Chapter 1 #2
The scent of floral perfume and spicy cologne surrounds me as I shake hands and hug the family and friends that have gathered here for me. It’s nice to see everyone happy for a change.
Through the sea of people, I spy my sister Ginevra, Gigi for short, laughing at the bar with a man.
I stop short.
Who the fuck is that?
I don’t know him.
How the hell did he get in?
This is a private invite-only event.
“Gigi and her obsession with men,” I mutter.
Weaving through the crowd, I make my way to the bar. Gigi’s wild chestnut curls bounce as she places her hand on the man’s wrist and leans into him. Her emerald eyes sparkle with lust.
Gag me!
That’s typical of Gigi though.
Always falling in love with whatever man gives her the time of day.
But then again she’s barely twenty-two and by the grace of god has avoided the poison of this lifestyle that courses through my veins.
I’d rather she reap the benefits of happiness and peace, while I get put through hell.
Walking over to her, I wedge my fingers into the back of her strapless green gown, pulling her back slightly so I can wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“Enjoying yourself, sis?”
Gigi squeals and hugs me. “Yes, Cipi. You always throw the best parties.”
I glare at the man she’s entertaining. His black hair is slicked back and his fallow-colored eyes meet my gaze. His expensive black suit is tailored to highlight his defined chest and arms. A high-end watch, chain, and diamond stud in the right earlobe complete his look.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” I extend my hand and he shakes it with a firm grip.
“This is Elio Toma,” Gigi informs me before he can open his mouth. She grabs his arm pulling him closer to her. “He’s Madeline’s grandson.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Cipriani Capuano,” Elio finds his voice.
“You too,” I reply.
“Elio, would you be a doll and grab me a refill.” Gigi hands him her glass.
Nodding, Elio takes it and turns to the bartender.
Gigi smoothes her dress, then straightens to face me as if she knows what I’m going to say. “It’s fine, Cipi,” she reassures me. I can see she’s holding back the urge to roll her eyes.
“I didn’t approve his invitation and I know he’s not on the list,” I hiss.
“He’s Madeline’s grandson,” Gigi repeats. “Madeline is one of the top investors in your nightclub. He’s practically family.”
Brushing a curl behind my sister’s ear, I whisper. “Watch yourself, don’t trust anyone.”
She sighs. “Yes, Cipi.”
I can’t lie, Elio is annoyingly easy on the eyes. Prominent nose, architectural cheekbones, jaw dusted with permanent stubble, he’s the kind of man who commands attention without trying.
My brain makes a mental note to have Bruno do a full background check on Elio.
A woman in my position can’t trust anyone.
And unfortunately it makes me a terror in my family members’ dating lives.
Everyone must be approved by me.
I hate it, but I can’t afford any more funerals.
Elio returns and I politely excuse myself.
Scanning the room, frustration wells in my chest.
Where is Lucia?
My hand wraps around a glass of champagne offered by a passing server. I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip, savoring the sweet chill on my tongue.
She should be here. It’s my birthday party.
Lucia is my closest ally and best friend. She’s my shadow who watches my back. She wouldn’t miss my party.
The bright mellow tune of the piano fills my ears, and I look across the room to see Salvatore Moretti, my consigliere, conversing with two men. My heels click across the marble as I make my way to the grand piano.
As I get closer, I realize the man tinkering with the keys is one of our business liaisons from New York, and the one standing next to him is from Napoli, Italy. Salvatore takes a swig of his drink and whispers something to the men. They straighten and slightly bow when they catch sight of me.
“Buonasera, Regina.” They nod to me as I place my half-filled glass on top of the piano.
“Buonasera, gentlemen. I need a moment with Salvatore.”
The men smile and disappear into the crowd.
“What’s wrong, Boss?” Salvatore takes another swig of his Bourbon.
“Where is Lucia? I haven’t seen her all night.”
Salvatore checks his watch. “She said she would be late. She had to go to the warehouse. The new shipment of tables is being delivered for the club.”
My jaw tenses. “She has to do that now? I thought they were coming tomorrow.”
“The driver called and said they would be arriving earlier than expected.”
I scowl. “Grazie, I’ll call her.”
We both know there is more than tables in those crates.
Wedging myself in a corner next to a parlor palm, I pull out my phone. I FaceTime Lucia, but she doesn’t answer.
Hitting redial, I scan the room. The bartender is doling out drinks, some people are dancing while others are playing poker at a table nearby.
I see Matteo raking in chips, he seems to be in a better mood.
The music from the DJ gets louder and everyone is either eating or clinking crystal glasses in celebration.
