by LP Lovell
I hear the hum of the party long before we reach the wall of glass at the back of the house. The second I step out onto the patio terrace, I want to crawl into a hole. It’s all so…Enrique. Obnoxious. From the string quartet to the enormous marquee that sits pride of place on the emerald-green lawn beyond the pool. A bar sits next to the marquee with an ice sculpture of what looks like a naked woman on the end…at an engagement party.
Glasses tinkle and people laugh, and the entire scene irritates me because they’re either blissfully unaware of what a farce this entire thing is, or they simply don’t care. And then slowly, one by one, they fall into silence, their attention fixating on me. My breaths falter, and I clench my fists to stop them from trembling. The sharp sting of my nails biting into my palms roots me once more, and I move forward on unsteady legs. My ankle wobbles on the ridiculously high heel, and I’m scared my leg is about to snap. I stare at the steps before me, terrified I’ll break my ankle if I attempt them in these stupid shoes. That’s when the crowd parts, and Enrique appears. I loathe him, but as he ascends toward me and holds out his hand, I’m a little grateful. My fingertips slide over the rough callouses of his palms before thick fingers close over mine. My eyes focus on the floor, and I hold my breath under the hundreds of sets of eyes I can feel crawling over my skin. The guests begin to clap as we descend towards them together—mafia royalty in their eyes. I’m now thankful for the makeup because my face is burning all the way to my hairline.
When we reach the bottom, we’re immediately approached. People offer their false compliments and smiles, gushing about how they’re so happy for us. I want to snort. There is no us. As I’m sure they are all aware. The feud between our families will undoubtedly be well known by now. No one can kill Eduardo Ricci and simply slip beneath the radar. An event like that makes waves. The death of a man such as my father doesn’t go unnoticed. But in this world of so-called honor, where a man may buy a bride, my father’s death is considered justified by these so-called men. Men who drank and laughed with my father and proclaimed themselves allies.
I walk around like a ghost, lost in a dream. It’s as though I’m watching myself go through the actions without ever being truly present. Like this isn’t my life.
Enrique has a figurative blade pressed to my throat, made all the worse because I helped him put it there. My pride and my need for revenge wage war on my mind constantly, but revenge inevitably wins out in the end. So I smile, and act as the perfect, willing trophy wife. This entire party is a glittering lie. My feet hurt, and my shoulders ache from the tension of putting on this act. After countless interactions with people who mostly ignore me, Enrique eventually takes my hand. He leads me back up the steps before dropping it once more. One of his men hands him a fork, and I frown when Enrique clinks it over his champagne glass. Silence slowly descends over everyone, and he flashes them all a beaming smile. He looks so charming. In his tuxedo, he’s handsome, or at least he would be if he weren’t such a monster.
“Thank you, everyone for coming tonight. It means a lot to us both.” He glances at me, sliding an arm around my waist. His palm comes to rest on the bare, exposed skin of my back.
I tense, my entire body becoming acutely aware of his touch as though a deadly snake were slithering over my skin.
“But, this isn’t yet official.” He backs up and turns to face me. Taking something from his pocket, he drops to the ground. On one knee. “Adelina Ricci. Will you marry me?”
There’s a collective hush from our audience, and I swallow around my rising heartbeat. No, no, no, no. I want to cover my ears and close my eyes and live in a state of blissful denial. I knew this was coming, but here? Now? In front of all these people? I didn’t think this farce would be so public.
Sweat collects on the back of my neck before a drop rolls down my spine, making me shiver. My gaze slips over the the gathered mass of people, and that’s when I finally see my sister. Gabi stands in the middle of the crowd, but as our eyes lock, she’s the only one I see. A gold satin dress cascades over her slim form, and the material shimmers under the soft lighting. Inky-black hair spills over her shoulders, a stark contrast to her dress. She’s elegant and poised, a queen amongst men, a true Ricci. Her brows are pulled tightly together, and the sadness in her eyes is crystal clear. My pulse races against my ear drums like a drumbeat in my skull. My sister gives me a tiny nod, and I close my eyes, picturing my father’s face. For him. Opening my eyes, I focus on Enrique, spotting the fissure of annoyance that crosses his features.
