did shake the man's hand earlier. That's as much familiarity as I require. Now go," he orders.

I do as he asked, going to meet Xander.

"The term ‘blushing groom' would be apt to describe you right now," I say to my brother once I'm standing in front of him.

He chuckles before throwing back some champagne. His happiness is damn near infectious, but my stomach is in knots right now, making me impervious.

"Part of me can't believe the party's going on without any problems. Kat and I made a bet on which family would cause a scene first."

"Aren't they all supposed to be friends?"

"They are. But they're also rivals in this city. Also, it's the heads of the families that are friendly. Those under them, though, aren't so inclined. Katerina had to threaten her men to ensure good behavior from them today. I'm sure the others did the same."

"Look at you, being so knowledgeable about criminal matters." I swallow softly as I come to a realization. "How do you do it? Be okay with who she is?"

He shrugs. "She's mine, Gray. That's all that matters," he says simply.

Must be nice.

Xander grabs two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and hands one to me. "Here, you look like you could use some of this."

"I hate champagne," I say, accepting the glass. "But it's your wedding, so I might as well have some."

"Cheers to you, Gray. I see how hard you've worked the past few months. You're doing well, little brother. Thanks for being my best man," he says, clinking our glasses together.

"No need to be so sappy," I mutter and down the glass at once.

His words are heartwarming, but considering what I'm going through internally because of Isabella, I can't even find it in me to be touched.

Xander chuckles. "Why did you come over, anyway?"

"Your father's leaving," I inform him.

"You mean our father," he corrects before sighing. "I'll get Kat and then we'll go see him off."

"I'm going to hit the bar," I inform him.

He leaves, and I head straight for the open bar.

"Whiskey neat," I tell the bartender.

Mikayla is notoriously nosy and I'm only at the bar for a couple of seconds before she tracks me down, sitting on the stool beside me.

"Go away, Kay."

"Yeah, no way that's happening," she states. "Tell me what you were doing with that woman. She's a Russo, right?"

"Apparently," I mutter, feeling my chest clench.

She was right. It all makes sense now. Why she didn't want to tell me her last name. If she had, I would have figured out who she was pretty fast. I think back to her telling me that her cousin would have found out if she ended up in a police station. Considering he's a mob boss, I can definitely believe it. My guesses were way off.

"She's Enzo Russo's cousin," I say out loud in disbelief.

For a brief second, I'm pissed, because I'm starting to realize she knew who I was. There's no way in hell she didn't know. She kept her identity secret, meanwhile I was spilling my guts out to her thinking she was just any other ordinary woman.

I'm too upset to be angry for long, though. My anger disappears, replaced by the searing pain in my chest.

I feel Mikayla's eyes on the side of my face.

"You look like you're going through it, big brother. Tell me what's wrong. How do you know her?"

I call for another glass of whiskey and it's placed in front of me. After taking a gulp, I decide to reply to my sister. She's not going to leave until I do.

"She and I met three months ago. In Boulder."

Her eyes widen. "She's the woman you were stuck with during the snowstorm?"

I told her a bit about the incident a while ago. My sister's adept at drawing out my secrets.

"Tone it down. Are you trying to tell the whole room?" I ask, glaring at her.

"I don't know why you're mad at me. You're the one who's found yourself in a bind." Her eyes gleam as she comes to a realization. "And to think you were just telling me that you wanted nothing to do with the mafia. She's a mafia princess and you're so screwed."

It almost sounds like she's enjoying that.

"Doesn't matter. She's with someone else," I state, calling for another glass.

Mikayla's eyes soften. "What?"

"She walked away with another man right in front of me."

I have no idea who the fuck he is. But there was no mistaking the anger in his eyes when he saw us together. His actions were possessive.

"Maybe she's not with him and you misunderstood the situation?" Mikayla says optimistically.

I scoff. "Even if she's not with that asshole, she still told me that she never wanted to be see me again. It's over."

My sister sighs. "I'm sorry, Gray." When I try to order another glass, she stops me. "Nope. You're done. I'm cutting you off."

She grabs my arm, leading me away from the bar.

"Where's Nate?" I question. "I haven't seen him in a while."

"He went home with Kat's sister and her family. Sophia's pregnant and she was exhausted, so her husband took her home. Nate's spending the night with them."

I nod. "And Mom?"

"I don't know. Maybe she left with Dad?" Mikayla says, looking around the room.

Our mother's nowhere in sight, though.

"Okay. I'm going to head home, I'm wiped. Where are you staying tonight?" I ask her.

I'm going to be living in the penthouse Xander and Nate stayed in when they first moved to New York while I'm in the city. Mikayla's been alternating between there and the Mincetti mansion since she arrived.

"I'll come over to your place later," she informs me, "The night is young. Plus, it'll be nice to flirt with some of the Dons and sexy Italian men in here. They're new territory, considering most of the other men under thirty-five in here are either family members or friends of the family. Plus, the Dons are hot."

She winks, and I roll my eyes. "Aren't they all married?"

"True. So if any of them flirt back, I'll know they're jackasses."

"You have serious problems," I say, shaking my head.

"All I'm doing is saving the world from the ills of men, big brother. One step at a time."

"Be careful. Don't get drunk, and you'd better come home," I warn, my tone serious.

"Don't worry. I told you I'm swearing off men. I'm celibate now, Gray."

My expression switches to disgust. "To be celibate, you had to have been having sex before, and I am not comfortable with that knowledge, Mikayla."

"Too bad." She grins, waving at me. "Bye, big brother."

I head for the exit. I should probably find my brother or Katerina and tell them I'm leaving, but I honestly just need to get out of here. Unfortunately, it's clear my night's not over yet when I step outside of the building and find my mother and Jessica Steele facing each other.

