Chapter 1
Chapter One
Angelo
“What are you watching?” I join Al in the family room.
“Documentary on the serial killer who was caught on that Louisiana campus last year. See, this is why I shouldn’t go to college. Too dangerous,” she solemnly announces.
“The only thing dangerous is your love of serial killer documentaries.” I grab the remote and turn off the television. “And we’re not finished with our discussion about your future.”
“Fi-ne.” My baby sister huffs. “Why are you all dressed up?”
“Charity gala with Laurie,” I say, straightening my bow tie. “You’re more than welcome to join us.”
Al crinkles her nose. “You’re still with that woman?”
“I’m not with her. It’s…” Business . Laurie has connections with the soon-to-be mayor, and I need an inroad with the new administration, especially after all the campaign noise about being tough on crime. Not to mention me vocally supporting the dethroned incumbent.
“A situationship?” Al supplies for me.
“No idea what that means,” I admit.
“Definitely a situationship,” she decides. “Hard pass on any invite with Laurie.”
“You don’t like Laurie because she reminds you of Mama,” I say gently. Laurie was Mama’s oncologist. The Calvani curse strikes again; this time in the form of breast cancer.
She shakes her head. “I don’t like Laurie because she’s a status whore.”
“Al,” I warn.
“Besides, I can think of a million things I’d rather do than listen to pretentious bullshitters spewing pretentious bullshit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit redundant?”
“Pretentious bullshitters don’t think so,” she says, missing my point.
“I’ll take that as a no on the invite. What are your plans this evening?”
“Oh, nothing. Just gonna chill here.” She twirls a strand of her newly dyed jet-black hair around her finger.
When I became my sister’s guardian, I quickly learned to pick my battles, and this one wasn’t worth it.
With all of Al’s phases, I’m hoping the goth girl look disappears as quickly as it arrived.
“Alright, then. Your bodyguard is around if you need anything,” I tell her.
“I’m almost an adult, and yet I have a babysitter,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.
“‘Almost an adult’ means you’re still a minor,” I inform her. “I’ll be back later.”
“I would say have fun, but you don’t know how,” she calls after me.
Ignoring my sister’s barb, I track down her bodyguard. He’s seated in the kitchen, chatting with Maks.
“You ready, boss?” Maks, my bodyguard and only friend, asks with a hint of a Ukrainian accent. The man earned his U.S. citizenship through military service, and he earned my trust through working security at my restaurant.
“One moment,” I answer, turning my attention to Al’s bodyguard. “Does Alessandra have a new boyfriend I don’t know about?” My sister was acting ‘sus,’ as she would call it. Oh, and that hair twirl? A classic tell Al’s nervous about something.
“Not that I know of, but?—”
“Find out and bring me his name.” I cut him off. “Unless you want to wind up like Al’s last bodyguard…” Who mysteriously “disappeared” after I discovered Al was skipping school and hanging out with some troublemakers on Bourbon Street.
“Yes, boss.” He gulps.
“Ready,” I tell Maks, and we enter my private garage. It was a logistical nightmare securing the apartment building and shared tenant garage, so I wound up buying everyone out, along with the buildings on either side.
“Al’s security detail is proving to be the most dangerous job in the family,” Maks jokes.
“How hard can it be to watch over a teenage girl?” I lament.
“Have you met your sister?” Maks opens the back passenger door for me, holding up a masquerade mask in one hand, an envelope in the other.
“Pretentious bullshit,” I mutter, agreeing with Al’s assessment. The cash goes inside my suit jacket pocket; the mask gets flung onto the seat beside me as I climb in.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it from my pocket, reading the message from Laurie.
I’m so sorry I won’t be able to make it tonight. Something came up at work…
There goes my leverage. My phone likewise gets flung onto the seat.
“Let’s see that society page smile,” Maks encourages as he slides behind the wheel.
I snarl at him in the rearview.
“Maybe wave at the cameras instead,” he advises.
Remi
Always mindful of my surroundings—which happens to be a filthy alleyway—I glance right, then left. All clear, and I lift the hemline of my gown as I take an exaggerated step over a rain puddle…or whatever liquid that is.
