An hour passed.
Then another.
The ballroom filled with controlled laughter, crystal glasses clinking, respectful greetings exchanged between capos, politicians, and old-money investors. Yet Avery never appeared.
I found myself glancing toward the doors more often than I cared to admit. My jaw tightened with every passing minute.
Where the hell was she?
Just as I considered stepping away to make a call, a young courier appeared at the entrance.
He carried three carefully wrapped packages.
His posture was stiff, his hands faintly trembling—not from the weight, but from the room itself. His eyes darted between me and my grandfather, clearly uncertain who held greater authority in that moment.
“Delivery for Patriarch Sebia,” he announced. “From Ms. Avery.”
The sound of her name stalled everything inside me.
I cleared my throat. “Give them to me.”
He hesitated. “I was instructed to deliver them directly to the Patriarch, sir. Her instructions were… precise.”
Of course they were.
I stepped aside, gesturing toward my grandfather. “Then follow them.”
Sebia was in the middle of a quiet exchange with a board member when the courier approached. He bowed respectfully.