by Keri Lake
“’The fuck? Are you fucking nuts? Tell me you’re fucking playing right now, because no way a man comes into another man’s territory, sits down at his table, and confesses to killing his family. You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”
“I’m probably a little unstable. But that’s not really my excuse. The truth is, it was bound to happen eventually. And might I add, Franco threatened me on your behalf. I’m certain I’m not the first.”
As Stefano lurches forward, Vincent sets his hand on his son’s arm to settle him. “What did you do?”
“Cut his tongue out first.”
“I oughta have my men gun you down where you sit, you crazy piece of shit.”
Wouldn’t surprise me if Stefano opened his mouth to expel a cloud of dust, as much as he’s grinding his teeth.
“I suppose you’ll have to ask yourself, was Franco worth almost seven-million dollars alive?”
Stefano slams his mouth shut, rolling his head against his shoulders in a piss poor attempt to calm his anger.
“You’re right. He was bound to get himself in trouble. If not you, then someone else.” Vincent takes another drag of his cigarette and blows it off to the side. “Little prick had a mouth the size of Massachusetts.”
Stefano snaps his gaze toward Vincent. “Pop. He was family.”
Vincent waves his hand in dismissal. “My brother’s son. Half Irish.”
As I said, so much for family. I could’ve probably offered half the amount, and they’d have come up with a reason Franco wasn’t worth the retaliation.
“All I gotta say is, if that shipment ain’t at port tomorrow morning, all hell is gonna break loose.” Stefano has a funny way of going about negotiations, reminds me of a pitbull with a set of false teeth. If it wasn’t for his father’s leash, he’d have been put down already.
Hell isn’t going to break loose. Not when I’m already running the ship and the crew.
I push up from the table again and step aside to let Rand out. I’m sure the guy is about one breath away from a stroke, after this meeting. “I said I was crazy. I didn’t say I was stupid. We have a deal, gentlemen?” Stretching my hand toward him, I wait for Stefano to shake it. It’s Vincent who shakes my hand first, and Stefano reluctantly follows suit.
“Honesty is a rare, if not foolish, quality in a man, Lucian,” Vincent says.
“Isn’t that the fucking truth.”
“Master Blackthorne, I don’t know if you’re a genius, or if you’ve absolutely lost your mind.” Rand sits beside me, rubbing his forehead. “I’ve never felt the urge to throw up in a meeting in my whole life, until today.”
I snort a laugh, but as I stare out the window, my thoughts aren’t dwelling on the Scarpinatos. They’re wrapped around a nineteen-year-old, whose toned thighs have somehow squeezed every other thought out of my mind.
“I don’t even think your father, as bold as he could be, had the gumption to confess to killing a Scarpinato. He wouldn’t even think of it.”
My father allowed himself to amass what I call enemy debt. Too many favors that amount to too many potential enemies. “He was never much of a risk-taker.”
“You certainly have a more reckless approach to negotiations, but I admire your audacity.”
“Had I not confessed to killing Franco, they’d have come sniffing around eventually. You saw the accusation written all over their faces, when we first sat down. I could practically smell it on Stefano.”
“Pretty sure that was spaghetti sauce, boss.” Makaio chuckles from the front seat, and I can’t help but share his amusement. After all, it’s not every day a man gets to press the mafia’s buttons.
“Anyway, they now know I’m a man with nothing to hide.”
“Well, it’s certainly nice to know that I won’t have to sleep with a gun beneath my pillow.”
“Wait. You don’t usually sleep with a gun beneath your pillow?” Makaio frowns back at us from the rearview mirror. “Who doesn’t sleep with a gun beneath their pillow? I do. Do you, boss?”
“Always.”
Rand sneers and turns his gaze back toward the passenger window. “Well, I doubt either of you sleep wearing an undergarment for incontinence, so there’s that.”