Something scurries past my feet, and I suppress a squeal. With the charm of the French Quarter comes the reality of the French Quarter: rats .
Really big rats.
Shuddering, I pick up my pace until I reach the service entrance and ring the bell.
The door opens, and my contact motions me inside. He closes the door behind me, and I reach into my clutch, handing him a wad of cash. Gotta spend money to make money, and I’m expecting a nice return on investment this evening.
He unfolds the bills and counts them; not that I blame him. ‘No honor among thieves’ is a maxim for a reason. Satisfied, he folds the money and sticks it in his pocket. “You’re taking Dr. Laurie Kole’s place. She had some kind of work emergency.” He hands me the woman’s name tag.
“Thanks.” It gets dropped inside my clutch.
“Get busted, and I’ve never seen you,” he warns.
“Understood.” I nod.
Through the kitchen and down the hallway, my first stop is the restroom.
Entering a stall, I lock the door and retrieve my phone, searching for Dr. Laurie Kole.
Her name pops up on a local hospital website, and I click the link, examining her staff photo.
Fuuuuck, she’s my polar opposite. Late thirties to early forties.
Stylish black bob. Tall with a lean, athletic build, this woman looks like the type who runs a 5k on Thanksgiving.
No, thank you.
I adjust my mask, giving myself a mental pep talk.
It’s a themed masquerade ball, so I’ll have that to my advantage.
Plus, I’ll keep Dr. Kole’s name tag in my purse, just in case she has any acquaintances who could out me.
Having seen for myself the underbelly of the rich world, I know these kinds of people have acquaintances, not friends.
Bump and grab a wallet, and then bounce. I’ve got this.
Taking a deep breath, I exit the stall and give my lipstick a touch up before joining the party.
“Miss, excuse me. The sign-in table is down the hall at the main entrance.” An officious-looking woman with a clipboard stops me at the entryway of the grand ballroom.
“I’ve already signed in,” I assure her with a pleasant smile.
“Oh, they didn’t give you a name tag?” she asks with concern.
“It’s in my bag. I didn’t want to poke a hole in my vintage gown.” I smooth the fabric of my gown for dramatic effect. Being that it’s a thrift store find, it’s vintage to me.
She smiles triumphantly, reaching inside her pocket. “Double-sided tape to the rescue.”
“Aren’t you prepared?” I mentally curse this woman as I rummage through my clutch, producing my name tag with the pin side facing out so she can’t read the name.
She applies the tape with a little too much gusto, but thankfully, her attention’s snagged elsewhere. “Mr. Calvani, welcome.” The woman’s cheeks flush at someone behind me, and it’s the perfect opportunity to make my escape.
I weave my way through the crowded ballroom, making sure to lose clipboard lady.
Reaching the bar, I take in my potential marks before landing on a balding man with flashy diamond rings on each hand.
He’s seated at the end of the L-shaped bar, his back to the wall.
Couldn’t have scripted a more perfect scenario.
I glide to the end of the bar, “accidentally” bumping into my mark. There are ten different pockets a man could stash his wallet, but lucky for me, my fingers fan over that telltale bulge in his back right pocket on my first go.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him sheepishly, grabbing a cocktail napkin and patting his wet tuxedo shirt where I spilled his beer.
“Cher, feel free to bump into me any time.” My mark flashes a big grin.
“Aren’t you the charmer?” I bat my eyes.
“Guilty as charged.” He winks. “What’s your name?”
As I lean in, my tit bumps his chest. He’s focused on copping a better feel, while I’m focused on sneaking my left hand into his back pocket. “Depends,” I say with a pout, ghosting my fingertips over the edge of his… not a wallet?
“That your wife?” I nod across the ballroom to a random woman, and while his attention is on her, my fingers are lifting the envelope. My eyes remain focused ahead as I drop the score in my open clutch, silently closing the snaps.
“Her?” He turns his attention back to me, taking my hand. “Nah, that’s my second ex-wife. How’d you like to become ex-wife number three?”
