Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“It’s not all bad.” Mina gestured a manicured hand to the ballroom in our mansion. It was dazzling. With gilded pillars, marble arches, and frescoed ceilings so high you could barely see the medieval paintings on them. The room glowed golden by candlelight and chandeliers, its deceiving warmth masquerading the awful people inside it.
I craned my neck past the sea of puffy hairdos, searching for Tate Blackthorn.
“Are you going to Ischia for the summer?” Rita asked Mama, her lips curving around her words in the corner of my eye. They were all sipping on champagne while I was holding a pink lemonade.
Everything about me was pink. My wardrobe. My room. My ruddy cheeks.
“Of course.” My mother’s face immediately relaxed at the mention of our summer house. “Lila and I enjoy the sun, the food, the culture. Ischia is our home.”
Mama and I spend two months out of the year on the Italian island to get away from the men in our family. I liked going there. I was able to live more freely. I read in public, played sports, and did cartwheels on the beach. I had a Latin tutor and a math teacher. My mother took me to the movies to watch old Italian films, and I never had to play with dolls or school my face to a blank mask of nothing.
At home, I needed to hide these abilities. My intelligence.
“You should come,” Mama told the three women, but I knew she didn’t mean it. She loathed her friends. Loathed everyone and everything connected to the Camorra.
“What a marvelous idea,” Rita cooed. “I’ll speak to Antonio, see if we have any plans.”
I wondered why they did that. Made plans they weren’t going to execute. Feigned excitement about things they didn’t care about.
My heart skidded to a halt when I finally found the subject of my interest.
Tatum Blackthorn.
He stood across the room, next to Luca, Sofia, Enzo, and Achilles. Half man, half god. A timeless marble statue towering over mere mortals. Slung on his arm was his beautiful wife, Gia. Draped in a red satin gown, she exhibited her pregnant belly. I wondered what it felt like to be loved like her. To have someone accept and adore your every flaw, your every win, your every breath.
Mama and her friends quarreled in the background, but I didn’t watch what they were saying. I was laser-focused on the Blackthorn couple.
Lila, this is unbecoming. You can’t keep staring at someone else’s husband, Mama’s voice scoffed in my head. I knew she was right, even though my interest in Blackthorn wasn’t romantic at all. All I wanted was another dance.
My eyes followed Tate’s lips as they shaped around his words.
“If you so much as look in her direction, I will scoop the other one out. And unlike the Ferrantes, I won’t stop the blood loss.”
A sharp elbow found my ribs—Mama’s way to tell me to stop staring—and my gaze quickly scurried to the person Tate spoke to.
A tall, agile man in a sharp suit, just like 80 percent of the room. And yet, I immediately recognized him, and bile hit the back of my throat.
The coppery hair.
The black eye patch.
The languid, fuck-you stance of a hunter quietly surveying the room for his next target.
His taciturn indifference to it all.
The man who nearly drowned me and then handed me his eyeball.
I wrenched my gaze away from him before he noticed me.
Next to him was another man who was unmistakably his brother, maybe even his twin.
“Oh, the music started.” Rita clapped excitedly. “Let’s gather around the newlyweds for their first dance.”
My feet shifted heavily toward the human ring forming around Luca and Sofia. The couple assumed their place robotically, with Luca taking the lead and moving to what I assumed was a waltz. Their faces were grim, their eyes dim with apathy.
Papa wedged himself between Mama and me, slinging his arms over our shoulders with a cunning grin. He appeared gaunt and yellow, but happy for a change.
“D’you see who’s here, Lila?” He turned to look at me. “The president of the United States, no less. And he brought his wife, too. This marriage puts us in a different league. The Ferrantes are going to be the new Kennedys. Mark my words.”
I blinked at him, pretending not to understand what he was saying.
“Eh, che Dio ti benedica. Your head just keeps your ears apart.” He patted the top of my head, laughing rancidly. “God really was cruel to you, cara mia. Giving you so much beauty and nothing to do with it.”
Ignoring the urge to smash his head against a sharp object, I returned my attention to Luca and Sofia. The waltz ended, and when another one began, a stream of couples flooded the floor. Everyone paired up like magnets, drawing toward one another in perfect harmony. Couples swirled and fluttered. Laughed, hugged, and twirled. I watched Tate Blackthorn holding his wife close, whispering in her ear, paying no heed to the tempo everyone else in the room was shackled to.