Chapter Twenty-Eight
T he limo pulled in front of the hotel, and we poured out.
I shielded Gia until we were well inside the ballroom, not taking any chances.
Vello was the boss. This Callaghan fuck would never dare touch one of his guests in his territory.
Row and That Thing finally fucked off to the kitchens, and I was able to tap my numbers in my pocket, thusly calming my quick heart rate.
Gia and I were immediately surrounded by ass-kissers, wishing to congratulate us on our nuptials.
I let my wife do the talking. She was good at peopling.
By contrast, I was good at un peopling. This yin and yang situation reminded me that I needed to put a stop to the killing spree as soon as I was done avenging Daniel.
This killing people shit was addictive. I half understood why Achilles, Luca, and Enzo were married to their jobs.
I still bathed in the aftermath of fucking Gia. I planned to do it at least until my dick fell off. I’d happily try to override the 98 percent effectiveness of birth control by constantly copulating.
Scanning the room for potential security breaches, my eyes landed on Achilles.
He seemed in good spirits, joking and mingling with underbosses in the corner of the room.
The hideous motherfucker should know better than to gloat.
He was next in line, surely. Vello was going to marry all his deranged sons off before he picked a successor.
Speaking of the big boss, Vello stood a few feet away from his son with his wife, Chiara, by his side, chatting with President Wolfe Keaton and his wife, Francesca.
Not only a president but plenty of senators, congresspeople, and billionaires rounded out the list of attendees.
The turnout was impressive, and I barely stood out.
Francesca had a belly full of baby under her lacey dress, and Wolfe reached to splay his fingers over the bump, stroking it absentmindedly as he no doubt pretended to give a shit about whatever Vello had to say.
An internal fit of jealousy consumed me. What a fantastic way to trap a woman. Although by the shit-eating grin on Francesca’s face, I suspected she’d be with him even if she wasn’t knocked up.
Across the room stood Luca and a girl in her late teens. His expression suggested he was attending his own funeral. She held the grave expression of the coroner. Fuck, and I thought Gia and I had it rough.
Woodenly, the girl extended her slim wrist to well-wishers who wanted to see her ring. Showing the anello di fidanzamento was big at Italian engagement parties. They didn’t exchange a word. I gave this thing between them one tax season. Tops.
“Wow,” my wife breathed out, “Francesca Keaton is stunning up close.”
Maybe she was. Sometime in the last few years, I had stopped paying attention to what women looked like. I just fucked the ones others deemed attractive while pining for my PA.
Gia and I grabbed our seating cards and approached our table. “Stay by my side, and don’t go anywhere without me.” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Callaghan won’t touch a hair on your head in this ballroom. Anywhere outside it is fair game, though.”
Her spine stiffened. My wife didn’t like to be told what to do. Especially when she had to live like a caged songbird because of my fuckups.
“Is he here?” she asked.
“No.”
My presence here was contingent on Callaghan being disinvited. Somehow the idea of sharing hors d’oeuvres with the asshole who wanted to kill me didn’t appeal to me.
We ended up sharing a table with hedge fund moguls and a congressman I’d seen frequenting the Forbidden Fruit Club.
The club was owned by the Ferrantes and served as a high-end brothel during the daytime.
My wife seemed determined not to speak to me more than absolutely necessary after I fucked her in front of our friends, and she instantly struck up a conversation with an elderly real estate developer.
Enzo slipped into the seat next to mine and started yapping happily. I tuned him out and found myself scanning the room again, looking for signs of Callaghan soldiers. I couldn’t find any, but I found Vello and his extended family, sitting at a never-ending table.
I spotted Lila too. The mysterious baby sister of the Ferrante clan. Only seventeen.
She was delicate in her beauty. Ethereal and otherworldly. Like a Claudine painting by Marcel Dyf. Intellectually challenged, if rumors were to be believed.
She sat alone at a separate small table fitted for children, garbed in a glittery gold gown the same shade as her hair, her spine ramrod straight.
She appeared to be hosting a tea party with porcelain dolls.
Sprawled on the table was a British tea set, floral and vintage with carved handles.
She poured air into mugs and laughed haughtily at something a porcelain doll said.
How this pale-haired elfin shared full DNA with her strong-featured, ginormous brothers was a case for the FBI.
She looked nothing like them. Not in height, not in build, not in color, and not in features.
