39. Marco
Marco
The Preservation Gala is the last place I want to be less than twenty-four hours after Bianca tore my heart from my fucking chest.
I used to laugh at these high-society functions, leaving the diplomatic theater to Dante while I drank myself to death in some seedy strip club.
But things are different now, and growth is a violent process.
Knowing what the Council might be planning for the Argentos, I can no longer afford to slink around in the shadows pretending that continuing to negotiate alliances with the other families isn’t of the utmost importance.
Even if this black tie is choking me.
I loiter at the edge of the Morgan Library’s East Room, a glass of scotch remaining untouched in my grip.
The brutal irony of another library setting is a bitter pill to swallow.
Tonight, Manhattan’s oldest wealth shares the floor with prominent crime families, all hiding behind the banner of historical preservation.
The event is a beautiful lie, providing the perfect cover for bosses to purchase political favors and secure illicit underground deals.
Speaking of beautiful lies…
My throat closes, the low murmuring in the room rising to a roar in my ears as the guests part long enough for me to catch sight of the woman who played me the fool.
My would-be murderess. She stands like a toy soldier at her father’s side, wearing an ugly, too-tight yellow dress and appearing every bit as miserable as I feel.
Good.
I wrench my eyes from Bianca and focus on Genevieve.
Bringing Gen as my plus-one was supposed to provide a buffer against the crowd, but she’s a terrible wing-woman.
Her eyes are glued to the police commissioner’s bachelor son, a man currently spending his evening staring longingly at the Governor’s fine-boned boy.
For sixty agonizing seconds, I grit my teeth and try to ignore Bianca, but my powers of self-control have deteriorated since the woman I loved betrayed me worse than I ever believed possible.
Surrendering to the inevitable, I sweep my gaze across the room again and stiffen.
She’s gone.
“You fucking hypocrite.”
With a startled curse, I pivot to find her a scant few inches away. Her eyes smolder with a brilliant, consuming rage, a mesmerizing fire I used to relish igniting. Before I can speak, she jabs her finger into my sternum and hisses.
“This is what betrayal looks like, Marco. You cut me loose last night, yet you couldn’t even survive a single evening alone.
No, you immediately replaced me with the first available warm body you could find.
I should have known better than to believe a parasite like you was capable of loyalty, let alone love. ”
Her big brown eyes cloud with emotion, but she’d rather die than give me the satisfaction of her tears. I’m still fumbling to respond when she spins on her heel and disappears into the crowd.
I practically fly home, so pissed that I can barely see straight.
How dare she? What right did she have to treat me like some cheating scumbag when what we had was never real to begin with?
I’ve never once lied to her about my intentions or about who I am, but lies are all that seem to come out of Bianca’s mouth.
Ok, sure, so maybe the idea of sleeping with Gen crossed my mind for a second, but only because I wanted relief from this pain Bianca left me with.
But the moment I arrived at her penthouse to collect her for the gala, the desire evaporated.
The mere idea of touching another woman feels sacrilegious.
A sense of wrongness etched deep into my bones.
I’m terrified the memory of my wife’s silken lips and her intoxicating, velvet heat will haunt me to the end of my days.
But so will her betrayal. Power is so important to the Contis that Bianca was willing to kill me for it.
If I want to get back at her for stomping on my heart, what better way to do it than to break every expectation she has of me.
I’ll become a name to be reckoned with in this city instead of one to be mocked, and maybe then she’ll understand that her loyalty should have been with me instead of Aldo all along.
While I attended the gala tonight for business, I realized I might run into Bianca and that seeing me with Gen would hurt her. The darkest part of me wanted to hurt her. I just didn’t account for the amount of pain it could cause.
Or what her suffering would do to me.
Slamming a fist into the steering wheel, I twist the volume button until my music is a punishing beat against my skin. Now, even Gen’s annoyed with me. She stayed behind to mingle but told me in no uncertain terms not to call her again unless I got my shit sorted.
As soon as I pull up to the manor, I storm up the steps to my office, taking them two at a time even as I peel the jacket of my magenta Gucci suit away.
Papà always told me that I have the attention span of a small rodent. I’m not like Dante. I can’t hold on to a grudge for eighty-four years. Despite my best efforts, I can feel myself softening toward Bianca, and I can’t allow that to happen.
The folder from the Library is inside of my desk. I extract it and riffle through page after page of Aldo’s plans. Transcripts of him inside the Conti estate discussing my murder and how he would use his capo to make it appear like an accident.
Bianca is a Conti, the enemy.
She’s always been the enemy.
Chest aching, I head to the kitchen. I want a drink, but I can’t bring myself to return to the bottle.
Getting drunk feels like regressing and losing some battle of wills, so baking it is.
I pull out Dulce’s recipe book, flipping through the pages until I find a pumpkin biscotti I’ve made a dozen times before.
Perfect.
It’ll take a few hours to finish, and I can use up the bag of leftover pumpkin puree from a pie I baked a couple of nights ago. When I retrieve eggs and butter from the refrigerator, the tiramisu doesn’t register immediately.
My brain refuses to comprehend how a dessert expressly forbidden to enter our house would ever find its way into my refrigerator. I slide the glass tray out and gape at the dessert, fresh and ready to serve save for one ingredient.
The cocoa topping.
A generous dusting of cocoa powder and a scattering of chocolate espresso beans are the last steps before slicing into the creamy layers. Sprinkle the topping on too early, and the powder soaks into the mascarpone, clumping it. Whoever stored this was waiting for the right moment.
A dessert to die for, perhaps.
My vision whitens with rage, burning so hot that it obliterates everything else in its path.
Bianca understands just how much my confession about the tiramisu cost me, and I know Livia gave her that vial of powdered poison just days ago. Is this how she planned on killing me? By manipulating the last memory I have of my mother?
This is like the final kick in the teeth, as if Bianca marched up and spit on Dulce’s grave. Tiramisu in hand, I spin on my heel, extracting my cell phone.
This feud with the Contis ends tonight. They’ll never stop, and I’m tired of taking a backseat and waiting for someone else to decide how to run my organization. If Papà or even Dante had dealt with the Contis years ago, I wouldn’t be forced to corral them now.
Maybe this is a mistake, but who cares? It’s time I teach Bianca and the rest of them what happens when they cross me. She’ll see the error of her ways even if I have to stuff this damn dessert down her pretty little throat.