Chapter 5 Francesca
Francesca
“You sounded nice," Bibi's cousin, Piera says. She's only a few years older than me and usually rude, but I smile at the compliment until she adds, "You're lucky you and your mother aren't living on the streets."
"I'd like to toss you into the street," I mutter as she glides away.
This is why I hate attending things like this.
This, and high heels.
“I should’ve broken you bastards in beforehand,” I complain to my shoes. "Then, I could've stomped on Piera's big toe and-"
“Is that spiteful witch why you’re not dancing?” Gia asks, joining me by my chosen wall.
I feel my cheeks growing hot as I nod. She doesn’t realize me lurking at the perimeter has more to do with the fact no man here will ask me to dance than Piera or my shoes. Not that I care. I’m used to either being whispered about or ignored at functions by now.
But uncomfortable shoes at a wedding reception with Carlo Vicini nearby is giving me déjà vu.
Except this time, I’m not stepping on his heel.
I’m watching him twirl my cousin across the dancefloor after the newlyweds have shared their first dance.
Sofia looks like she’s on Cloud Nine in his arms. May he strive to deserve you.
Newspapers and gossip sites are always hungry for new photos of Carlo with whatever model or socialite he has on his arm that week.
Sofia makes excuses, saying it’s merely to reinforce his public image as a legitimate New York executive working for his wealthy father.
Sofia must own the best pair of rose-colored glasses in existence because I know exactly what our men are like.
They think monogamy is a variety of expensive hardwood.
I notice Caterina slipping away toward the ladies’ room in her fairytale perfect wedding dress.
We’ve become very close over the past two years, and I love that she’s officially family today.
I know she’s terrified about tonight with Alessio and the bedding.
I pray my cousin is a better man than the world believes the Reaper to be for her sake.
“We girls get the raw end of the deal without a doubt,” I complain to Gia, thinking of our traditions - the obsession with mafia brides being pure while the grooms have a free pass to sleep around before marriage and even the opportunity to cheat at the Seconda Notte.
“Tell me something I don’t already know,” she replies, bitterly.
“Sorry, Gia.” The fading bruise under her make-up is still visible. Her horrible husband abuses her. I hate it and hate how it reminds me of Da.
“Don’t be sorry. Why don’t you dance with Alessio? I’m sure many men would enjoy dancing with our beautiful songbird once they see she’s not opposed to it.”
I quickly shake my head. “It’s alright. I’m fine here.
” I don’t say as much, but I think that would make my untouchable state feel more awkward - Look, only her kin will dance with her and out of pity at that.
And if I dance with Alessio, it might give Rocco ideas. I don’t want his hands on me at all.
She gives me a sad smile and shrugs. “As you wish then, Frankie.”
Once Gia goes to fetch herself a drink, I decide I might like one, too. Mom’s absent, she’s got to where she can’t take the stares, and everyone else would rather pretend I don’t exist than address the issue of me drinking while underage.
As I’m walking toward the bar, I spy Caterina’s brother Nico arguing with his pregnant wife, Margareta.
Such happy marriages these arranged unions form, I think, sarcastically.
I wonder if my brother Ronan would’ve been engaged to some woman in the Trio by now if he had lived.
But that would’ve meant Da never betraying us.
That would’ve meant an arranged marriage for me as well with either a Trio man or someone from the brG. Neither option sounds appealing.
When the bartender turns his attention toward me, I draw a blank. What’s the cool way to say I want something alcoholic that doesn’t taste terrible? “Umm… I’ll have a-”
“A ginger ale for the young lady. Lagavulin for me,” a man’s deep voice rumbles beside me. The bartender immediately gets to work as the man continues in my ear. “I know you weren’t going to do something so foolish as to order anything stronger, right?”
That damn voice along with those tanned, veiny hands resting on the bar, I’m half tempted to claw his eyes out for being so bossy and making me blush. “And what if I was?” I grit out, facing Carlo Vicini for the first time in three years.
“Then we might revisit the question of the punishment you once posed.”
My entire face catches fire remembering how he forbade me to drink while underage and how I cheekily asked if he was going to spank me if I did. “You… you…” I’m so flustered I can’t even think of a good comeback. “You probably shouldn’t be seen talking to me.”
“Why? Are you wearing a wire?”
He’s joking, but the shitty remark overtakes my better sense. “Of course, I am. The twelve FBI agents I’m currently screwing are listening to our every word.”