“Will you marry me?” he repeats through gritted teeth.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Cold sweat slicks my palms, my ears ring, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Tension rises, and I know every person here is waiting for my answer. My eyes meet Enrique’s, and I can see the rage building in them, tinged with desperation.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, channelling every ounce of confidence my father ever instilled in me. “Yes,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face.
An equally fake smile works over his lips, and he takes my hand, sliding on the ring. If he notices the slight tremor, he doesn’t mention it. Everything is a blur as he stands again to a sea of applause. My world spins; my lungs grapple for air, and the edges of my vision darken. I’m so dazed that I don’t even see him coming until his lips land on mine. I freeze, and then instantly try to yank away in disgust, but his hands clasp my face, leaving me with no escape. My heart thuds erratically in my chest and bile rises in my throat. My father’s murderer is kissing me, and that knowledge brings with it an ice-cold horror. But this is what I wanted. I’ll have to do far worse than kiss him before this is over. The thought both disgusts and reinforces me.
I count to five in my head and will myself to calm down, to stop fighting. Centering myself, I slip into the role, as an actress would a part. To these people, I can play the doting fiancé. They’re easy to fool, but they don’t matter. It’s him that needs to buy my lies. And this is my first chance to sell them. I slide one trembling hand around the back of his neck and close the distance between us until my chest presses against his body. My stomach churns violently, and I swallow down the sickening sensation. My lips part subserviently, inviting his possession. There’s the slightest hesitation before he takes it, violating my mouth until I feel filthy and soiled. When we finally break apart, he stares at me through narrowed eyes, as though he’s trying to work me out. The noise from the gathered guests starts to filter in, the clapping and cheering. My face heats, and I stare down at my hands, at the enormous solitaire diamond that now sits like a trophy on my ring finger. The weight of it feels like lead, the cool of the metal as though it’s burning my skin.
A few men step forward to congratulate us, and by us, I mean him. Once again, they ignore me, and I’m glad because I don’t need their scrutiny right now. I need a second to pull myself together. Not for the first time since I handed myself over to Enrique, I wonder if I can actually do this. It feels like I’m being torn in two. Loyalty to my father drives two different emotions that are pulling in opposing directions.
The taste of Enrique’s whiskey still lingers on my lips, and I feel horrible. When I close my eyes, it’s Sasha’s face I see. The figurative knife digs deeper and deeper. I wonder how many people I will betray before this is over: my father, Sasha, Gabi. I miss Sasha. I miss the way he made me feel invincible simply because he was standing beside me. A pang of longing stabs through my chest.
“Excuse me,” I say in a rush.
Enrique spares me a glance, but I’m already moving, rushing toward Gabriella—salvation in a room full of enemies. She watches me approach, her expression remaining impassive, ever the professional. I ignore everyone else as they try to gain my attention. I feel like I’m being squeezed, and the pressure is going to make me explode. When I reach my sister, I grab her arm and tug her toward the bar.
“Tequila!” I bark at the barman. A shot glass appears in front of me with a slic
e of lime on top. The liquid burns over my tongue and trickles down my throat as I tip it back. The sourness of the lime chases it, and I wince.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to get trashed at your own engagement party, Lina,” Gabi mumbles, forcing false humor into her voice as she rolls her eyes at the man standing at the opposite end of the bar. All about appearances.
I snort. “Another,” I tell the bartender.
“Careful,” my sister warns, quieter this time. “People are watching.”
I look up and find her now smiling politely at a woman nearby. Ah, Gabriella is ever the diplomat. The woman moves away, and the man who was standing at the bar takes his drink and leaves. My sister moves closer until her elbow bumps mine.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“I’m fine,” I say, necking the next tequila shot, and she falls into silence. I look at her as I suck on the lime. Her brow tightens, lips pressing in a flat line. “I’m fine,” I repeat.
