My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 42 OYSTER

LUCA POV

I might be a petty bastard, but one thing I’m not is a fool. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy outsmarting fools who play genius. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

When Calloway casually infiltrated the mafia scene, nobody thought much of it. To most, he was just another American trying to play gangster to feed his ego.

I wasn’t threatened. But one thing my bastard of a father drilled into me was never turn your back on anyone, not figuratively, not proverbially. So while the others dismissed Calloway, I kept my eye on him. Made him feel comfortable, even. Let him think he’d earned my trust.

At first, I admired him. His plans were bold; cleaner routes for shipments, a legal front for dirty money. He wasn’t just playing dress-up. He saw the bigger picture. And I respected that. For a while, I even called him "friend."

Until the day one of my largest warehouses was busted.

I remember it too well, sirens painting the night red, crates split open on the floor like butchered carcasses, the air thick with the smell of smoke and spilled liquor. My men cuffed on their knees while vultures from the press circled like hyenas.

I knew my men. They’d taken blood oaths. They wouldn’t betray me. Which left only one possibility. The man I’d trusted. The man I’d given everything to.

Calloway.

He waited until the timing was perfect, until my stock was full, until the bust would cripple me the most. And then he called the cops on me like I was some rookie.

It was humiliating. The other gangs laughed. They called me weak. Said, "A Don with a beating heart is as useless as a lactating hunting dog." Meaning: A mafia don should be heartless and strategic, not emotional and trusting like I was.

It took years to rebuild, years clawing back territory, respect, and coin. Meanwhile, Calloway’s empire expanded. His company got cleaner on paper, dirtier in reality. He thrived while I grovelled.

I sent men to kill him. They vanished. I sent more. They came back in body bags. Eventually, I had to lower myself to send women instead. Whores with painted lips and sharp ears. And even they only scraped crumbs.

Except Sandy. My Sandy. Loyal by blood to the Ratel, hidden too well for Calloway to sniff her out. She got into his bed, into his office, into his head. She planted roots no one could trace. Even now, though she’s gone, she’s left me enough threads to pull.

And tonight at the Oysters gala, one of his largest sponsored events, I intend to pull them all.

The plan was simple. Follow my instinct. Be as chaotic as I like. And make sure Calloway remembers what it feels like to be stripped, mocked, and gutted in the dark.

If I have to blackmail a plain little pawn—his precious Nova, the one thing that makes his mask slip—then so be it. She’ll play her role until I’m finished.

Because if Calloway thought betrayal was one-sided, he’s about to learn what revenge tastes like.

NOVA POV

I want to die.

Not in the poetic, tragic way. I mean literally die. Right here, right now. The earth could swallow me whole and I’d say thank you.

"The dress is quite... what’s the word?" Lena tilted her head, studying me with wide eyes.

"Flirty. Slutty. Hot. Sexy. Take your pick." Katie crossed her arms like a judge passing a sentence.

"Nova, do you think you can even pull this off?"

"Ignore her," Lena said quickly. "If your man wants it, then you must like it. Simple."

"It’s not like that," I muttered. But even I didn’t believe myself.

I turned back to the mirror.

The reflection staring back looked nothing like me.

The gown shimmered like the ocean itself, an aquamarine silk that clung to every dip and curve. The plunging neckline dipped scandalously, oyster shells barely covering my nipples. My stomach, waist, even the beginning of my ass crack were on display.

The back was Nothing but a golden chain running down the valley of my spine.

The only modesty was below my hips, where waves of fabric pooled around my legs like mockery.

A tiara of gold and ocean symbols sat ready in its box. Amulets, earrings, a purse shaped like an oyster; all the trappings of a sea queen. But instead of regal, I looked like a sailor’s wet dream.

I felt like a fraud. Like a piece of bait.

"Girl, everything on you is designer," Katie said, circling me like a shark. "Even your earrings are Tiffany. And you dare look gloomy? If I were you, Instagram would already be on fire."

"Katie—" Lena tried to scold her.