“Listening to wiretaps all day is boring work for them, I imagine. Very generous of you to keep them entertained,” he says, playing along and making me angrier.
“Don’t you want to avoid me like everyone else? I’m the filthy daughter of a rat, remember? I’m diseased, unfit for your princely company. I might be contagious.”
Looking around, I see Piera staring at me again, whispering to a friend of hers.
It's not the first time I've been the subject of conversation and condemnation today. Carlo sees them, too, before he tilts his head to the side, coolly studying me as he did years ago while I fight the stupid urge to cry. Why would I say all that nonsense to him? He doesn’t care. No more than he cared when Mom begged him for my brother’s life.
“Is that how they make you feel?” he asks quietly, stepping closer to block Piera and her friend from my view.
I shake my head, willing my chin to stop trembling. “No one makes me feel any way at all. I don’t care about any of them except my cousins. Well, not Rocco but the others. Soon, I’ll be free of these horrible people and live like a normal person.”
“Is that so?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, cursing my big mouth.
That sounds like I’m the one joining the Witness Protection Program.
“I meant I want to go to school for the performing arts. I want… Never mind what I want. Forget I opened my mouth.” My audition at Juilliard is my best chance to escape.
Mom has an old friend who lined it up after hearing my recording.
My family knows about it and has agreed to let me try out, but it’s not something we’ve discussed with anyone else.
“I’m afraid it’s impossible to forget anything when you open that mouth of yours. Shall we discuss this more during our dance?”
“Our dance?”
“Sì,” he replies, picking up his glass and gesturing for me to do the same.
Once I lift my drink, he clinks his against mine.
“To your lovely voice, Bellissima Sirena.” He kisses his fingers to punctuate his toast, and those idiotic butterflies have invaded my belly again.
Why do I respond to him like this? He’s the one who’s a siren. Or the devil.
“We can’t dance. You’re engaged to my cousin.”
“Despite your twelve boring lovers at the Bureau, it seems you have some mistaken notions regarding what dancing entails. Come.”
Without waiting for my reply, he takes my hand. Part of me wants to resist, but I'll admit I enjoy how Piera and her friend's eyes grow wide as saucers when they see Carlo escorting me toward the dancefloor. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at them. Barely.
All thoughts of those girls vanish when Carlo turns suddenly, chasing the breath from my body as he tugs me closer.
God, he smells incredible. I’ve grown, but he’s still much taller than me.
How old is he now? Twenty-four? I hate how he can still make me feel childish when he aggravates me.
I hate that I find him so damn attractive.
His hand at my waist is already too much, the way his thumb slowly moves in a circular pattern through the fabric of my dress.
When his other hand settles on my bare back where it leaves me uncovered, it feels like he’s branding me.
My poor heart thump-thumps in my chest as we begin to sway.
No wonder Sofia wears her rose-colored glasses.
He’s too dreamy for any girl’s logic to win out.
“I like your hair up,” Carlo comments. I curse myself for blushing and immediately take it down out of spite. As I’m slipping the silver hair tie around my wrist, he starts chuckling. “I like it down even more.”
“I was only wearing this for luck. When I perform in front of others, I always wear my… never mind.” My blush deepens over sharing my silly superstition.
"What is that fragrance you wear?" He inhales deeply. What sort of game is he playing? Sofia is right over there, dancing with Caterina’s other brother, Dante.
“I get the next dance," Rocco says, interrupting us. I squirm at the thought of Rocco's hands on me.
"You're not my type," Carlo quips, and I can't help laughing.
Rocco glowers at us both. "I meant I want to dance with my pretty cousin."
“No, now fuck off."
Carlo pulls me closer, pushing the envelope of what's proper before he gracefully whirls me away. "You made him angry," I say.
“I'm terrified," he deadpans.
"No, you're not, but I live with him."
"Has he ever threatened you, Francesca?"
His fierce, predatory expression has me quickly shaking my head. "No, no! He's just… annoying." Even if it's more than that, it's not Carlo's problem. “We should stop dancing now. People are staring.”
He shakes his head, drawing his face dangerously close to mine. “Let. Them. Stare.”
I shiver in response. He’s a spellcaster, nothing but trouble, and so much more than I’m equipped to handle. I should flee while I still can.
But before I get the chance, the ballroom erupts with gunfire.