Chapter 4 – Isabella
C handeliers imported from a haute couture house in Paris hung suspended from tree limbs. Marble statues flanked the patio. Bistro tables were draped in silk, and candelabras sat on the centers. I had to bite my tongue at the ridiculous picture that was the back gardens. It was as if tens of thousands of dollars threw up in and around the plants and manicured shrubs. There was no taste or style, only expense and gaudy glamor.
I could have made the scene effortlessly tasteful without a designer bone in my body. But also…it was fall. Why wasn’t there a single pumpkin? Or at least rich blooms like mums, phlox, and even the humble, wispy hydrangea. I might be a cottage-core granny who drank too much coffee and read too much fairy smut, but it didn’t mean I disliked bright, sparkling parties with glamorous dresses. The Great Gatsby was a favorite of mine. However, I knew when things were tacky, overdone, and cheap, which was exactly what this party was.
Tapping my fingers against the marble counter, I waited for the bartender to pour my cocktail.
“What are we drinking?” a lighthearted voice teased.
Rounding, I arched a brow at my fiancé. “Rum. Want some?”
Alonzo tipped his head back and forth in consideration. “Sure, why not? I’ll have what she’s having.”
With a clipped nod the bartender took out a second highball glass. Smart man that he was, he didn’t ask to see an ID, even though it was painfully obvious that Alonzo wasn’t twenty-one. The five-year age gap didn’t bother me as much as the fact that we’d grown up together and he was practically a brother.
I braced my elbows against the bar top and leaned back against it. Signor Aldo Bruno was the logical choice to become the next boss. It was evident by the masses turned out tonight that Don Aldo was well liked. The crowd, dressed in black tie formal, milled around the backyard. It was impossible to recognize my childhood home in the mess of wealth and status.
That was probably because it wasn’t my home anymore, but a prison.
Just like the Rinaldi Famiglia wasn’t my family’s legacy, but an empty title. Aldo wisely didn’t change the name when he became don. It would have been too great a change, done too soon after my beloved father’s passing. But I wouldn’t be surprised if after my wedding, the organization began to slowly stylize itself as the Bruno Famiglia.
“Careful with that,” I murmured as Alonzo took his glass. “It’s sweet and can hit you hard.” And if your witch of an aunt catches me giving you booze, we’ll both be in trouble.
“Noted.” He took a long pull. And coughed.
I let out a rough laugh. I’d been drinking hard liquor in soda for years. Hell, recently, I’d been indulging in it straight. I took my own cup and sucked down the contents. The diet cola masked the potent punch of the booze, but the buzz would creep into my veins soon enough. Scanning the crowd, I didn’t see the strega anywhere. But the don’s sister could pop out at any second.
“I’ll take another,” I said over my shoulder, as I looked around for my little brother. Gio had probably disappeared with the other young lads and was no doubt planning some mischief. “Make it a double.”
It was Alonzo’s turn to arch a brow. “Should I be worried, wifey?”
“Only if you call me that,” I jibed back. “I hate it.”
With a noncommittal grunt, the don’s son tried another sip. This time he managed to swallow without choking. “I heard the dress fitting went well?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
I stifled a sigh. This was my future. This nice boy who was trying to be a man was going to be shackled to my side.
Caterers emerged from the staging area, proceeding to mingle with the guests. A sumptuous dinner would be held inside, but the hors d'oeuvres and cocktails were out here. I greedily watched the waiters, trying to see who had the tartlets.
“Did you know that the entire process of making rum can take as little as forty-eight hours?” Alonzo asked, peering through squinted eyes at the cocktail.
“That’s interesting,” I said absently because he did find that information interesting.
As my gaze scanned the trays, something made my stomach flip. It was a flash of steely grey eyes, the flutter of black hair. My gaze snapped in the direction the waiter had turned. The crowd closed around him.
It’s impossible.
My feet moved of their own accord, summoned by the mysterious call. Blood raced through my veins, and my heart was thoroughly lodged in my throat. Eleven months, and now I was seeing the phantom in the face of a stranger? This was it. This was how I became mad as a hatter.
It wasn’t him—Lord of the Midnight Court.
Me and my fanciful brain remembered that night in Chicago as a chapter from a fantasy romance.
But what if it was true? What if he found me?
Unable to help myself, I hurried forward, pushing past guests and rudely ignoring their greetings. I had to make sure my secret hadn’t found me. Not that it was possible, there had been no names.
Emerging at the edge of the crowd, I stopped at the yawning descent created by arching branches of trees. There was a wisp of black that moved through the shadows. The shape disappeared before I could determine if it was real or the figment of my imagination.
A caterer had no business going this way.
It was very probable that I was losing my mind. And yet, I could almost feel an otherworldly presence beckoning down the path to the pond. Something was down there, and I very much wanted it to be a certain gentleman, holding court from the VIP section of a club.
And then the memory from the other night, the phantasmal presence popped into my head. What if the spectre returned? That was a far more likely possibility. Someone who could sneak through the house under the cover of night, dodging alarms and guards, could easily move through a crowded party.
I needed to know.
I stepped forward, only to be yanked backward.
