Chapter 3
“How’d the kids take the news?” My best friend, Kara, climbs up into the barstool beside me, gathering her long hair in one hand and fanning her exposed neck with the other.
I’ve spent the last hour dancing on the second floor of Lush, an elite club that offers dancing, gambling, and pretty much anything you want if you have enough money for a membership.
It’s one of the few privileges of being a DeAngelo I don’t hate.
And one of the rare things being related to my brothers that brought any sort of pleasure.
“They were sad.” I frown. “Then they forgot all about it by the time they got home.”
“Oh, that’s not true!” Rosa grabs my wrist and squeezes. She’s the empath of our little group.
I cover her hand and smile. “I know, but they’re four- and five-year-olds. They will forget me long before I ever forget them. And it’s good. It should be that way. They have so many things happening in their little worlds. They’ll get a new teacher next week and move on.”
She sighs. “Still. You love those kids like they’re your own. It’s not fair. This whole thing isn’t fair.” She drops her cell phone onto the table with a severe frown.
“Since when is anything fair?” Kara chimes in while waving down a waiter. “Especially in our world?”
Rosa sits back and folds her thin arms over her chest. “My father would never do this to me. Or my brothers.”
“That’s because your father is a CEO of a media company and not the head of a criminal empire,” Kara deadpans. “And your mother would have his balls if he tried to force you into a marriage.”
Rosa nods with a grin. “She would. It’s true.”
“Hey, maybe that’s what we should do. We can sneak into your uncle’s room at night when he’s asleep. We’ll put a knife to his balls, see which he’d like to keep. His balls or his little deal with the devils.”
I stare at Kara. She’s exactly the same as her teenage self– only taller and shapelier.
“You still frighten me,” I laugh. “Do you really want to see my uncle’s balls?”
She screws up her face. “No, you’re right. We’ll just threaten to stab him.”
“Always with the violence.” Rosa shakes her head while raising her hand for a waiter. “I need a drink.”
“I think we all do.” I grab the drink menu from the center of the high-top table and glance at the drinks.
At a normal bar I’d order a whiskey sour, but Lush is no ordinary watering hole. Here everything is taken up to a higher caliber. After scanning the specialty drinks, I decide on the Cranberry Velvet.
“Would you like that made with Grey Goose, C?roc, or Belvedere?” The waiter asks after I’ve given my order.
I blink at him as though he’s just asked me which wire to cut to defuse a bomb, the blue or the yellow.
“She wants the C?roc,” Kara pipes in then glances at me. “It goes better with the cranberry.”
“Oh. Right. Of course it does.” I laugh when the waiter is away from our table. “Your knowledge of liquor choices continues to impress me.”
“Don’t be impressed. I tried that drink with the Grey Goose the last time I was here. Tanner suggested the C?roc;it was better.”
“Tanner?” I raise my eyebrows. Rarely does Kara see a man more than a few times, but Tanner has been around for a few months now.
“No.” Kara shakes her head. “We’re not talking about Tanner. We’re here to celebrate, or rather mourn, your last night as a free woman.”
“It can’t be your last night in town though, right? I mean you’ll have time before you have to move?” Rosa’s question is so full of hope, it’s almost painful to burst her bubble.
“Not much. From what my uncle relayed to me, I’m supposed to be packed and ready to leave by Wednesday. I’m not sure what’s exactly happening between the wedding and us leaving town, though.”
“You’ll be on your honeymoon?” Kara raises her eyebrows. “C’mon. Maybe this guy isn’t so bad. Maybe he’s really hot and will whisk you away to some fancy ass resort and you’ll spend four days in bed.”
I wait for the waiter to drop our drinks and leave before I respond.
“I have no idea what he looks like, but I doubt he’s anything all that special. I mean, he’s having this arranged for him as well. If he’s all that hot and important, wouldn’t he have a wife already?”
“Not necessarily.” Rosa lifts a shoulder. “I mean, he could have been waiting until he’s older. You know, maybe he’s sowing his wild oats?”
Kara’s eyebrows knit together with a slight look of revulsion.
“You need to stop reading those historical romances.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my books. Besides, Sienna put me on to them in the first place. Blame her.”
“I do.” Kara gives a harsh nod. “But she’s moved on to the really filthy stuff while you’re still in the eighteen hundreds having virgins being deflowered.”
I choke on the sip of my drink trying to hold back a laugh.