Chapter 36
Lucian
Eight years ago …
I gulp back the entire glass of champagne and signal the waiter for another, while my buddy, Sebastian, does his best to piece together a shit best man speech. The only time he’s ever met the bride was at my graduation party, when she snubbed him, so I’ve gotta give him some credit for not making her out to look like a total bitch.
“And I wish you a long and happy life together. Cheers.”
With his official toast, I polish off my fourth glass. At this rate, I’ll be too trashed for the first dance. Maybe someone else will fill my place for it.
I catch sight of my father, standing off with Mayor Boyd, both of them laughing. It makes sense why Boyd would be delighted, marrying into power and wealth, but I haven’t quite figured out the payoff for my father, aside from strapping me down with domesticated life. Perhaps that’s the only payoff, but I’ve known my father long enough to recognize he doesn’t do anything that isn’t wholly for his own gain.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Amelia sits beside me, not having said much for most of the night, aside from the templated vows the two of us memorized this morning. “Your mother did such a nice job planning everything.”
There’s a dash of animosity in her tone, though subtle, as she’s cunning enough to disguise her contempt beneath layers of polished etiquette.
“I’m sure she paid someone to take care of the details.” It’s a chip at her pride, but I’m too drunk to care.
“Have you given any thought to the honeymoon?” She sips a glass of water, and I reckon everyone at this dog and pony show knows she’s knocked up because of it.
“What’s the point? You’re already carrying my child, aren’t you?”
The flinch of her eyes betrays the indifference she’s struggling to hold in place like a mask that’s too small for her face. “I understand this whole thing isn’t what either one of us would have chosen. But the least you can do is pretend to enjoy the evening.”
I lift yet another glass of champagne. “I’m working on that.”
As the night rolls on, I stumble my way through the first dance and the sloppy cake cutting, walking off before she has the opportunity to smash the twenty-thousand dollar cake my mother ordered in my face. By the time it’s over, I feel like I’ve been strung up by my briefs most of the night, my ass hanging out.
With the music blasting through the atrium, I stumble my way out into the hallway, my brain swimming in at least three bottles worth of champagne.
“Lucian.” The sound of Amelia’s voice is fine china scraping against ground glass.
I want to claw it out of my skull.
“Lucian, wait.”
On unsteady feet, I pause halfway down the hall, while she scurries to catch up to me. It’s only because she’s the pregnant bride of the evening that I give her the time.
“I’ll help you to our bed.”
“Our bed? No. There is no our bed. You sleep in your bed. I sleep in my bed.”
Tears well in her eyes as she turns away from me. “It was a surprise to me, as well. I didn’t do this to trap you.”
“Then how th’fuck did my father know about it b’fore me? Huh? How th’fuck did your father know b’fore me?”
“It was wrong of me not to tell you right away. I should have. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Th’only thing I’m sorry about is sticking my dick in you.” It’s then I notice the music has cut out, and I turn to see a crowd of guests standing outside the atrium.
The potent fog of alcohol tamps down the flare of irritation burning inside of me.
Amelia breaks into tears, and runs off down the hall.
And once again, I stand here looking like the villai
n.
Chapter 37
Isadora
Present day …
I stare in the mirror, as Giulia pins the last curl in place with a clip adorned in crystals. My hair hangs in long, lazy curls over my shoulders, gleaming with whatever products she used to make it shine. Since I never bothered with prom, or any of the dances in school, I’ve really never had the opportunity to dress up this way, aside from for the few weddings Aunt Midge has dragged me to, but she was often the one to do my hair, and all I can say about her efforts is she tried.
The dress is not one I would’ve chosen myself. Long, black and vampy, it clings to my curves, and flares out past my knees. The obscene slit up the side feels almost too racy, but the woman at the boutique insisted I was the epitome of grace and elegance, in spite of my trepidations. Lace and jewels make up the bodice that emphasizes my breasts, while long sleeves cover my scars. The black, Swarovski rhinestone, Venetian mask punctuates what I’ve always been told are cat-like eyes, and the red lipstick plumps my already too-fat lips.
