28 | This is your night
I stare down at the mimosa cocktail in my hand, the bubbles rising slowly, baiting me.
It looks tempting, inviting even, but I know better than to give in to the desire.
I'm Mrs. Costa now. There are rules I must follow.
Expectations to uphold. I can't afford to be seen with a drink in my hand at a ball like this, not when the entire underworld is watching.
Not when I have responsibilities to uphold, to be the perfect wife, the perfect image.
I glance around the room, my gaze meeting the eyes of several powerful women, wives of men with influence and power. They're all watching me, studying me with a mixture of curiosity and judgment. Every move I make, every gesture I make, is under surveillance.
I have to be careful.
Franco steps up beside me, his presence a solid, comforting weight. I feel his gaze flick to the mimosa and then to me.
"Are you going to drink that?" he asks, his voice low, teasing.
I sigh, shaking my head as I glance back at the drink.
"I want to," I admit, my voice soft but heavy with the weight of unspoken words. "But I can't. Not here. Not with everyone watching me."
I scan the room again, my eyes narrowing as I see the way the other wives glance at me, some with barely concealed contempt, others with curiosity. The pressure to live up to their standards, to be the epitome of elegance and grace, is suffocating.
Franco looks at the mimosa, then at me with a mischievous smile. "Can I drink it?"
I laugh quietly, nodding. "Go ahead."
Without missing a beat, Franco lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long, leisurely sip. His eyes meet mine, and I can't help but feel a flicker of something in my chest, something dangerous, something I've been trying to suppress since the first time I laid eyes on him.
"I told Luciano that I want you as my personal bodyguard," I say suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Franco nearly spits out the drink, his eyes widening in surprise as he stares at me. "What did Luciano say?"
I shrug, trying to look nonchalant, though my heart is beating a little faster than it should be. "He's mad. He didn't like it, but he'll get over it. I only want you as my guard."
Franco lets out a short laugh, shaking his head as he takes another drink. "My father would be proud of me."
"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious, my head tilting slightly.
Franco's expression softens for a moment, a fleeting hint of something I can't quite read in his eyes.
"My father always wanted me to take over his security firm.
He thought I was the one to carry on the family legacy.
But instead, I chose to be a soldier for the Famiglia.
My older brother runs the company now. "
I process this for a moment, the weight of his words settling over me. "Do you regret the decision?"
Franco's lips curl into a small, almost wistful smile. "Never. Or else I wouldn't be able to be here with you."
His words hit me like a punch to the stomach, and for a moment, everything around me seems to fade. My breath catches in my throat as I turn to face him fully.
"What do you mean by that?" I ask, my voice softer, almost a whisper.
Franco gives a small shrug, taking another sip of the mimosa. "Nothing." His smile deepens, and he looks away, as if he's said too much already.
I want to press him, to ask him what he truly means. But the moment passes as quickly as it came, and I find myself looking across the room, at Luciano.
He's standing there, across the floor, watching me intently. His gaze is so piercing, so full of... possessiveness. It's as if he's trying to read me, to figure me out, to control me. But I can feel the weight of his stare on me, the heat of it crawling beneath my skin.
I give him a smile. A fake, sweet smile, the kind I've perfected over the years. The one that hides everything I feel beneath a mask of politeness.
Luciano doesn't react, but I know he's watching me, always watching. His eyes never leave me, and I wonder if he sees through the mask I wear. If he can see the cracks, the moments when I slip, the parts of me I've tried to bury deep down.
But for now, I keep the smile on my face, the one that's always there when I need it to be. It's the one that tells everyone I'm fine, even when I'm anything but.
Franco nudges me, his voice low and teasing. "You're not going to let him stare at you all night, are you?"
I blink, breaking free from my thoughts, and meet Franco's eyes. There's something daring in his gaze, a challenge I can't resist.
"I don't care what Luciano thinks," I say, my voice steadier now, more certain. "I'm not his to control."
Franco raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Is that so?"
I shrug, trying to keep the deflection in my voice casual, but deep down, the words feel like a lie. I do care what Luciano thinks. I've always cared, even when I told myself I didn't.
Franco smiles at me, that same confident, teasing smile that always makes my heart race. He takes another sip of the mimosa, draining the last of it before setting the glass down on a nearby table.
"Come on," he says, nudging me again. "Let's have some fun. This is your night, after all."
For a moment, I hesitate. I glance back at Luciano, still watching me from across the room, his presence like a shadow that clings to me. But then I look at Franco, his warm, genuine smile making something inside me stir.
I stare at Franco, and a sudden thought slips into my mind. What if he had never left to join the Famiglia as a soldier? Would things between us have unfolded differently? Could we have been something more? Or is my obsession with Luciano just deeper than I care to admit?