“Isabella, come here,” Cecilia hissed. “Congressman Ronald wants to meet you and Alonzo.”
“Ouch!” I jerked away, but her talons were firmly embedded in my bicep. There would be marks under the sleeve when I took off my dress upstairs.
“Here’s my beautiful daughter-in-law to-be,” Don Aldo boomed, making a sweeping gesture at me. “Cecilia, be a dear and find my son.”
“He’ll be here in a moment, he had to run inside.” Cecilia pinched me again. “He needed a mint to hide the booze he’s been sipping,” she hissed under her breath.
Busted. I could take the malicious pinches, I was used to them by now. But poor Alonzo would bruise like a peach if his aunt sank her talons into his tender flesh.
“Congressman, may I present Isabella,” the don said, introducing me.
Steeling my spine, I prepared for the same old song and dance. Between the strega at my side and the slimy, manipulative bastard closing in on me, I was trapped for the next hour or more.
I should have stayed at the bar and had another cocktail. The buzz wore off as I went through the motions of polite conversation. Every few seconds, I swept a look over my surroundings. There was nothing unusual, nor any return of the phantasmal feeling.
Alonzo joined our trio after a quarter of an hour. At least I could carry on a polite conversation. The don’s son said the wrong things and misread the social cues. It was painful. Privately, I wondered if he had some form of anxiety or even some slight developmental disorder. Not that his scheming father ever had such a thing diagnosed or made an effort to equip his son with tools to navigate social norms. One-on-one, Alonzo was intelligent, bright, and even funny in his own way. But in groups? He was a failure in his father’s estimation. If it was possible, Aldo would stick his progeny in the attic, like a tragedy from the Victorian era.
But the don only had one heir, and with the other vultures who would gladly take his throne, he needed to seem strong in every aspect. I slid a look to the man who’d been underboss for years, who’d been overlooked when a new leader was needed. Tullio Fabrizi knew that he didn’t have enough support to take over after my father, but he’d been involved in every step of the transition of power. That was not the scheming soul I would want a heartbeat away from my throne if it only took a well-placed bullet to end me. Still, Aldo and Tullio had an accord and seemed for all intents and purposes to be amicable.
And they’d both made it very clear what would be my fate if I challenged their partnership.
“That’s why the policy needs to be changed,” Alonzo surmised.
The senator shifted uncomfortably. Being called out for bad actions was never what someone like him wanted to hear. What sweet Alonzo couldn’t understand was that the senator would never want to do the right thing.
As I watched my fiancé, a protective streak flared in my chest for the kid. This wasn’t the time to talk politics even if the agendas being pushed were far from ideal. But as usual, the lad put his foot in his mouth.
“Why don’t we show Mr. Nemmers the Audi, son?” Aldo suggested.
“You two run ahead, I want to ask Alonzo’s opinion of something,” Cecilia minced.
My gut twisted. This was the perfect opportunity to escape, but I stepped closer to my fiancé as the don and the senator ambled off together.
“We have a reputation to uphold.” The strega dug her talons into her nephew’s arm. “What were you thinking, drinking hard alcohol? And then discussing politics with the senator?”
“I was offering him an opinion,” Alonzo explained, confusion knitting his brows.
He doesn’t understand what he did wrong!
“If you can’t say anything intelligent, keep your mouth shut,” Cecilia hissed. Reaching out, she swatted at his wild, woolly hair. “And for heaven’s sake, you look like a mess. Don’t you know what a comb is? People will look.”
After pawing at him for a moment longer, tugging at the thick brown strands that wanted to curl, she released Alonzo and sent him toward the garage to view the car he’d received as his eighteenth birthday present earlier this summer.
I took a quick step back to escape the strega’s biting grasp.
“I’m just going to run up to my room and powder my nose before dinner,” I said, excusing myself.
Ignoring the warning in her eye, I bolted. This was my life. One long evening after another. No adventures, no freedom. I rubbed my growling stomach as I slipped up the back staircase. In this world of madness, I was doomed to be alone. Sorrow panged through my chest. Family was an illusion in our world. They either died like mine, or they were terrible like the Brunos. My fingers slid lower, brushing over my pelvis. The copper IUD was the best purchase right before I left Chicago. If there’d been time, I would have sterilized myself, no matter that someday I wanted a family of my own. I would not bring another human into this world to be used as blackmail against me.
I pushed into my bedroom and firmly shut the door. The silence greeted me with a deafening roar. It was so quiet that my pulse was the only sound. It was like entering another world. A fairy cottage, away from the darkness and demons prowling about the kingdom; I was safe in this space.
Safe, but lonely.
Although….
As if drawn by a magnet, my eyes slid to the red rose sitting in the tall, slim vase on my nightstand. Maybe I wasn’t completely alone. I had a friend after all. Until that person made themselves known, shattering the illusion that their friendship was just a plot to use me, I could believe anything I wanted. And I chose to believe they were my secret bosom friend, a true kindred spirit, who’d heard my silent plea for help.
I blinked hard.
The silence grew stronger. Five terrible seconds passed where my heart didn’t even beat. And then it exploded into a thunderous pace. The rose wasn’t alone. It had a twin.
Someone had been in my room. They wanted me to know they’d been there.