Sweet Hatred
Chapter 141: YOLO

Chapter 141: YOLO

ARIA

Walking into a Mafia wedding was a lot like willingly diving into a pit of wolves—with diamond-encrusted fangs and enough tailored suits to dress an army.

The reception was ending as we arrived, the last notes of a string quartet humming in the background while laughter echoed from the marble terrace that wrapped around the estate like a crown.

But this wasn’t the main event. No, Kael had said the real attraction—the reason everyone sharpened their knives and wore their best masks—was the after-dinner gathering. Intimate, he’d called it. I could think of a thousand other words.

"Everyone who matters will be there," he’d told me in the car, stroking my knuckles. "The Marchettis. The Giordanos. Even the Bratva sent someone."

"And we’re just casually crashing their reunion?" I’d asked.

He’d smiled like sin. "We’re not crashing, firefly. We’re expected."

Expected.

My heels clicked against imported stone as we moved through the grand corridor of the D’Amico estate—because of course it was marble, tall ceilings, soft golden lights, and enough armed men disguised as ’waiters’ to start a small war.

Kael walked beside me like he owned the place. Which, in a way, maybe he did. His suit was dark as night, sharp enough to wound, and his hand rested on the small of my back like I belonged to him. Everyone looked. Every gaze turned our way, assessing, calculating, some curious, others flat-out hungry.

And me?

I regretted everything.

I should’ve let him cancel. I should’ve let him turn the car around. I should’ve taken one look at the men guarding the entrance with their clean-shaven jaws and dead eyes and said, "You know what? I’m good."

But I didn’t.

I said YOLO like an idiot. And now I was walking into mafia territory dressed like a delicacy.

This place reeked of power. It was in the air—like smoke and perfume and blood, barely masked by the scent of roses and champagne. My stomach twisted as we passed through towering arched doors into what could only be described as the VIP of VIP sections. No party music here. Just slow strings, murmured conversations, clinking glasses, and the kind of silence that made you feel like you were being studied from every corner.

I caught a few murmurs. Names I didn’t recognize. Names Kael had whispered earlier. The Vescovi matriarch. The Cosenza twins. Old blood and older grudges. I was walking through legacy and danger and backroom deals dressed in a silk gown Kael handpicked, heels higher than my courage, and nerves stretched thin.

But then he squeezed my waist gently.

And I hated how it worked.

How his touch grounded me. How it told me, breathe. I’ve got you.

I wanted to elbow him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to hide behind him and yell at him at the same time.

And then, suddenly, we stopped.

The air changed.

Kael’s hand left my back, and he took a small step forward, eyes fixed ahead.

Standing not five feet away, surrounded by subtle security, wearing a black velvet suit with a single ruby ring glittering on his finger, was the man who invited Kael himself apparently.

Don Mario D’Amico.

The myth. The king. The devil in custom Italian leather.

Kael didn’t blink. Didn’t bow. He just smiled like he was greeting an old friend at a bar.

"Mario," he said smoothly. "It’s been too long."

The Don moved toward Kael. Not the other way around. That alone told me everything I needed to know.

He was older, maybe in his sixties, but carried himself with the kind of grace only the truly dangerous could pull off. There was no gold chain or flashy things that screamed power—just the stillness of his presence. Like a storm that had already hit and was still deciding whether or not to come back around and finish the job.

And when he reached Kael, he smiled. Warmly. With respect.

"Kael Roman," he said, voice rich like a cello. "The boy-turned-ghost-turned-legend."

Kael smirked. "I prefer myth, personally."

The Don laughed. Laughed. Like Kael hadn’t just said something dripping with arrogance.

Immediately, the men around him circled closer. All of them. The entire damn table. Dark suits, silver tie pins, slicked-back hair and ice in their veins. One of them—tall, young, and clearly someone’s second-born mistake—glanced at me like I was a prize up for auction.

And I...

I looked for the exit. Like, physically turned my head to map out a perfect route of escape. My feet were twitching for the nearest damn shadow to vanish into. But before I could execute my plan to fake faint and crawl under the table—

The Don spoke again.

"And who’s this?" he asked, his eyes shifting to me just as I was mid-turn. "A rose blooming in a field of steel. I do hope she hasn’t been stolen from Olympus."

I froze.

Dead.

Gone.

Deceased.

Kael’s hand found mine before I could bolt, and he lifted it with gentle, terrifying grace.

"Aria Thorne," he said, looking straight into the Don’s eyes, then back at me like he knew my heart was pounding like a tribal drum. "My plus one for the evening. And my executive assistant."

Executive assistant? Was that what we were calling sex in castles and near-death declarations now? Actually never mind I was.

The Don took my hand delicately, bowing just enough to brush his lips across my knuckles—and I secretly wondered if that was allowed? Because when I remembered correctly in that godfather movie I watched back in college, the Don was the one receiving hand kisses apparently.

"You two look like newlyweds yourselves," he said smoothly. "Be careful not to upstage the bride and groom tonight."

Sir please, don’t feed into my delusions, I’m barely hanging on here.

I gave a shaky smile. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

Kael, of course, looked at me like he wanted to tease me right then and there. His hand was still around mine, thumb lazily stroking the edge of my palm like it was his private way of calming me. Which... was unfortunately working.

"Come," the Don gestured. "You should meet my daughter."

We followed him through the maze of bodies until we reached the center—where the bride stood with her husband, both glowing, champagne flutes in hand, framed by pillars of fresh orchids and enough fairy lights to outshine a Disney castle.

She was stunning. Dark brown eyes, soft olive skin, a dress that dripped crystals and authority.

Beside her stood two other women.

The older sister had the poised elegance of a duchess and a quiet aura of calculation.

The younger?

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.