That earns a genuine laugh as I extract my hand from his. “Hard pass, but thanks for the offer.”
“What about a favorable prenup to sweeten the deal?” He calls after me.
I walk away with a smile on my face, an envelope in my purse, and his diamond ring in my hand. Disappearing in the crowd, I drop the ring inside my clutch.
Bump and grab a wallet, and then bounce.
That was the plan, except the envelope has thrown me for a loop. It felt heavier than a letter or a bill—God knows I have enough bills of my own—but I don’t want to cut my night short in the event both it and the ring turn out to be a bust. Wouldn’t be the first fake diamond I’ve swiped.
“Excuse me.” That voice has me gritting my teeth.
“Yes?” I turn around to find the officious clipboard woman.
“I’m going to need to see your name tag, my dear.”
“What is the problem?” I huff.
“Oh, there’s no problem. See that gentleman at the bar?” She points to the man I just robbed. “He’s a big donor, and he’s asked for your name,” she whispers conspiratorially with a wink.
“You can tell Mr. Bennett that she’s with me.” The low timbre of a man’s voice has my arms breaking out in goosebumps.
“Yes, Mr. Calvani.” The woman’s cheeks flush for a second time as she scurries away.
I spin around, quickly understanding why the woman was so flustered. Can’t make out everything because of the mask, but the parts I can see, dayum .
Nice square chin with a short and well-manicured beard. Pretty olive complexion. Piercing baby blue eyes. Inky black hair styled to perfection. All this in a tall—I’d say at least six feet—and trim tuxedo-wrapped package.
My eyes flutter up to meet those intense baby blues, and we stand rooted in place, staring at each other. A nervous giggle escapes my lips, and I try to cover it by clearing my throat. “Should I say thank you, or fuck off?”
“Dance with me, and you can decide for yourself.” He extends his hand.
I should be scouting a second mark, but there’s a saying about a bird in the hand, and I find myself accepting this man’s outstretched one. His large hand practically swallows mine whole.
He leads me to the dance floor and gives me a spin, our bodies now pressed close. Doesn’t feel like he has anything in his front pockets, other than a sizable appendage hanging toward the right.
Dayum again.
We lock eyes, and it feels like he’s trying to pry my name from my mind. “Are you always this intense, Mr. Calvani?”
“Seems you’re at an advantage knowing my name,” he muses, giving me another spin.
I spin back around, my left hand landing on his chest. My fingers slip inside his tux, fanning the interior pocket. Empty. “Wouldn’t hurt a man such as yourself to be at a disadvantage every now and then.”
“You think so?” He pulls me close, our bodies practically fused.
Our eyes lock, and I can no longer hear the jazz band over the pounding of my heart. Rising on my tiptoes, we’re now sharing the same breath. “Only one way to find out,” I shock myself by saying.
A growl rumbles low in his chest as his lips crash into mine. It’s not a light, testing-the-waters type of kiss. It’s an all-out domination of my mouth.
The most embarrassing moan escapes my lips, one he eagerly swallows as he flicks his tongue against my bottom lip. I open for him, and his tongue twirls around mine with the obvious intent to own my mouth, and I can’t think of a single argument against it.
My nails rake over his tuxedo-clad chest, needing closer, and he obliges by angling my head, deepening the kiss.
His domination of my mouth continues, and oh my God, the feel of his tongue against mine coupled with his lengthening erection lying heavy against my stomach has me squeezing my legs together.
He pulls back, the pupils of those baby blues having blown out completely. “Shall we continue to test your theory in private?”
My pussy throbs with a resounding yes , that is, until I spot mark number one. Our eyes lock, and his face turns an angry shade of red as he shouts and flails his arms about, shoving his way through the crowd.
Mr. Calvani turns around to see what all the commotion’s about, and I drop his hand, but not before swiping a parting gift as I sprint for the door.
Maybe I shouldn’t judge people who run turkey trots, because I’m already sucking wind.
Reaching the kitchen, my contact pretends not to notice me as I slip out the back. My heel lands in that questionable puddle.
Eww.
That wasn’t rainwater.