5. Skye
SKYE
T he D’Arc school was created for the children of criminal families. Some studied only at this campus, while others used it as a home base with the securities it offered us.
I was the only one in our group to study music—ironic, I know. It worked for me since I enjoyed music purely for my own pleasure. I was my mama’s daughter after all, but I wasn’t as talented as her. I loved playing piano, but playing also made me sad.
My mama said it was the only connection she felt to the sounds. Yes, it was the next best thing to not being able to hear them, but it made me too aware of my disability. I wasn’t ashamed of it, but I also didn’t like the reminder of what could have been if I had my hearing.
Nonetheless, I wouldn’t trade my years at D’Arc or the friendships I’d made for anything in the world.
They were the kind that my mama had with her group of friends, and she often reminisced about those days with Aunt Reina.
Even to this day, they were all very close, even so that I grew up thinking Raven, Isla, and Athena were my actual aunts.
Much like my mom and her tight circle of friends who always had each other’s back, so did my friends and I. When they sought out trouble, I was right there along for the ride or to be their voice of reason.
So when, after the theatrical performance in the forest, Penelope suggested we went out and let off some steam, I was all for it.
Penelope, Amara, and I got all dolled up for the newest secret club called Revelation that had opened in the suburbs of Connecticut.
I’d never heard of it, but Penelope had secured an invitation from a secret admirer.
She insisted that the night was young, we were beautiful, and she was visiting the club no matter what.
Amara and I, the great supporters—after all, what’re friends for—agreed, and voilà. The three of us, frequenting a scandalous secret event, dressed to the nines and looking for trouble.
We got past the bouncer outside the club, a man in a Venetian costume greeted us with a snobbish expression, which was undermined by his comical appearance, and demanded to see our invitation.
The costume was two sizes too small, his round belly protruding beneath the hem of the fabric with his thick arms bursting through the two too-tight cuffs.
Penelope handed him her invitation and we watched him scan it with bated breath. Something flashed on his screen and his smug expression turned into something else. Was it fear? Or maybe reverence? I couldn’t quite determine.
I managed to read his lips when he said, “You have full privileges—everything is on the house.” Amara squeezed my hand and I felt my stomach swoop. We were in.
He stepped aside, pulling back the thick red curtain and giving us a full view of the grand hallway stretching behind him.
“ Who gave you that invitation ?” I asked Penelope.
“For real, because that guy was about to shit his pants when he scanned it,” Amara chimed in.
Penelope flashed us a sheepish smile. “I don’t know. I got it in the mail without a return address.”
“Well, let’s hope it’s not from a psychotic stalker who wants to kill us or some shit,” Amara signed and stated at the same time.
Penelope rolled her eyes. “Stop being a baby. Besides, we can take care of ourselves.”
“ I didn’t bring any weapons ,” I signed.
Amara lost her balance and I reached out, catching her before she could faceplant.
“We’ll use our five-inch heels if need be.” She glared down at her shoes like they were her sworn enemy. “They’re definitely not good for walking.”
I chuckled. “ Want to switch our shoes? Mine are only three inches .”
I wore a pink Valentino dress with matching pumps—a gift from my aunt Reina who loved to spoil me with the latest couture—but to make Amara comfortable, I’d give them up.
She waved her hand, dismissing the offer. “Nah. I might need to stab someone.”
We continued down the elegant hallway with red-painted walls until we reached a large open space that glittered with chandeliers. Hundreds of candles lit up every surface and red rose petals adorned the shiny marble floors.
There were men and women dressed in silks and satins, smiling as they drank from dainty glassware. Champagne coupes had been set beneath a tower of flowing bubbles, and at the head of the room, a ten-piece orchestra performed.
The far wall of the ballroom was painted in the colors of the British flag and a photo of the current king hung there.
“ Is this place owned by a Brit ?” I signed.
Penelope shrugged. “No freaking clue.”
“I read that this club was first opened in London, so maybe it’s in honor of their beginnings,” Amara chirped.
“I don’t give a crap about their beginnings,” Penelope quipped. “I want to get laid and be done with this bullshit.”
I winced. “ Are you sure this is a good idea? ”
Penelope had tried to experiment with men before, but both times ended in a tragic accident for the men. They ended up dead before she could get their pants off.
Her blue eyes met mine. “What do you mean?”
“ Well, you’re kind of engaged, and you know those mafia husbands.
