Chapter 4
Elena
The dress looks as stunning draped over me as I imagined it would.
I’m all done up with hair and makeup, but I can’t bring myself to be truly excited about it.
Maximo, dressed in a black suit, sits beside me in the car, focused on his phone as he ignores me, and I feel trapped.
Why do I even have to accompany him to this event?
I’m no one in this world—not any longer.
More importantly, I don’t want to be anyone in this mafia world. Anonymity suits me just fine. It’s a shield against those who would try to use me for their own purposes. I intend to keep that protection intact.
The car pulls up to the curb and stops. I glance out the window to find we’re in front of an elegant hotel. Couples filter in through the front doors held open by men in matching uniforms and caps.
Before I can reach for the car door handle, Maximo’s already rounded the vehicle and offering me his hand. I stare at it for a long moment. As much as I’d like to refuse him, my upbringing won’t let me forget my manners that easily. Not in this situation. Not where people can see us.
Reluctantly, I slip my palm into his and heat sears across my hand. My fingers tingle. He helps me to stand, then takes my hand and places it in the crook of his elbow. His body heat presses into me, his spicy cologne teases my senses, and for some stupid reason I don’t hate it.
Without a word, he leads us through the main doors to a sparkling marble lobby. From there, we follow the train of stunningly dressed people walking along a wide hallway to a decadent ballroom.
Maximo guides us through the crowd. Plucking a flute of champagne from a passing server, he hands it to me.
Hesitantly, I take it from him. Our fingers brush.
It’s impossible to grasp such a delicate glass from his large hands without touching him.
I ignore the zing that goes straight through my body like a bolt of lightning, and down half the glass in one go.
He arches a brow in question, but thankfully doesn’t comment.
“Why are we here?” I ask, nervously surveying the crowd.
For once, Maximo actually answers my question. “This is Enzo Casella’s birthday party. Everyone who’s important is here for it. We’re here to mingle, see, and be seen.”
Oh. I sigh. Once upon a time, I used to love parties.
Especially big, decadent, sparkling ones like tonight.
I always knew the right thing to say, acted most appropriately, and socialized with whomever my parents wanted to impress.
I was a jewel, the eldest daughter of a powerful mafia family, with a bright future.
They raised me to be their perfect princess. Pretty, polite, and pleasing. That was me. My only purpose in life.
Then my entire world imploded. All their lies came crashing down on me and my sister. I was nothing special to them. As soon as I disappeared, they put my sister in my place and continued on with their lives as if nothing had happened. As if I hadn’t gone missing.
These people don’t care about me. They never have and never will.
I feel adrift in this room full of strangers. I no longer belong here among them, yet I can’t escape them either.
“There’s some people I want you to meet.
” Maximo ushers me further into the room, toward a group of three men.
They turn and I immediately recognize all three, even though I let him make the introductions.
“Elena, this is Lazaro Achilli, my underboss. And his sons Niccolò and Dario. I believe you’re acquainted. ”
I nod in greeting, forcing a thin smile. We’re more than acquaintances, Lazaro was my father’s underboss. His sons used to spend time with my older brother.
Lazaro scans me. “You’ve grown up, Miss Pontrelli. Nice to see you again.”
Something about the way he speaks sets me on edge. I stiffen and Maximo shoots me a questioning glance, which I ignore.
“Nice to see you again too, sir,” I offer in a polite tone.
Thankfully, Maximo leads me away from them. When we’re out of earshot he asks, “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Why?”
“That was just a strange reaction to a man who used to be very close to your family.” Does he miss nothing?
I shrug him off. If Maximo and I were friends, I’d tell him that I don’t trust Lazaro, and never have. But we’re not friends, nor are we particularly friendly given this stunt he’s trying to pull. So who he chose for his second-in-command is his business, not mine.
Several older men approach us and start a conversation with Maximo, ignoring me. After all, I’m a nobody. Arm candy, a pretty face. Gah, I hate it here.
For several long minutes, I attempt to follow along with their topics but find my thoughts drifting.
With mafia men it’s always the same conversation, just different words: Money, opportunity, or who messed up and has to pay the price.
I don’t even care anymore. This isn’t my world.
I no longer live in their reality. They don’t own or control me.