I'm too far away to hear what's been said, but the look on Jessica's face is vicious. While I don't know the woman well, I know enough to know that she's lucky she was invited to her son's wedding at all. I'm also surprised she came since she's a notorious flake.

I approach the two women and get there in time to grab Jessica's hand as it raises toward my mother's face. She looks up at me, outrage in her expression.

"Look what we have here. The product of your mother's transgressions," Jessica spits.

"Graham," my mother says softly.

Very slowly, I step in front of her until the only thing in Jessica's line of sight is me.

"Don't you think you're getting too old for this?" I ask tiredly.

She scoffs. "Of course, you defend your mother. She likes to prance around like she's so innocent, but at the end of the day, she's just a home-wrecker. A woman who seduced a married man. A gold digger."

Honestly, it's nothing I haven't heard from her before. I distinctly remember her saying all this twenty-five years ago, the day we moved into the house. And several times since. But I always thought she was just the bitter ex until I learned that everything she had been saying all those years... is true.

"If you're done, then leave. I really hope you grow up one of these days, Jessica. And please stop insulting my mother. The next time I come across you even talking to her, I won't be so nice."

She glares at me for a couple more seconds before walking away. Once she's gone, I sigh and turn around.

"You didn't have to step in, honey," my mom says. "I was fine."

"Stop letting people treat you like shit mom. You deserve better," I mutter. "Let's go. I'll drive you to your hotel."

Her eyes narrow. "I can smell the alcohol on your breath, Graham."

"Oh, right. I had a few drinks," I remember.

She studies my face for a few seconds. "Give me your keys. I'll drive."

That amuses me. I don't think I've ever been in a car with my mother behind the wheel before. "Can you even drive?" I ask.

She smiles. "I'll have you know I'm a great driver. There just haven't been many reasons for me to drive since I married your father."

Because he barely gave her any freedom. She was relegated to a trophy wife, pretty young arm candy for him to show off to his friends. She was driven anywhere she needed to go by the chauffeurs. The reminder has my mood souring. I swear, today's been nothing but an emotional rollercoaster.

"Just don't crash. The car's my baby," I tell her, placing the keys in her hand.

She follows me to where it's parked and I get into the passenger side, my eyes falling closed almost as soon as I'm seated. I'm not asleep; I just have nothing to say. She doesn't speak either.

The next time I open my eyes, she's pulling into the underground parking lot of the penthouse. I turn to look at her.

"I thought you were driving to the hotel."

She smiles, her brown eyes gleaming. "I thought I'd spend the night here with you, honey. Kay said she was staying here, too."

"Really? Are you sure Father is going to let you?"

"Your father doesn't control everything I do, Graham," she says, frowning.

I scoff. There's no way she actually believes that.

"Alright. If you want to, you can stay here for the night," I relent.

She nods happily. We head inside the building and up the stairs. As soon as we're through the elevators doors, I'm walking across the room and towards the kitchen. My follows me, of course. I don't miss the worry in her expression when I grab a bottle of beer, opening it and taking a long swig.

"Is something wrong, honey?"

I don't reply, ignoring her as I walk into the living room. I take a seat on the couch, drinking more of my beer.

"Graham, I know you don't agree with how I've chosen to live my life, but the least you could do is answer if I ask you a question. I'm still your mother," she scolds.

I smirk, looking up at her. "The whole tough-mom act isn't going to work right now. Sorry."

"Just talk to me. I can tell you're hurting."

"I'm not hurting," I grit out.

"Did something happen at the party? Did your father say something?"

I guzzle down some more beer instead of answering. She snatches the bottle from my hands, standing in front of me.

"You can't drink away your feelings so you might as well tell me," she says sternly.

"There's nothing to tell," I mumble, feeling my head swim. "I fucking lost her. I knew it wasn't a good idea to let her go in the first place."

My mother's expression softens. "This is about a girl? You were dating someone?"

"No, I wasn't."

"But you have feelings for her," my mother pushes.

I clench my jaw and that's answer enough.

She arches an eyebrow, her expression turning fierce. "I don't understand why you're moping about here. If you like her then fight for her."

That makes me laugh. "It's not that simple, Mom. There's someone else."

"Why should that matter?"

I arch an eyebrow. "Is that what you told yourself when you were with Father?"

Her eyes narrow. "This has nothing to do with my situation with your father. I'm trying to tell you that if you really care, which you obviously do, then there's no reason to give up. You're my son; I know you better than anyone. If you genuinely want something, you work for it without quitting."

I stare at her, impressed. "That was almost inspiring."

She laughs. "She must be pretty special if you're acting like this. How long have you known her for?"

"Five days," I reply.

Her smile drops immediately. "You're joking."

"Trust me, Mom, I'm not," I assure her. "Maybe one day I'll tell you the full story."

I get to my feet and sway a little.

"You're drunk, Graham," Mom cautions, moving to grab my arm. "Come on, I'll tuck you into bed."

"I'm thirty years old. I don't need to be tucked in bed."

"Yes, but you're definitely not making it up those stairs on your own. Come on."

Despite my protests, she leads me to my room. I kick off my shoes and unbutton the first few buttons of my shirt before falling onto my bed.

Fuck, I'm exhausted.

"Good night, sweetheart. I love you," Mom whispers, placing the covers over my body.

"Night, Mom," I say sleepily, my eyes falling closed.

This was our first good interaction in I can't remember how long. I'm sure she's happy. And despite the fact that I was only so forthcoming with her because of the state of my emotions, I'm glad we had that talk.

When I wake up the next morning, it's with an inordinate amount of confidence. Isabella might have said it to my face that we didn't share a connection, but I know without a doubt that it's bullshit. My mother was right.

One thing about me is that I never fucking give up when I want something.