They’re… ” I cleared my throat uncomfortably.
“They’re hypocrites and notorious for double standards.
They sleep around but will kill anyone who dares to sleep with us.
Do you really want to have someone else’s blood on your hands? ”
“Of course not. That’s why we’ll never speak of this again. What happens in Revelation, stays in Revelation.”
“ That goes for Vegas, not a club, ” I corrected her. “ Are you sure this is what you want to do ?”
Penelope’s nose scrunched and her eyes narrowed to detestable slits. “I’m not getting what I want, and I’ll ensure that he won’t either. Life’s a bitch?—”
“ And then we die ,” I finished with a sigh. “ Maybe Enzo isn’t all that bad. Have you even met him yet? ”
She shook her head. “No, but I saw a photo from his childhood. He isn’t my type.”
“I sure hope not,” Amara scoffed. “Why would you think that he would be your type if you only saw a photo of him as a child?”
Penelope slapped her on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
“ Did you not ask to meet him? Or an updated photo ?” I signed, questioning her.
Penelope’s answer was curt. “No. Don’t want to see him, meet him, or marry him.”
“I wonder why he doesn’t attend D’Arc?” Amara wondered, echoing my own thoughts. “Where do the Marchettis study?”
Penelope shrugged. “From what I hear, they both studied in the UK and are already running the Marchetti empire in some shape or form.”
“ Isn’t it odd that you haven’t met him yet ?” I questioned. “ You’d think you two would have at least crossed paths by now. ”
Amara snickered. “Maybe he’s not the academic type.”
I shook my head. “ I’m sure he has other valuable skills. If you only gave him a chance. ”
“Whatever,” Penelope said. “I just know we’re incompatible. The dude is old.”
I pursed my lips at her stubbornness. “ You shouldn’t rush into having sex. ”
“I think what Skye’s trying to say,” Amara interjected, coming to the rescue, “is that you should have sex with someone you care for. Someone who makes your world spin.”
Penelope slapped her hand against her forehead. “While that all sounds nice, as you know, my marriage to Enzo Marchetti was arranged decades ago. Whether I like it or not, it’s happening. Mama told me they set the date.”
Amara and I stared at her open-mouthed. “Already?”
“Yes, apparently Mr. fucking Marchetti is tired of waiting,” Penelope said with an exasperated expression. “Says he’s getting too old.”
“ Enrico Marchetti? Why would he care ?”
Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m talking about Enzo. The fucker wants a bride. Now!” She snapped her fingers to emphasize the urgency. “Something about him getting too old to keep waiting.”
“But he isn’t that old,” Amara protested. “Is he?”
She shrugged. “Early thirties. Thirty-two, I think?”
“ But you’re twenty-one, ” I pointed out. “ Isn’t that a bit… weird? ”
Amara’s cheeks flushed and she shifted uncomfortably on her heels. “I dunno… I’ve heard of more scandalous age gaps, I guess.”
I tilted my head pensively.
“ Okay, are we talking about Penelope or you ?” This time she turned crimson, and I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Amara would rather die than admit out loud her attraction to Gabriel Santos. “ Gabriel’s slightly younger than thirty-two .”
Amara waved her hand nonchalantly. “Tomato, potato.”
“Do I look hot?” Penelope chimed in, interrupting our subject shift. She was determined to get laid, and there’d be nothing on this planet that could stop her.
We both glanced her way, giving her another take. She’d opted for a white Givenchy strapless dress with a flared skirt that barely reached her mid-thighs. She looked stunning, if not a little Virgin Mary–like.
“You two look hot as fuck,” she continued, “and I’m terrified that I’ll be left sitting around while you get picked up.”
“ You’re beautiful, ” I assured her. “ And I’m not sleeping with any strangers, so if it happens that you sit it out, I’ll be right there with you .”
Amara grinned.
“I’m just hoping to teach someone a lesson.” When Penelope and I shot her a questioning look, she just blew out a frustrated breath. “Long story.”
Sensing her desire to move on, we linked arms and ventured deeper into the sprawling room, where velvet drapes and gilded accents shimmered under the low, amber light.
The air crackled with anticipation, alive with murmured conversations and flirtatious glances.
Some guests wore elaborate masks, their eyes glinting through ornate patterns, while others remained barefaced, their expressions laid bare amid the revelry.
I couldn’t help but think of my recent venture into the Nikolaev club.