Draining my champagne, I use my empty glass as an excuse to leave the circle. Not that they’ll miss me or anything.
I slowly meander around the ballroom, dodging bustling servers and giggling cliques of women who seductively eye the younger men around them.
A lot of young daughters are here, which brings me to the assumption that this isn’t just a birthday party for Enzo Casella.
By the end of tonight, he’ll more than likely have chosen his future wife.
The very thought gives me hives. They’re all up to the same old games, the same way of life.
I used to be sucked into it as well, blinded by family duty and pride.
Now I see the truth behind it all. You’re either a king or a pawn.
Those are the only two pieces on this chessboard.
Queens are an illusion, a promise we’re made so we’ll continue to play the game, only for it to end in disappointment when we realize we’re powerless.
Which is why I’ll never marry. And I will certainly never marry a mafioso.
I’m reaching for another glass of champagne when someone speaks to me.
“You’re here with Maximo Pontrelli, aren’t you?”
I turn to find a pretty blond batting her lashes. Two of her friends flank her, forming a half-circle around me. Their open gazes eagerly await my response.
“Technically.”
The blond leans closer. “Are you his girlfriend?”
“Absolutely not. That’s just gross.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
They politely laugh, even though I’m not joking.
“Oh good.” The relief in her tone startles me. Why is it good that I’m not his girlfriend? What would she have said if we were involved?
A strange, uncomfortable tightness slithers beneath my skin.
“Why?” I ask, unable to keep my thoughts to myself. “Why is that good?”
The blond’s shorter friend speaks up. “Because we have a bet going about who he’ll marry.
In case you don’t know this, he’s the new Pontrelli don and the most eligible bachelor in the city.
” She openly checks him out, and annoyance plucks at my chest. “He’ll have to take a wife soon to solidify his new position. ”
“I think it will be me,” the blond admits. She dreamily stares at Maximo and I want to puke—or slap her—maybe both.
“Why do you think it will be you?” My tone’s much more casual than my inner turmoil. Why do I care if this girl wants to be Maximo’s wife? Better her than me. She can have him.
Though for some reason, that thought doesn’t sit right with me. Must be the champagne, it’s messing with my head. I absolutely do not want Maximo Pontrelli—especially now that he’s a don.
All three of them turn their attention on me, as the blond answers my question. “It will be me because I’m the best match for him.” Her tone and expression tell me that her conclusion should be obvious.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask, trying and probably failing to keep the judgement out of my tone.
She tosses her hair over a bare shoulder. “Francesca Casella. I’m Enzo Casella’s cousin.” She looks me up and down. “Nice dress. I don’t remember seeing you around. Though I did grow up in Sicily."
Now that makes sense why I’ve never met Francesca, even though I grew up with the Casellas. Our families were fairly close.
“You wouldn’t have seen me around, my jet landed this morning.” With that explanation, I saunter off into the crowd. I’m not going to tell them who I am. That’s none of their business, and doesn’t matter since I’ll be leaving town soon.
But that girl, Francesca, I used to be her.
I was so proud of myself for being the eldest daughter of a powerful mafia family.
Before my parents decided on my arranged marriage to the Irish, I thought I’d have the pick of all the young, eligible Italian bachelors.
I was so confident that I’d be their perfect match.
That I’d live a fairytale life with a handsome husband and adoring children.
It’s all a bunch of bullshit. Brainwashing and lies. We’re nothing more than pawns in this game. My sister once told me so, but I refused to believe her until I managed to gain a new perspective.
My most important duty to my family was to marry Cian O’Rourke and end the war between the Italians and the Irish. But even for that, I was replaceable. I disappeared and my twin took my place at the altar. The world went on without me while I was locked in a kennel.
I’m not important. Whether I live or die doesn’t really matter. One pawn is easily replaced by another. That’s one lesson that experience taught me.
“Ravenna?” a masculine voice calls.
I glance up at my sister’s name. A handsome man grins down at me and even though it’s been several years, I recognize him. “Hello, Enzo.”
His smile widens. “That’s much too polite of a greeting. I’d never get that from Ravenna, so you must be Elena.” His brow furrows. “But I thought you were in Italy.”
“I was. I arrived back in town just today.” I smile up at my older brother’s childhood friend.
