The applause was dying. The grand doors remained shut.
Don Roco's smile was now tight. Strained.
He lifted his wine glass again, faking a chuckle. "Ah, it seems our king believes in making an entrance," he said, voice slightly too loud, too forced. "In the meantime—" he looked at the Master of Ceremony, eyes sharp "—keep the crowd entertained."
The MC, catching the cue, laughed awkwardly into the mic. "Let's give it up for the Luciano family!" he shouted, calling for the musicians. The band kicked in nervously.
Don Roco didn't sit.
He turned, walking off the platform fast, pushing past a waiter with a hiss.
Behind the curtains, he pulled out his phone and called his top guard. "Find him," he snapped.
The guard's voice crackled. "Yes, Don."
Don Roco clenched his jaw.
The guards moved quickly through the dark hallways.
"We split up," the head guard said sharply. "Check his study, his quarters—hell, check the goddamn garden if you have to."
