Chapter 2
2
VALENTINA
I ’m in my vanity room, getting ready for the party. With the soft light illuminating the large room, I watch Violette through the mirror as she sifts through my jewelry. She has six different pieces on the glass counter in the middle of the room.
Her eyes filter to mine in the mirror when I speak up. “You want to know what Nonna wanted to talk to me about?” Her face reveals nothing as she watches me before she nods. “She told me that Dad will announce in his speech that I am engaged to Nicholas Guerrero.”
Violette’s blonde eyebrows scrunch up and she shakes her head, as if in denial.
“Do you mean the man people refer to as the Scorpion?” she asks. My lips press together as I nod. She rounds the table and makes her way toward me.
“That can’t be right. We hate the Colombian cartels. Dad was complaining that they're trying to rip the Outfit off,” she argues from behind me. I grimly watch Violette as she looks at me with her eyes wide, gripping my shoulders.
“I guess they’ve come to an agreement.” I shrug her off and get up, grabbing my clutch before heading to the door. Violette rushes after me, and we walk side by side as we make our way to the grand staircase. We can hear Nonna screaming at some of the staff down there as we head down the stairs, our heels clicking against the marble. I grip the hard wood railing, biting the inside of my cheeks. Nonna is standing at the end of the stairs with Monica, Mom, and Marcello.
“Took you girls long enough. Come on, your Dad is in the car.” When we reach the final step, Nonna moves to the doors the butler opens for us, her cane loudly tapping against the floor. She mutters under her breath about our incompetence.
Dad doesn’t comment on our tardiness when we slip into the limo, as he’s busy typing on his phone. Our estate’s gold gates open as the limo drives through, and the tinted windows stop the flashing lights of the paparazzi cameras from irritating our eyes.
“They seem to love you, girls,” Mom teases, as if she doesn’t already know the reason the paparazzi are obsessed with our family. I turn my face to look at her sitting across from me in the limo.
She has a soft smile on her lips, which are painted a pink nude, her blonde hair done in an elegant updo. Her green eyes stand out tonight with her wearing a sage-colored cocktail dress.
Violette leans over and whispers to her, “Mama, they’re just a nuisance at this point. All they do is ask us outrageous questions to get a reaction.” Mom raises one blonde eyebrow while looking in my sister's direction.
Nonna turns to look at Violette as well, her eyes narrow and her lips set into a line. Instead of saying anything, she decides to grab a glass of scotch and mutter something in Italian under her breath.
“Violette, how’s school been? How’s your piano lessons going?” My mom, of course, takes the opportunity to change the subject to see if she can get Violette to open up.
Violette sighs and answers with a curt, “School’s fine.” She doesn’t like to talk about her piano progression, never does. I don’t understand why, because the last time we went to one of her performances, she’d been amazing.
Mom turns her head to Monica, who’s sitting next to her. “Mon, sweetie. How’s school been? Are you enjoying your ballet class?” Monica stops typing on her phone to look at Mom and nods. She isn’t much of a talker, ever since we were little kids, at least not after the incident.
Mom and Violette engage in some sort of conversation having to do with who’s going to be coming to the engagement party, but I tune them out, instead opting to look outside. The limo is going too fast to focus on anything to admire, but when we reach a red light, I can see that it is raining, and Chicago looks magnificent in the rain. Soon enough, the limo comes to a halt in front of the grand entrance of the club. Security lines each side of the door, and the driver, Dustin, opens the limo door for Dad. I know without looking that both my hands are shaking. I inhale deeply through my nose and fist my dress. 1, 2, 3.
As I open my eyes, the corners of my mouth pin up in a dazzling smile, and I step out of the limo. “Thank you, Dustin,” I whisper, low enough for him to hear, but I don’t turn to look at him. The paparazzi are here as well, all standing behind where security is holding them. There’s double the amount compared to when we left our house, but I focus my vision ahead. Violette and I link our arms and the flashing of the cameras intensifies.