“My God, Isa. You look like a maleficent goddess.” The solemn expression on Giulia’s face belies the awe in her words. I’d believe it jealousy, for not having been invited to the masquerade, but she wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble, fussing over me, if that were the case. And that’s not what I’ve gathered of her personality so far.
“Is everything okay?”
In the mirror’s reflection, she frowns, before her gaze falls away, prompting me to turn around.
“Giulia?”
“You need to be careful around these men tonight. They’re not what they seem.” Before I can ask her more, she crosses the room and grabs the shoes set out for me, and when she returns, she lowers herself to the floor at my feet. “I don’t know why he would ask you to do this.”
“What is it about them that concerns you?”
Raising the hem of my dress, she slips the black stiletto heel over my foot, which fits snugly, followed by the other, then pushes upright again. “These are not just random guests he’s invited. They’re very powerful.”
I recall Lucian’s comment a while ago, about the men being important. I imagine a lot of important men come and go in this place, so what makes these so exceptionally unnerving to her?
“I’ll be on my best behavior.” Smiling, I take one step toward the bathroom to blot some of this obnoxious lipstick, but feel a tight grip of my arm.
“It’s not like that, Isa. These men are … dangerous.” A flicker of remorse dances across her face, and it’s then, I realize she’s trying not to divulge too much.
“How are they dangerous?”
“I can’t say much. I won’t, so don’t ask. But stay by Lucian’s side. And if one of these men try to proposition you, tell him your debt is with Lucian.”
“What?”
“Trust me.” Her fingers squeeze my arm, emphasizing the urgency in her eyes.
“Is this the secret group thing you told me about a while ago?”
“Yes. And no more questions.”
“Just one more. Please. Why did you go through so much trouble, making me look like this, if I’m to avoid drawing attention to myself?”
“Because Lucian demanded that I help you look elegant for the evening. But I’m afraid, even he couldn’t anticipate that you’d look like this.”
“Like what?”
“Food for the sharks.”
I have to remind myself not to wring my dress, as I stand outside the door of the atrium, palms sweating and trembling, while the clamor of voices on the other side tells me it’s a full house.
A couple walks toward me, arms linked, wearing masks, and evening attire that I imagine cost as much as this dress the woman at the boutique insisted I charge to Lucian’s credit card. The man’s stare through the holes in his mask lingers long after they pass, forcing me to turn away as I recall Giulia’s warning.
Damn this dress. The consultant, as she called herself, wouldn’t take no for an answer, when I insisted on something less flashy and … sexy. I’m certain it was the most expensive in the shop, as Lucian had apparently told her, before I arrived, to spare no expense. Even Makaio shifted uncomfortably, when I emerged from the dressing room wearing the thing.
“Breathe, Isa.” They’re just people. Human beings who sat on toilets sometime today looking as undignified as everyone else. It was a saying Aunt Midge used to have about the haughty tourists she encountered at the The Shoal on occasion: They shit in toilets like the rest of us. Crude, but it’s always put things into perspective for me. Aunt Midge was good for that, never letting others make her feel inferior.
“Isa? Is that you?” At the sound of Rand’s voice, I glance up to see him approaching in a black tuxedo, and catch the widening of his eyes through the mask. “Oh, my. You look … stunning. Why are you standing out here? Master Blackthorne requested you play piano this evening, did he not?”
“He did. I’m just … trying to settle my nerves.”
“Well, come on, then. I’m sure he’ll be very anxious to know you haven’t backed out on your promise.” He bends his arm toward me and jerks his head. “Shall we?”
“Of course.” Linking my arm in his, I take another long inhale and stand in the entrance of the atrium behind the couple who passed me moments ago.
