1. Elena #3
He turns and walks away before I can respond, cutting through the crowd with long strides. I stand there in the middle of the dance floor, suddenly aware of how many people are watching me. My face is burning, my hands trembling slightly.
What just happened?
I force myself to walk back to where Gabriella and the others are waiting with expressions of shock and barely concealed glee. "Oh my God," Sofia breathes. "What did you say to him?"
"Nothing," I bite out. "I didn't say anything."
But that's not true, is it? I said exactly what I was thinking, and he heard every word beneath the polite veneer. He saw right through me, saw the disdain I was trying to hide, and called me out on it.
And the worst part is that he was right. I was looking at him like he didn't belong. Like he was beneath me.
Because he is, isn't he? He's not one of us. He doesn't have the breeding, the education, the legacy. He's an outsider who stumbled into power through luck, not even violence, and he'll never truly be part of this world, no matter how many suits he buys or how many parties he attends.
So why do I feel like I'm the one who just made a mistake?
A gracious hostess wouldn't have said any of those things. That was my mistake. I stopped playing the game for a few minutes, because something about him made me want to say exactly what I thought and felt.
In this world, that's almost always a mistake.
I watch him across the room as he retrieves his coat from the attendant near the door. He doesn't look back and acknowledge me or anyone else. He just leaves, and I'm left standing with my 'friends,' with the ghost of his touch still burning on my waist and his words echoing in my head.
Where I come from, if someone has a problem with you, they say it to your face.
Well, that's what I did, didn't I?
I take a shaky breath and reach for another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. The bubbles taste bitter on my tongue.
"Well," Gabriella says, her voice bright with barely suppressed laughter. "That was certainly interesting."
"It was nothing." I drain half the glass in one swallow. "He's just... sensitive. And he doesn't belong here. You all said it yourselves."
"We said it to each other," Sofia points out. "Did you say it to his face?"
I finish my champagne and set the empty glass down on a nearby table with more force than necessary. "I need some air."
I don't wait for their response. I just walk away, heading for the French doors that lead out to the terrace. The cool night air hits my face and I breathe it in gratefully, trying to clear my head.
The terrace overlooks the gardens, which are lit with strategically placed lights that make the hedges and flower beds look like something out of a fairy tale. It's beautiful, perfect. Everything in its place, everything exactly as it should be.
So why do I feel so unsettled?
I lean against the railing, the stone cold beneath my palms. Inside, the party continues without me. The music plays, the guests laugh and drink and dance, and no one notices that I'm gone. Or if they do, they don't care.
This is my world. This is where I belong. These people, this house, this life—it's all I've ever known, all I've ever wanted. And all I want from my life going forward is for as little to change as possible.
Isn't it?
I close my eyes and see Declan Murphy's face. Those hard, knowing green eyes. That rough voice saying things no one else would dare say to me. The way he looked at me like he could see past the expensive dress and the diamond bracelet and the carefully constructed facade.
It was unsettling. Uncomfortable. Thrilling.
No. I shake my head, pushing the thought away.
I'm not interested in Declan Murphy. He's crude and rough and completely unsuitable.
He doesn't understand our world or the rules we live by.
He's dangerous, and not just because of the violence he's capable of, but also because of the way he makes me feel.
And the fact that he plays by none of the rules.
I open my eyes and stare out at the gardens, the carefully manicured perfection of it all.
And for the first time in my life, I wonder what it would be like to step outside the lines.
To do something unexpected, be someone other than Elena Capetti, the perfect mafia princess who always says the right thing and never makes waves.
But that's ridiculous. I am Elena Capetti. This is who I am, who I've always been. And Declan Murphy is just a man who got lucky and stumbled into power he doesn't deserve and will probably lose just as quickly.
Stop it, I tell myself firmly. Stop thinking about him.
I take one last breath of cool air, then turn and walk back inside. The party is still going strong, and I have a role to play. The perfect hostess, the dutiful daughter—a woman who belongs in this world of crystal and silk and carefully orchestrated lies.
I can do this. I've been doing it my whole life.
And as long as I keep doing it, I can remain as happy as it's possible to be, and nothing has to change.