“You’re marrying Enrique Bianchi.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Her eyes narrow further, and I say nothing. She moves closer, ducking her head to mine. “I sent you away, Lina. You were protected.”
“There is no protecting me from this,” I mumble.
“Look, if you’re trying to protect the family…”
“I’m doing this because I want to.” I can’t talk to her about this. Not here. There are ears and eyes everywhere. “It will unite our families.” I recite the words like the dutiful little mafia wife they all think I am.
I can see the cogs turning in her mind, processing my lies. She’s confused and probably a little betrayed. I’m sleeping with the enemy, or I will be. That thought has me needing another shot of tequila. Gabriella’s hand slides over mine where it sits on the bar.
“I’m always here, Lina. Whatever you need. Whatever trouble you might get in; I’ll get you out.”
I smile at her, feeling the tell-tale prickle of threatening tears because I know she would. Even though she has her own share of problems, I know she’d move heaven and earth to rescue me from this fate if I asked her to. She tried. She fought to keep me from Enrique’s clutches. She sent me to Sasha, and he would have protected me to the death.
I will walk this road alone, and I will either kill Enrique or die trying. I turn my hand over, threading my fingers through hers.
“Thank you. I have this. I know what I’m doing.” My eyes meet hers, and I hope she can read between the lines. I have a plan.
She lifts her champagne glass. “Then here’s to you, dear sister. May your marriage be everything that you hope for.” She tips the glass up and gulps back half the liquid. It’s the only sign that my perfectly poised sister is slightly ruffled. When she places her glass on the bar, I pull her into a hug. For a moment she stills awkwardly, and then slowly wraps her arms around me. The strawberry scent of her shampoo soothes my fraught nerves, and I inhale deeply. I miss her more than I ever thought I could.
“He will pay,” I whisper against her ear.
“I know.” She pulls back and cups my face in both hands, forcing me to look into the depths of her deep chocolate eyes. “Make sure you come back to me, baby sister.” We both know I can’t promise that.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. With a weak smile, Gabi releases me and turns away, instantly blending into the crowd. She shifts from my sister into a hardened businesswoman, squaring her shoulders and shaking the hand of an older man in a suit. In a room of powerful men, she commands respect, and pride swells in my chest.
I order a glass of wine this time and remain at the bar. It’s supposedly my engagement party, and yet no one approaches me. I’m nothing more than an ornament to be seen and not heard. A man comes to stand at the bar beside me and orders a drink. I ignore him until he finally speaks.
“You look beautiful, Adelina.”
I narrow my eyes and turn to face him. I recognize him, probably from one of Daddy’s parties. I think he’s from the Santori family. They used to be an ally of my father’s, now though, who knows where anyone truly stands. Power corrupts loyalty.
“Thank you…”
“Matteo.” He smiles, and it makes him look younger than I think he truly is. His hair falls in dark waves that kiss the collar of his tuxedo jacket. He’s not like the other men here. That heir of ruthlessness is lacking. It makes me feel almost instantly at ease, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
“I remember you. My sisters twenty-first birthday.” I think Gabi was kind of dating Matteo. I remember teasing her because of the way she looked at him. But then, all the boys wanted to date my sister—she’s Gabriella Ricci.
A small smile touches his lips. “I’m surprised you remember anything from that night. You got drunk on the punch, and your father dragged you away.”
I smile at the memory. Daddy was so mad. I was only seventeen, obviously not supposed to be drinking. Even though he was angry, he stayed with me and held my hair while I threw up for hours. “Yeah, not my proudest moment.” As always, memories of my father are both happy and heart-breaking.
He seems to sense my tumultuous emotions. “I am sorry for the loss of your father. He was a good man.”
I duck my head, hiding my weakness. It never gets any easier. I can push it from my mind, forget even under the barrage of other issues that I have. But then someone will say something as simple as “I’m sorry,” and it all comes flooding back.
“Thank you. He was.” Good. It always seems so contradictory when talking about a mafia boss. Here of all places, I’m acutely aware of exactly how bad men like my father are.