Breath hitches in my throat as I take in the beauty of the room within. Lights have been dimmed enough that the hundreds of lit candles give the room a soft flicker and glow. The various-sized lanterns overhead are falling stars against the night sky, and the glow of lights winding through the vines only adds to the ambience. From the curved steel beams overhead, what look like birdcages hang over the crowd below, though it’s hard to make out what’s inside of them. Around the room stand a few more cages on pedestals, and though I can detect something moving within, I can’t identify what they are.
A small line forms where Makaio runs a metal detector over each guest, before checking what must be an invitation and allowing them to pass.
The man in front of us cranes his neck, looking back at me, and I catch the corner of his lips lift with a smile--the sight of which has me turning away to avoid eye contact. Thankfully, the masks do a fairly good job of concealing everyone’s identity. If not for his voice, I’d have never recognized Rand in the hallway.
It isn’t long before we reach Makaio, who waves us inside.
“Master Blackthorne would like you to start playing in about twenty minutes, or so. That’s when the orchestra is due for a break.” As soon as Rand says it, I notice the music beneath the din of laughter and conversation. A stage has been set up toward the back of the room, where a small orchestra sits, and beside them, the piano that I’ll be playing.
“Got it.” The scenery continues to lure my gaze, drawing my eyes toward the ceiling that I can see, now I’m inside the room, has been made to look like the glow of a flame overhead. Still, I can’t make out what’s in the cages, but the spectacle of it enthralls me so much, I don’t notice Rand is no longer beside me.
Curious, I cross the room, ignoring the unwanted stares of those I pass, both men and women, as I make my way toward one of the beautiful, gilded cages. It’s only when I’m up close that I can finally make out the dark creatures fluttering around inside. Large moths from the looks of it, and on their backs is a strange marking that resembles a skull.
“Acherontia atropos.”
The deep, rich sound in my ear sends a flutter through my chest, mirroring that of the moths’ wings against the cage. My blood sizzles, and the air seems to grow thinner. I turn to find a tall, handsome figure rounding the cage from the other side.
Wearing a demi-mask, and a perfectly-tailored black brocade coat over a gray vest and white shirt beneath, Lucian looks both handsome and diabolically wicked, like something out of a gothic novel. “It’s named after Archeron, the river of pain and sorrows, and atropos, eldest of three fates who cut the thread of life. More commonly known as the death’s-he
ad hawkmoth,” he continues, and my cheeks flush at the sight of him. The mask completely covers the scarred half of his face, leaving only the too-handsome side of him exposed. “People once believed they were an evil omen.” He runs his fingers along the outside of the cage. “Two moths were discovered in the bedchamber of Mad King George the Third during a bout of psychosis. It’s said the incessant squealing sounds they made plagued on his weakened mind.”
“And you keep them in beautiful cages as pets.”
“I appreciate things that others tend to fear and cast off as evil.”
Stepping to the side, he lifts one of the candles from a cluster on a nearby table and holds it up to the cage. The moths flutter and climb the spindles of the cage toward the flickering light.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he asks, keeping the candle just far enough away so as not to harm the insects inside. “The way they flock to torment. Death. A fatal attraction.”
“Can you blame them? Fire is warm and inviting.”
“How tragic, to crave the very thing that can destroy you. If I opened this cage, we’d watch them burn alive.”
“That’s … macabre when you put it that way.”
Twisting around, he sets the candle back down alongside the others and turns his attention back to me. “You chose this dress?” Beneath the shimmer of appreciation in his eyes lies a shadow of annoyance that mirrors the tone of his voice.
“You don’t like it?”
“Everyone is looking at you.”
Over my shoulder, I glimpse a few gazes in my direction, one of whom comes from the man I followed inside. “This bothers you.”
“Yes.” He steps around the cage until he’s standing beside me, and a shiver skitters down my back when his lips feather my ear. Heat blooms inside of me, the dress suddenly too hot and tight against my skin. “It’s as if they want to consume you alive. Or perhaps it’s the other way around, like the moths to the candle.”