“Whatever.” Rosa rolls her eyes and leans back with her chocolate martini.
“So you haven’t even looked him up?” Kara starts her prodding again.
“No. What would it matter?”
“At least you’d know.” Kara points out.
“Know what? There’s nothing I can do about it. I need Tommy to be taken care of and since Tony made my uncle his guardian, there’s nothing I can do to stop him from taking Tommy back to Italy and stuffing him in some home out there. I wouldn’t know if he was being cared for, or anything.”
“Your uncle is such a dick,” Rosa says.
“Agreed.” I nod, taking another sip of my drink. “So, it doesn’t matter what this guy looks like. I have to marry him. All I can do is hope he’s as pragmatic about this as me, and he’ll leave me to my own life while he lives his.”
“That is so depressing.” Kara frowns. “Especially coming from you.”
“Why? I never thought of myself as being swept off my feet or anything like that.”
“No, but you definitely didn’t think you’d be married off to some Russian mobster either,” Kara says.
She’s kind and doesn’t add the part about the man being responsible for my brothers’ death. It goes without saying that’s probably the most fucked up part of the situation.
“Oh!” Rosa picks up her phone and beams at the screen. “He’s messaging me!”
Kara rolls her eyes. “And? Did he apologize?”
“Yes.” Rosa shows Kara the phone, and they launch into a conversation regarding Rosa’s new boyfriend who had to cancel their last two dates due to work.
I try to listen, but my mind is off swimming with all the what-ifs. Like what if my husband turns out to be as sadistic as my brothers? What if he doesn’t let me have a life of my own, but instead makes my life a living hell just because he can?
What if I hate him so much I can’t stand being near him? What if we have children, and he’s uncaring and unloving to them?
What if he’s completely repulsive inside and out—how am I supposed to have children with someone I can’t stand to look at?
When I returned home this afternoon from shopping I’d known they were in the house. I’d opted to hide away in my room instead of facing my future head on.
And when I’d gathered up the courage to look out my window to get a glimpse, all I’d seen was a man walk out of the house.
Before I could get a good look, I’d knocked over a glass of water sitting on my vanity trying to press my face to the window.
By the time I got back to the window, the car was driving away.
“You’re not going to let up, are you?” Rosa snaps.
“I’m just saying if the man wanted to, he would.” Kara sits back in her seat with a satisfied smirk as she brings her glass to her lips.
Rosa gives me a look, desperate for back up. But there is no winning against Kara once she gets on the whole know your worth soapbox.
“I’m going to pee. I’ll be right back.” I slide off my chair. “If the waiter comes around, order those little egg roll things we like.”
I leave them to finish their argument about if having a work meeting constitutes a reason to miss a date, and weave through the lounge toward the restrooms. As I pass a table in the corner of the room, a waft of spiced aftershave hits me.
It’s just a scent, but it sends tingles through me. I glance around, trying to find the source, but whoever is sitting at that table is seated behind the high back of the booth, hidden from my view.
In the next step, I smash into a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. His tray clatters to the ground, glass shatters, and the contents of one of the drinks splashes up my leg. I stumble back a step, the heel of my shoe slips on the puddle, and I start to fall backward.
A set of large hands catch me, hooking under my arms mid-fall.
“I’m so sorry.” The waiter scrambles back up from the floor where he hit the ground.
I’m stunned at first as I’m put back on to my feet.
“No, no. It’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you all right?” I bend to help with the glass, but the strong hands that caught me gently grab me and bring me back up to my feet.
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” The waiter’s eyes widen as he looks over my shoulder. “It was an accident.”
“Yes, of course it was.” I turn to see what’s got him on the brink of a panic attack and nearly join him.
A man with a fierce expression stands behind me in a black button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. Through the opening I can make out black ink sprawling across his chest.
His physique—broad shoulders, obvious muscles bulging beneath his shirt, and strong jaw—does things to my body that haven’t happened in a long time.
I practically drool when my gaze travels up to his face. A dark dusting of a beard covers his jawline. It’s more casual than a beard, like he just hasn’t bothered to shave in a few days. His thick black hair is combed away from his face in the same haphazard way.
The steely way he glares at the waiter seems like a warning. Like this man could easily be someone’s worst nightmare.
Then it strikes me.
The spicy scent that caught my attention in the first place. It’s coming from him.
“Are you all right?” His voice is darker than his hair when he asks the question.
I blink. Am I all right?