When I was little, I had such a crush on Enzo Casella.
But being a few years older than me, and my brother’s friend, he never paid me any attention.
Though as I look at him now, I don’t feel the same warmth or rapid beating of my heart. Seems that crush is also dead.
“Welcome back.” He surprises me by brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. The physical contact makes me want to recoil. “You’ve really grown up since the last time I saw you.” His dark eyes sparkle with an intensity that unsettles me, and I struggle not to squirm.
I offer him a faint smile. “That happens when time passes. Speaking of which, happy birthday.”
He gives me that lopsided grin I used to adore. “Thanks. So, are you here to stay? Thinking of moving back permanently?”
I shrug and dodge his questions with one of my own. “There are lots of pretty, single women here tonight. Is your father trying to find you a wife?”
“He sure is. The mean old bastard said if I’m not married before thirty that he’ll choose one for me.
Tonight’s my last chance.” Enzo’s gaze sweeps down my body.
“How about you? Engaged yet? Or did you marry someone from the old country? I don’t see a ring on your finger.
” He shifts closer and I take a step back.
“No, I’m not married. I’m—”
“She’s with me.” Maximo steps up to my side, his massive body nearly plastered against mine. He’s so close I feel the heat radiating from him, and smell his spicy cologne. My pulse flutters.
“Maximo.” Enzo beams. “It’s good to see you.” He eyes us. “So you two are together? I didn’t know—”
“We’re not.” I say, at the same time as Maximo speaks.
“Yes, we are.”
I glance up at him, too startled to argue. Why would he lie to Enzo?
“So… which is it? Are you two together or not?” Enzo’s bright, predatory gaze sends a chill down my spine. My head spins at how these two men, while so similar, manifest completely opposite reactions in me.
Fake it. He doesn’t need to know the truth.
I nod. “Sorry, yes, of course we’re together.”
“We’re together.” Maximo confirms as he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling my back into his chest. I let him. I even clutch his thick arm. “She was trying to say that we’re not announcing our relationship publicly yet. But we’re definitely together.”
A strange, yet not entirely uncomfortable tingling sweeps across my skin at his words.
Normally I’d feel panicked pressed to a huge man like this, but that need to get away isn’t there.
His warmth, and masculine scent, settle into my bones, calming my senses.
My muscles relax as I lean into him. A faint, approving hum vibrates in his chest.
Enzo eyes us again. He gives a curt nod and that boyish smile tugs at his lips. “Your secret’s safe with me. If you’ll excuse me, I have some hunting of my own to do. Turning thirty is hard work.”
As soon as he’s gone, I stiffen and try to break free from Maximo’s hold. His arm tightens around my waist.
Leaning down, he murmurs in my ear. “Please forgive me, cara mia.”
My heartbeat stammers. I swallow thickly. “Forgive you for what? For handling me like this or for lying to Enzo?”
“Neither.” His breath tickles my neck. “For not telling you sooner that you look stunning tonight. You are by far the most beautiful woman in this room.”
“I—” I inhale a deep breath to calm my racing pulse.
Maximo’s too big, too solid, too much. Being this close to him does things to my body and mind that I don’t care to analyze—especially since my reaction to him isn’t normal.
He should scare me, but I’m not frightened.
I should want to escape him, like I did with Enzo, yet I don’t.
Why am I not pulling away from him? Why don’t I feel like I’m in danger and have that overwhelming need to get away? What has he done to me?
“Don’t ever flirt with Enzo again.” His low, angry tone’s in stark contrast to the sensual way his thumb brushes across the back of my hand. My lips part in shock.
As suddenly as he embraced me, he’s gone. Cold air sweeps over my back and I shiver.
Turning, I watch him retreat, then be swallowed up by the crowd. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Maximo tried to stake his claim on me. That he’s jealous of Enzo.
But I don’t belong to him.
Besides, of all the women in New York, he wouldn’t want me.
I’ve been away too long. My family no longer holds the power they once did since it’s just me and my sister—who married into the Irish mob.
I’m a nobody. If he wants to solidify his position by marriage, he should choose anyone other than me.
So why is Maximo Pontrelli, a powerful new don, caressing my skin like a lover and calling me cara mia?