“Come on, Lucia, pick up,” I murmur. She doesn’t answer the second time and I groan. Reaching through the slit in my dress, I pull out the burner phone from the thigh holster, and call my Columbian plug.
“Hello, Angel, me dijiste que el regalo estaría aquí manana, ?verdad?” I grip the flip phone tighter. “The gift is coming tomorrow, right?”
“Sí, Jefe, yes.” His gruff voice replies.
“There is no delivery tonight?” I repeat.
“No, Jefe.”
“Ok, grazie.” Closing the phone with one hand, I shove it back into the holster.
What the hell is Salvatore talking about?
Opening the text message on my main phone, I send her an angry message telling her to get her ass here asap. I want my best friend here with me.
Then I send a quick message to Bruno telling him to do an immediate background check on Elio while he is patrolling the grounds.
“Cipriani, che fai? What are you doing?”
Jerking my head, I see Nonna standing in front of me.
“Mamma mia, it’s your birthday and you’re hiding in a plant?” She moves the palm leaves aside so I can step out.
“I was trying to call Lucia,” I confess. “She should be here.”
“She’ll be here. She’s your best friend,” Nonna replies firmly. “You know I find it funny how your sister has someone at this party, but you don’t.”
“Nonna, I’m running an empire,” I hiss, adjusting my dress.
Nonna is barely 4’11”, but she’s a plump firecracker with a spine forged in Napoli’s sun-soaked grit and old country tradition. Her thick gray hair is pinned into a neat bun wrapped in a silk scarf that matches her yellow gown.
“I know it’s your birthday, Bella, but did you see all the handsome men here tonight?
” She gestures toward the dance floor. “Would it kill you to entertain the idea of having a man by your side? I would love to see my great-grandchildren before I die. When I was thirty-five, I was celebrating my fifteen year anniversary and raising five children.”
“Nonna, you didn’t have to run an empire,” I groan.
“I stood by your Nonno’s side for years and helped run this establishment before your father took charge.”
Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I reply, “At some point I’ll entertain a man, but right now I need to eat.” I give her a quick hug and inhale her scent of fresh basil and espresso before bolting to the buffet table.
Oh, Nonna, such a drama queen.
I pause at the elaborate display of Italian cuisine that sits in hot chafing dishes.
My stomach growls. Nonna and my mother spent all day in the kitchen cooking my favorite dishes.
Even though they hired servers, they insisted on making all the food themselves, and I’m determined to sink my teeth into all of it.
Snatching up a plate, I make my way down the line, piling every kind of pasta, eggplant parmigiana, and chicken cutlets on my plate. Stabbing my fork into the pile of delicious goodness, I raise it to my lips.
“Cipi, there you are.”
My mother Valentina Capuano glides toward me, looking elegant in her navy satin gown.
“Yes, Mother?” I shovel pasta into my mouth. I know she’s going to ask me for something, but I need food.
Mother adjusts the jewel hairpiece fastened into her chignon. “It’s time for our guest of honor to make a toast, don’t you think?” She places a hand on my shoulder and kisses my cheek. I get a whiff of her jasmine perfume.
“I’m getting to it,” I reply through bites of pasta. “I need to eat something, I’m starving.”
“Oh, honey, it would be much more elegant if you would just sit at one of the tables instead of standing here shoveling food in your mouth.”
“I know, I know.”
“Ever since you were a baby, you loved to eat. Your father would have never approved of this behavior.”
“He would be standing here with me eating and you know it.”
Mother chuckles, “God, I miss him.”
“Me too.”
She reaches over and takes a piece of bruschetta off my plate and eats it.
We stand in silence, watching the people in the ballroom.
The mention of father triggers unspoken grief and sadness between us.
He had died way too young and way too soon.
People in our profession would think he got iced, but it was a heart attack that did him in.
“I’ll do the toast in a few minutes.” I take another bite of pasta.
My mother clears her throat. “Keep an eye on that man near Ginevra. He seems too smug for his own good.”
“Why is he even here?”
“I’m afraid that’s my doing. When Madeline asked me if he could attend, I didn’t think anything of it.” She leans closer. “I thought he was a nerd. I didn’t know he would be a cocky frat boy.”
“I’m on it. I got Bruno doing a background check as we speak.”
Her lips curve into a pleased smirk. “That’s my girl.” She pats me on the arm. Then she takes the plate out of my hand. “I think in addition to your toast it would be a good time to sing happy birthday. I’m sure everyone will want cake.”
At that moment, Matteo’s voice booms through the microphone. “Cipriani, please come to the cake table now.”