Chapter 10
Lucio
I adjust my cufflinks before killing the engine and stepping out of my car. The evening air is thick with the last golden hues of sunset, and the townhouse of the Hoffmans looms before me—ornate, the kind of place that screams, “Look at me. I’m rich and powerful.”
My shoes tap against the pavement as I approach, the wrought-iron fence casting long, curling shadows in the dimming light.
I quickly knock on the door, three steady and loud taps.
Footsteps scurry from the other side of the door before it swings open and I’m met by a man in a tailcoat, bowtie, and gloves.
He gives me a nod before gesturing for me to come in, and I have to smother my smirk with my palm.
As I step into the warm glow of the hall, I’m met with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and an oil painting of some dead ancestor staring me down like he already knows what I am.
Dana’s father is first to greet me. Ernie Hoffman: CEO, politician, and puppet master.
The kind of man who only cares for prestige, money, and power.
It’s the only reason he’s allowed me to take his daughter to the charity ball that the Maronis are holding for some sort of environmental organization.
He gives me a tight-lipped smile, his bald head gleaming under the light of the chandeliers.
“Lucio.” His voice reminds me of nails on a chalkboard. “Welcome.”
“Mr. Hoffman.” I take his outstretched hand, squeezing it tightly. He winces, and I have to hide my smile. “Appreciate you allowing me to take your daughter out.”
He chuckles. “How could I refuse the younger brother of a dear friend and business partner?”
And there it is. That tone. I know that tone.
I’ve memorized it. The greedy fucker wants me to talk to Emiliano about doing business with him.
Hell will freeze over before that happens.
Ernie Hoffman is known to kill businesses, not start them.
The only reason this fucker is still rich is because of his younger brothers and their generational wealth.
Dana is right on cue, appearing at the top of the grand staircase. Her hand glides over the rail.
“This is a surprise.” She offers me a practiced smile. “I thought you were going to send a car.”
She’s in a long off-the-shoulder emerald dress, fitted as if she was sewn into it. A perfect fucking doll. Beautiful, poised, but empty behind the eyes.
“And where’s the fun in that?” I play along with her coyness.
I hate it, but I don’t have the time to piss off even more people. Dana has one role, and one role only. To see if my little mouse is out to play today, or if she’ll hide. She just doesn’t know it.
She offers her hand to me, and I take it, grazing my lips over the tops of her knuckles.
Her mother comes down the stairs in a style I can only compare to Jackie Kennedy’s. Elegant, poised. She’s definitely a MILF.
Her brows raise just a hair’s breadth before she says, “Don’t keep our daughter out too late. Have her home by twelve.”
“Mama.” Dana turns to her, and something silent passes between them.
“I’ll have Cinderella home by eleven,” I joke.
Ernie and Dana both crack a smile. Her ma, on the other hand, keeps a straight, stern face.
Dana puts on a light shawl around her shoulders and we head out to my car.
I play the gentleman, opening the passenger door for her before sliding into the driver’s seat.
The car engine purrs alive, and the drive to the ball is smooth, but we both remain silent.
She knows the reason I asked her to be my date wasn’t because I’m interested in her, and I know she didn’t agree because she’s interested in me.
We both have an agenda; I know hers, but she doesn’t know mine.
We pull up to the entrance of the venue, a masterpiece of elegance bathed in golden light. The grand hotel stands tall, its facade illuminated like a beacon against the night, each window glowing with quiet opulence, every hedge perfectly trimmed.
The moment is shattered as soon as the car comes to halt. Flashes explode like gunfire. A crush of photographers surges forward, calling my name, shouting questions and provocations, hungry for another headline.
Lucio Folonari smashes another photographer’s nose.
The valet barely gets the door open before they descend, lenses clicking, voices overlapping. I step first, adjusting my suit jacket with a slow, deliberate ease—trying to appear unbothered, but the tic in my jaw has picked up and won’t settle till I’ve smashed one of these fuckers’ faces in.
But the attention shifts. Dana steps out, and the cameras roar anew, their attention splitting between us as they try to capture every angle, every glance.
She laces her fingers through mine, a graceful smile touching her lips as she maintains eye contact with me.
She’s a natural. She was made for this, and she knows it.
We move through the chaos, past the fountain where water glows a soft, ethereal blue, through the garden path lined with perfectly pruned hedges.
The hotel looms ahead, a sanctuary behind its towering doors.
But I know better—there’s no escape. Not tonight.
I’m going to have to deal with people’s bullshit all night, with one of the least interesting women on my arm.
Inside, the ball is a sea of wealth: assholes in black tuxedos, women in floor-length gowns dripping in diamonds. The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey clings to the air.
And then I see them: Emiliano, Romiro, Matteo, and Dominico.
They stand near the bar, each with a drink in hand, and their attention shifts to me and my date the second we step inside.
The weight of Emiliano’s stare is a silent command, dragging me across the room before I even have a chance to take a drink.
Dana and I move toward them, avoiding conversations with familiar faces, giving them tight-lipped smiles and head nods.
Dana lingers nearby, greeting friends, unaware of the tension between my brother and me.
“You’re late,” he mutters, swirling his drink.
I grab a glass of my own from the bartender. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”
He exhales through his nose, his patience wearing thin. Romiro, Matteo, and Dom avoid my gaze as they mutter between each other.
“You thought it was a good idea to bring the Hoffman girl after the bloodbath that took place the other day?” His gaze flicks toward Dana.
I shrug, taking a slow sip. “I don’t really care. Besides, it’s not like whoever did what they did will strike again.”
Dominico speaks up this time. “Quit fucking around, Lucio. Try not to piss off everyone in the room. We’re all tired of cleaning up after you.”
I smirk. “I see the irony is lost on you, cugino.”
He lifts a brow as if challenging me to carry on.
“You’re the one who’s been drinking like you’re trying to resurrect your dead wife in the bottom of a bottle. Hate to break it to you, but she’s not there.”
Dom lunges for me, his glass shattering on the floor. He grabs me by the collars, his ugly mug twisting in rage.
“You talk about my fucking wife again and I won’t hesitate to kill you myself, cugino .”
“Get a grip,” Emiliano hisses. “The both of you. Dom, let him go.”
Romiro pulls Dom off me, while Eli turns to me.
“And you, ” he spits out. “Go dance with your date or sit at the table. And stop acting like a fucking child.”
My grip tightens on my glass; I can feel it almost snap under the pressure. I down the drink before setting it on the bar with a thud and walking off. Dana’s smile is tight; she watches as I approach her.
I take her hand and say to the women she’s talking to, “Excuse me ladies. I’m stealing my date for a dance.”
I don’t wait for their response as I drag Dana onto the dance floor.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers under her breath as she smooths her palms over my back.
Leaning in close, I whisper, “Nothing. Just wanted to dance.”
She doesn’t argue, just like I expected when I asked her out. Dana’s a pretty girl. Big expressive eyes, plump pink lips, and an angelic demeanor. The exact opposite of my type.
Just as the dance is wrapping up, I feel it. That unmistakable feeling. The way it crawls up the back of my neck and settles into my bones like an unshakeable chill.
Someone’s watching me, and I know exactly who it is.
She’s here. My mouse came to play.
And she’ll get what she came for.