"What? I’m serious. This has GRWM written all over it. Outfit of the day, luxury haul, all of it. Nova, you don’t get it. You’re living the fantasy and acting like it’s a nightmare."

She had no idea how right she was.

"Meaning what?" I asked, defensive.

"Meaning it’s fishy. Pun intended. Nobody gets iced out like this by a random admirer. Not even me, with all my dad’s connections. So yeah—either you’re hiding something, or you’re playing dumb."

Her eyes sliced into me, sharper than I’d ever seen. Katie, the airhead, suddenly observant enough to make my skin prickle.

Lena stepped between us. "Katie, that’s enough."

"No, it’s not. If she won’t be straight with us, then she shouldn’t drag us into her pity party either." Katie threw her hands up. "The dress is here, she’s dressed. Do your makeup, go to your rich guy’s event, end of story. Don’t disturb me again."

She stormed off to her bed.

I blinked after her. Katie might be dramatic, but her words hit home. If she could see the cracks, then Lena surely saw them too. She just pretended not to.

"Anything you want to say too?" I asked Lena, bracing myself.

She shook her head softly. "No. Let’s just style your hair. You need to look confident, even if you don’t feel it. Don’t you want to snap a picture for your man?"

Her choice of words made me flinch.

"No. He doesn’t care about that."

"Hm." She pinned a curl back, studying me with those sweet, earnest eyes. "But he took his time choosing all this. I’d say he cares... at least a little."

If only she knew.

If only she knew that the only person I wanted to see me in this dress wasn’t Luca at all. It was Her Dad, Grant.

And he’d probably hate me for it. Or worse, want me more

The Oysters Hotel was blinding.

Crystal chandeliers spilled light across marble floors, reflecting in the massive glass windows that overlooked the bay. The whole place glittered like it wanted to outshine the sea itself. Men in tuxedos and women draped in couture gowns floated around me, their laughter sharp and rehearsed. Everyone looked expensive. Everyone smelled of champagne and secrets.

And then there was me, half-naked in Luca’s fantasy dress, gold chains dragging against my bare skin, pretending I belonged here.

"Keep your head up." His voice slid into my ear, low and commanding, his palm firm against the small of my back as he steered me through the crowd. "A queen doesn’t cower."

I swallowed hard. "A queen usually chooses her crown."

He smirked, eyes glinting with something cruel and amused. "Not when her throne is borrowed."

My cheeks burned, but I kept walking. Every step felt like I was on display. Heads turned. Men stared too long, women whispered behind champagne flutes. Somewhere across the hall, a camera flash popped.

I wanted to vanish.

Luca thrived. He guided me like I was his prized piece on the board, shaking hands, exchanging fake pleasantries, introducing me as though I were more than I was. His tone was effortless charm, but the weight of his hand never left me, like a leash disguised as affection.

The ballroom was dressed in an ocean theme of silver nets draped along the walls, enormous aquariums glowing with exotic fish, waiters gliding with trays of oysters on ice. Pearls shimmered in centerpieces, and the air was thick with the smell of salt and money.

And then I saw him.

Grant.

Across the room, by the bar, towering in a perfectly cut black suit that clung to him like sin. His eyes locked on me instantly, and for one terrifying heartbeat the world shrank down to just us. His jaw tightened, his hand flexed around his glass, and I felt heat crawl up my neck.

He saw the dress. He saw me.

And I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Mine.

But Luca noticed too. His lips curled in a predator’s smile. He leaned close, his breath brushing my cheek. "Ah. So that’s where his leash pulls."

My stomach twisted.

"Luca—"

"Shh." His thumb pressed against my hip, right at the edge of bare skin. "Smile for him. Let him burn."

I wanted to scream. Instead, I plastered on a shaky smile, raising my glass like I belonged in this glittering nightmare

Grant’s stare burned hotter. Darker. His eyes said things his mouth never would in public. I had the sudden, terrifying certainty that tonight something would break. It’s either Luca’s game, Grant’s restraint or maybe even me.

And when the lights dimmed and the gala host took the stage, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was the main act in a show I never agreed to perform in.