Matteo glances over his shoulder before shifting closer to me. “Enrique Bianchi?”
I lift my chin, that now familiar mask falling over my face. I have to tread carefully. “You know how the mafia works, Matteo.” I find myself wanting to trust him when his hazel eyes lock with mine. That, in itself, is dangerous. “Alliances are forged with marriages.”
He inhales a deep breath before blowing it through his lips. “You aren’t limited to only one option…”
His words hang in the air precariously as we stare at each other for long seconds. He thinks he’s offering me a way out, but I’m exactly where I need to be. I don’t need a knight. I had one, far braver and stronger than Matteo Santori, and I left him. For this. Revenge.
Matteo freezes, his entire body stiffening as his eyes slip over my shoulder. I tense as something brushes over my waist. Warm breath washes over the side of my neck, and I fight back the urge to shiver. Matteo’s easy smile from moments ago disappears, and as his expression hardens, he looks every bit as ruthless as the other men here.
“Are you hiding?” Enrique whispers against my ear.
I force a smile and turn to face him. He’s close. Too close. The scent of his cologne engulfs me, woodsy and masculine, but all it does is make me miss the clean smell of citrus and mint. Sasha. They’re light and dark. Sasha is by far the more deadly of the two, and yet, his heart is pure in a way Enrique could never even comprehend.
“I wanted to talk to Gabriella,” I finally respond.
“I’m sure.” His eyes pinch in the corners ever so slightly, though his lips remain set in a practiced smile.
We stare at one another, lies and deception tainting the air between us. We dance along a perilous line, both knowing the other is our enemy, forced to pretend otherwise. And where do the truth and the lie become one? I almost need to believe it myself. Anything less and this entire plan is doomed to fail. Enrique Bianchi is no idiot.
“And yet, here you are talking to Matteo Santori.” He spits the name as though it offends him.
“Matteo was just reminding me of the time I got drunk at my sisters twenty-first birthday. It was embarrassing,” I say, trying to lighten the tone and cut through the tension that seems to be ratcheting with each passing second.
I flash Matteo a polite smile. Acting and lies. Always. He smiles back, though it
doesn’t reach his eyes. Enrique’s fingers tighten on my waist possessively, and I want to roll my eyes.
“Perhaps you should have learned the first time. You shouldn’t get drunk in public,” Enrique murmurs low in my ear.
“It’s a party.”
He lifts a brow. “Don’t get drunk.”
I bristle, my spine stiffening. The ice sculpture sits on the bar just behind him, and I eye the small ice pick that sits next to it. I imagine picking up the sharp tool and ramming it into Enrique’s throat, watching the crimson blood spill over that tuxedo.
“I have a headache,” I lie. “I need to lay down. Lovely to see you again, Matteo.” He offers me a jolty nod, and I move past them both before I do something rash and ruin whatever tenuous sliver of trust may exist between Enrique and I.
I feel the eyes on me as I hurry through the crowd. The runaway fiancé. I move through the house, walking along corridors that all look the same. When I finally fall into my room, I slam the door behind me and suck in a deep breath. My head swims a little from the tequila, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to calm everything.
I glance down at the ring on my finger, and my hand starts trembling. I slip the offensive diamond off and allow it to fall to the thick carpet with a thump.
I’m engaged to Enrique Bianchi. I’m his now. His prisoner, his slave. I’m playing a game I don’t understand, that I wasn’t trained for. Gabriella was. I’m running on the simple drive for revenge and blind hope.
What the hell am I doing?
My sleep is fitful, plagued with bad dreams. The humid night air clings to my skin, suffocating me as I toss and turn.
When I do manage to sleep, it’s not for long. On an exasperated breath, I toss the sheets back and sit up. I scoop the damp strands of my hair away from my neck, feeling the cooler air touch my clammy skin. Something moves near the window, and I still. At first, I think it’s just the curtain catching on the breeze that drifts through the ajar balcony door. But then I realize, I didn’t leave the door open. My pulse ticks up as my eyes adjust, and I pick out the outline of the shadowy figure standing in the open gap.