“Stay calm. You’re the Bellissima Moretti. Remember that,” Violette whispers in my ear while we both maintain the charade. Bellissima Moretti. Of course they’d give me such a dramatic name. What did I expect from the tabloids? The walk is short; we reach the gold-rimmed black doors in two minutes, but it would have been quicker if it wasn’t for the stupid paparazzi. Nonna and the rest are walking behind Dad, and we trail after them, our heels clicking on the wet sidewalk. The guards hold the doors open for us and close them after we walk in.
Inside, a long hallway is ahead of us, with an empty round reception desk to our right. The red carpet muffles the sound of our shoes as we make our way toward the grand cream-colored doors at the end of the hallway. On the black, gold-accented walls are images of all the past Capos, all in their prime. Dad turns to us and gives us all a warning glare before walking down the hallway to the two large doors, an attendant on both sides to open them for us.
As soon as I reach the top step of the long stairs, I spot Mia in a cream dress, talking to her Dad and stepmom. I can also see my aunt and cousin standing off to the side, away from my Dad’s side of the family. The floor is made of a deep brown wood and tables and chairs are scattered around the room, a cream linen fabric covering them. A large diamond chandelier in the middle of the ceiling illuminates the entire hall.
“Ugh, I don’t understand what you like about her. She’s quite dull, in my opinion.” Violette seems to have spotted Mia as well. I laugh quietly at her absolute refusal to admit that Mia is usually the life of any party. The place falls quiet as everyone’s attention turns to us.
Once we reach the last step, Dad says, “Welcome, everyone, please enjoy the festivities and have a great time.”
After everyone returns to their conversations, Mia decides to head our way. She has a soft smile, which she directs at everyone who tries to stop her on her way to us. And it’s quite a lot of people. I can see that Nicolette and Aunt Belinda are also making their way over. Nicolette is in a vibrant purple dress, her long brown curls up into a twisted bun, while my aunt is wearing an off-the-shoulder, long azure dress that matches her eyes.
“Val, I’ve missed you. It’s been so long,” Mia says as soon as she reaches us and pulls me into a bear hug, making me laugh into her silver bob. I inhale her musky vanilla perfume she loves to wear. “Violette, I see you’ve grown taller.” Her eyes take in Violette, a mischievous gleam entering them. Mia is still at least two inches taller than Violette. She gives her a fake smile that Mia returns.
“And I see you’re still unaware of how to greet another person.” Violette loves to comment on Mia’s lack of adherence to our society’s rules. Mia ignores the jab and turns her attention back to me. It’s all soon forgotten when Nicolette joins us.
“Hey, girls. I’ve missed you all so much.” Nicolette pulls us all into a hug, her arm around my neck as I laugh into her soft curls.
“I’ve missed you more, cuz,” I mumble. She pulls back, and I look around to see where my aunt has gone, when I spot her with my mom, both laughing together.
“Hey, Nikki, how have you been?” Mia asks, and I turn back to the girls. Nicolette shrugs her shoulders and scrunches her freckled nose.
“Shit. England isn’t as much fun as it used to be.” Nicolette and my aunt both live in England with her Jamaican dad.
“So, I’m guessing the English boys aren’t as charming as I thought they would be,” I tease her.
“Hell no. They all act like having their pants sagging like a diaper looks good.” Nikki huffs out an amused laugh, her ocean-colored eyes twinkling.
My nose wrinkles at the image, and I can’t help but say, “Don’t worry, Nikki, I’ve seen some of the men in Chicago do the same exact thing.” She pushes a curl out of her face, her tan skin lighter this time of year.
“Don’t act like the little French boys you date are any better, Mia.” Lottie gives Mia a blank stare before she stares at her baby pink nails. Mia’s lips curl as she sends Violette a condescending smile.
“Drop the superiority act, Violette. No one fucking buys it or cares for it.” Mia doesn’t wait for Violette to answer her as she loops her right arm through my left one. She drags me toward the tables that are set to face the stage, where Dad will be giving a speech. Nicolette stays behind with Violette, and I try to look back to catch a glimpse of them, but make out nothing, since everyone is trying to get to their seats as my dad walks onto the stage.