Her graceful pout and childlike innocence did nothing to yours truly, but I could see men clamoring for the chance to marry her. Knowing the Camorra and Vello Ferrante specifically, there was a good chance he’d marry her off despite her intellectual challenges.
He was the biggest prick I’d ever met. And I actually worked closely with Baron “Vicious” Spencer.
“Remove your eyes before I scoop them out, Blackthorn. Lila’s off the table.” Enzo tapped my shoulder, reminding me of his unfortunate existence.
I shot him a cool glare. “I’m a married man.”
“Start acting like it, bro.”
If that little shit bro-ed me one more time…
“Well, this one in front of you isn’t attracted to children.”
Even if she wasn’t so young, I found her to be nothing extraordinary. She didn’t have Gia’s courage, fire, and wit. My wife’s intelligence, firm values, and soft heart set me ablaze. Her beauty—while exquisite—was just a small fraction of her appeal to me.
“FYI, the exterior of the hotel is swarming with Callaghan’s men.” Enzo swirled his drink, giving it a sniff. “Since I’m off duty, I suggest you keep an eye on your wife.”
“You think Callaghan is brazen enough to attack her during Luca’s party?” I asked.
“I think he’s brazen enough to set the sitting president on fire in front of the entire Congress,” Enzo answered, unblinking.
“Just because he’s not here today doesn’t mean he’s not going to try to pull some bad shit.
He’s got a hard-on for your neck, and since you killed his proxies, he’ll likely target yours. ”
The next hour included an endless amount of Italian food, badly crafted conversation paired with lovely crafted wine.
A hedge fund dude bro, who was clearly a legacy hire, droned on about crypto to me while I pretended my full attention wasn’t on Gia.
I didn’t let her out of my sight. Not a difficult task, considering watching her was hardly a punishment.
She avoided my eyes, which got on my nerves.
Just when I thought the evening couldn’t get any more tedious, the live band began playing a waltz, and Achilles appeared like a summoned evil spirit in a séance gone wrong.
The wicked grin on his face looked like it’d been carved with a knife.
He offered my wife his open palm with a bow.
“Mrs. Blackthorn, would you do me the honor of a dance?”
He was insane if he thought I’d let his filthy hands touch her.
“Hard to pull off a waltz with two broken legs.” I draped an arm over the back of her chair.
Gia’s icy glare turned into a warm smile once she realized I didn’t want her to dance with him.
“Mr. Ferrante, I’m pleased you asked.” She placed her hand in his and stood up.
I pushed up to my feet, getting into Achilles’s face. “What are you playing at?”
“Why, Blackthorn, can’t a man dance with a beautiful woman at his brother’s engagement party?”
“A man certainly can. But not this one.” I pointed at Gia.
I had no idea where this hissy fit came from. I wasn’t usually the jealous type.
“This one also has a mind of her own.” Gia wedged herself between us, pushing at my chest. “And she wants to dance. Bugger off, Tate.”
The smirk Achilles gave me as he led my wife to the dance floor was reason enough to break every bone in his body, stapes bone included.
Making a scene was not my style. Shocking and terrorizing people, however? Right up my alley. So instead of seething, I strolled straight over to Achilles’s heel.
To the Ferrantes’ unspoken weakness.
To their innocent, precious Lila.
Raffaella ‘Lila’ Ferrante only noticed my presence when my frame cast a shadow over her kiddie table. She stared up at me, sapphire eyes flaring in panic. She was not used to being acknowledged by nonfamily members was my guess.
“Hello, Raffaella,” I said slowly, softly, as you would to a toddler. From the corner of my eye, I saw four Ferrante soldiers stand up from their seats, as did Enzo and Luca.
Her eyes immediately went in search of them, terrified and unsure. I ignored the way the chatter in the room died altogether.
“Would you like to dance?” I drawled.
She wasn’t yet eighteen. I wasn’t a pedophile and wasn’t attracted to her, but sometimes, it really paid off to be seen as the most debauched creature alive, because then people assumed the worst about me.
Lila’s eyes longingly drifted to the dance floor, but she pursed her lips, shaking her head no.
Every soldier in the room held their breath, waiting for an order.
Every underboss tuned in.
“It’s okay if you don’t know how,” I coaxed, knowing full well I was ruining the dance for Achilles and Gia, as they both stared at me for very different reasons.
Even just chatting Lila up was enough to make a point.
But I had a feeling I was going to persuade her.
I knew want when I saw it in someone’s face.