I've had too much to drink. I can almost feel the alcohol in my bloodstream, blurring my vision and making me feel completely euphoric. I don't think my speech has started to slur yet, but Sainte has definitely noticed. He just handed me a new glass of water.

It just feels strange not to drink here. We're in a glamorous ballroom. It feels inappropriate to drink anything but champagne. I'm not the only one, either. The place is buzzing with people, all laughing louder than the other.

I suppose no one can resist free champagne.

"How are you still so sober?" I ask Sainte. "You've been drinking as much as I have!"

"I'm also twice your size," he points out. "We won't stay much longer, though — just a few more people to greet."

"Alright," I sigh, getting back up onto my feet. I've met so many people already. I don't understand how they do this regularly.

"Come with me," he motions to the side, taking the glass out of hands and placing it on the table. He leads me through the crowd of people until we reach the front. There's a group here that is more than familiar. I recognise them instantly.

It's the Ferrari Family. At least, it's Oliver and Lucy Ferrari—the parents. They basically run New York City. Everyone in this country knows about them. Their family is literally in charge of our mail system. Not only that, but their love story is something out of a romance novel.

"Salvatore Sainte," Oliver turns towards us, a friendly smile on his face. "I shouldn't be surprised to see you here."

"Nice to see you again, Oliver," he nods, shifting his attention over to his wife. "And Lucy, looking lovely as usual."

"Oh, stop," she laughs. She looks over at me. "Is this your girlfriend?"

"This is Sofia," he introduces me, shooting over a quick glance.

"It's nice to meet you," I grin.

"You too, sweetie," she nods. "I love your dress. It's so much nicer than all these ancient outfits here."

"Aw, thank you! I really appreciate that."

I really mean it, too. I've been feeling the need to cover up all night. I actually might be the youngest person here. Not that everyone else is particularly old, but they're definitely older than me. And it's obvious through our fashion choices. Many of the women are wearing shawls or long-sleeved, patterned dresses. Lucy is a nice in-between. She's wearing a long sleeve dress too, but they're tight-fitting and made out of lace.

"Are you two enjoying the night?" Oliver asks, glancing g between the two of us.

"As much as we can," Sainte responds.

"Sounds like you can use a drink," he laughs, motioning over to summon the waiter.

"Thank you," Sainte grabs two glasses off her tray, handing me one. I shoot him a confused look. I thought he'd be cutting me off by now.

"Have you seen your brother yet?" Lucy asks. "He should be around here somewhere."

I look up at Sainte once more, a frown on my face. He didn't mention his brother was here. We've been here for at least two hours now, too. How could he not have seen him yet?

"I'm actually searching for him now," he responds.

"He's probably out the front with my son," Oliver tells him. "Those boys can't stay away from cigarettes."

"And who's fault is that?" Lucy gives him a stern look.

"Sounds like you're in trouble," Sainte chuckles, but it's clearly fake. "We'll leave you to it."

"Have a good night!" Oliver calls.

We turn away from the couple, heading back through the crowd. I'm struggling to keep up with Sainte, but I have to. I have too many questions.

"Your brother is here?" I ask. "Roman?"

"He should be, yes," he responds.

"Why is he with the Ferrari family?"

"Long story."

"How do you know them in the first place?"

"We're both Italian immigrant families in the same business."

"Wait, are they—?"

"Not that business," he tells me. "They're good people. They don't know anything about this."

The usher opens the door for us, letting us out of the ballroom and into the hotel lobby. It's filled with security guards here, including ours, but it's not Jordan this time. I only know he's with us because he joins us in heading out of the building, and Sainte doesn't tell him off. We abandon our drinks at the entrance and step out into the open air.

When we arrived here, there was a neat carpet laid out for us, and a row of photographers waiting to take our picture. We took the back entrance. For obvious reasons, Sainte likes his privacy.

Right now, though, there are only a few people out here—security guards, drivers, and two men. I recognise one of them as Diego Ferrari, the only son in the family. The other man must be Roman Sainte.

"Oi, Roman!" Sainte calls out to him, catching his attention. He looks over his shoulder, and a giant grin instantly appears on his face.

"Hey, brother, what's up?! I didn't know you'd be here."

He opens his arms for an embrace, but Sainte has other ideas. He grabs his brother by the collar, shoving him backwards.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were in town?" Sainte spits. "I told you to stay away from here!"

"Hey, relax!" he pulls his brother off him. "I'm fucking fine, aren't I?"

"How long are you here for, huh?" he shoves his brother.

"Just a day, man. We're leaving first thing tomorrow," Roman explains. "Take it easy, dude."

"Did you bring security?"

"Yes, man, I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Good," Sainte shifts his tone. "You should've told me you were coming. I can't look out for you if you don't let me."

"I'm fine," he insists. "Now bring it in."

He extends his arms once more, this time receiving the hug he's asking for. Sainte pulls his brother into him, clapping him on the back a few times.

It's obvious that they're brothers. Their facial features are a little different, but they both have their father's dark hair and strong jaw. They're both tall, and Sainte is only slightly more built than Roman.

"You doing okay, kid?" Sainte asks.

"Yeah, man, just working," he shrugs, but then his eyes fall on me. "You got yourself a girl, I see."

"About time, don't you think?" Sainte chuckles genuinely this time. I haven't heard him do that yet. It's a welcome surprise. "Sofia, this is Roman. Roman, Sofia."

"Hi," I wave awkwardly. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too, babe," he winks at me. "Feel free to call me when you get bored of this guy."

He motions to his brother, who gives him a harsh shove. I smile at them. It's nice to see him like this. He's far less tense. There are no rules to follow or men to lead. He's with his family, and he's letting go.

Maybe, with time, he'll start letting go around me, too.