Mia and I settle into our seats, when finally, both Lottie and Nikki sit opposite ours. The table only holds four people, so Monica is sat with Mom and Aunt Belinda. Dad taps the mic placed on the stage. The chandelier light dims, and the room falls into shadows as the lights on the stage remain the brightest. His face breaks out into his signature hyena smile before he begins.
“We all know why we are here today, I’m sure.” Some people in the crowd clap, while some of the others whistle. “For that reason, I’ll make this short and sweet. Today is not only to celebrate the thirtieth year of me being Capo of the Outfit, but today is also a very special day for one of my daughters.” Everyone holds their breath, and so do I, a lead ball forming in my stomach.
I can make out some people whispering, wondering who he is talking about. “Today, we have decided to announce the engagement of my eldest daughter, Valentina, to Nicholas Guerrero, from the Guerrero clan.” Dad has a broad, pleased smile as he stares at me.
Mia’s hand encircles my forearm as she whispers, “What the fuck did he just say?”
Cheers and howls break out from the men, and I continue to stare ahead at my Dad, even as he surveys the cheering crowd. Bile rises and I have to push it down. Once Dad has finished the rest of his speech, he moves away from the stage and toward his business partners, Marcello trailing behind him as the lights turn back on. Mia and Nicolette both exchange looks before Mia looks at me.
“Did you know about this?” she asks, and I nod, my lips set in a grim line. “What the fuck? How could he just give you away to a man known to have killed for the first time before he could even form a memory?” She sounds exasperated. I shrug, staring at the now empty stage.
“Val! Say something. You can’t seriously just accept that,” Mia demands, and I turn my head sharply, facing her.
“What the fuck do you want me to do? Mia, you know I can’t do anything. Dad won’t tolerate disobedience,” I say in a rush before I throw my clutch on the table.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I mutter, then storm toward one of the waitstaff.
“Excuse me, do you know where the restrooms are?” I ask a young man who’s in uniform, and he tells me that it’s outside, in a corridor off to the receptionist’s desk. I thank him before making my way up the stairs and out the doors. There is only one corridor near the receptionist’s desk, and it has low lighting, creating an intimate mood. Entering the restroom, the floors were black-and-white marble and there were mirrors lining the right wall with toilets opposite. At least the restroom is well lit, unlike the corridor.
I walk up to the mirrors to look at how well my makeup has held up. It seems fine. My red lipstick is still perfectly done, and the light coral blush hasn’t faded. I just need to touch up the powder around my nose and forehead. Opening my clutch, I take out the Dior powder, dabbing it all over my face. I check my hair next, still in natural waves and hasn’t started frizzing. As I run both my palms down my black dress, I look like the perfect image of the woman I’ve curated over the years, but I feel tired. Exhausted even.
I turn to leave the restroom, but the door opens before I reach it and a large man in a suit steps inside. He’s tall and fills the space with his large frame, his dark hair pushed back. My neck arches as I look up to maintain eye contact with him as he steps in farther.
“Um…sir, this is the women's restroom. The men’s is down the corridor,” I explain to him, but he looks at me like I am the one in the wrong place. I raise an eyebrow as his razor-sharp blue eyes assess me, cold and calculated, some malice glinting in them. When his full lips twist into a humorless smile, two dimples wink at me from his slightly stubbled cheeks. He is death personified and the devil in disguise. I’m frozen in place as his tattooed hand slips into his suit jacket, pulling out a phone before he brings it up to his ear. The dark ink swirls peek through the top of his black dress shirt, a constellation of stars donning his neck.
Swallowing past my unease, I scowl at him and say, “If you’re one of my dad’s bodyguards, you need to wait outside, not in here.” He doesn’t reply, only gives me a twisted smile.
I’m nervous, but I won’t let him see that. I can see that both his hands are also littered with tattoos, an anchor on his middle finger with the chains wrapping upwards and two scorpions on both sides of a snake's head. “Target secured.” His voice is like whiskey and sin. The daunting realization prickles my skin, and my chest constricts with panic. All of a sudden, the light in the restroom goes out, and dread and realization seeps into my bones. He’s not one of Dad’s bodyguards. He’s the enemy.