Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Nestore touched my upper arm, drawing my attention to him, and leaned down. “Falcone enjoys breaking beautiful things. I would recommend you stay out of his sight.”
My lips parted, my heart jolting. “My father will be furious if I’m not here to greet the Capo.”
“Your father’s wrath will be worth it,” he said, his eyes straying to the staircase where male voices were coming closer. “Tell him I told you to give this to my cousin Niccolo. You can’t refuse an order from me.” He pushed a gold coin into my hand. I pursed my lips, but he gently pushed me away.
Flavia gave me a confirming nod and mouthed, “Go. Let your father be my worry.”
Despite my fear over my father’s reaction, I turned around and rushed away, my ball gown swishing over the marble floor as I followed the sounds of laughter and music into a grand ballroom. Several chandeliers cast their warm light on the gathered guests. Servers carried trays of exquisite canapés, including blinis with caviar, tuna tartar, wagyu tartar, and quail eggs. The Romanos meant to impress.
My gaze scanned the crowd, my pulse whipping in my veins with anxiety. I didn’t even know what Niccolo looked like. I had met his father once when he’d visited our home. Eventually, I spotted the man, and next to him was a younger version of him with curly chestnut-brown hair. I made a beeline toward them, even as my belly tightened with apprehension. Niccolo’s gaze zeroed in on me, his brows furrowing. I opened my palm with the coin. He said something to his father, who gave a brief nod, then moved away and motioned for me to follow him to a corner of the room.
The moment I reached him, I held out my hand with the coin. “Nestore told me to give this to you.”
Niccolo shared his cousin’s green eyes minus the amber flecks, but he wasn’t quite as tall as Nestore. The lack of a tattoo on his forearm told me he was shy of turning fifteen. I knew they had been born close to each other. Studying family trees was one of the few things I could do in my spare time that my father approved of.
Niccolo narrowed his eyes a fraction, considering me. “It was supposed to bring him luck.”
The atmosphere in the ballroom changed, a sudden erratic air taking hold of the guests. My eyes sought the source of the shift until I spotted Benedetto Falcone in the doorway, flanked by my father and Romano Senior, looking like a benevolent king. People greeted him by bowing their heads, their expressions submissive. Falcone’s wife hovered a few steps behind him. She looked like she was drugged. His sadistic eyes latched onto woman after woman as if he were looking for a conquest for tonight. He wore a tuxedo, a white shirt with a standing collar, a black fly, and shiny wingtip shoes. His slicked-back black hair rounded off his mobster look.
Nestore appeared beside his father and gestured at his cousin, who grabbed my arm and tugged me away. He shoved me into an alcove, hidden behind a crowd of several men. I wanted to tell him that my father wouldn’t let Falcone hurt me, but I knew better. “Wait here,” Niccolo said, then disappeared. What was I supposed to wait for?
Time dragged on. People danced and ate, laughed and whispered, and I grew bored. Eventually, I ventured out, hungry and thirsty.
After I had filled up on lemonade and appetizers, the sheer volume of laughter and conversations grew too much, so I sought solitude on the expansive balcony overlooking two tennis courts, the vast pool house, and the adjoining pool of a size I’d never seen before. The meticulously kept garden was illuminated by hundreds of spotlights, showcasing the rose garden, fountains, and labyrinth. I gripped the banister, stood on my tiptoes, and leaned forward to catch a better look. What was the maze made of?
“Rare English rambler roses,” said a quiet voice from the dark.
A shriek ripped from my lips, and I lost my balance, tipping forward. An arm slung around my waist, dragging me back from a fall that would have resulted in certain death. I looked up at my savior’s face: Nestore Romano. Mortification heated my cheeks. Even the brisk air chasing up Mount Hollywood couldn’t cool them off.
“You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall to her death from this balcony.” Nestore released me and stepped back, his elbows coming to rest on the banister as he regarded me with mild interest.
I straightened my skirt before I cupped my elbows in my palms to hide their shaking. “You scared me.”
“You didn’t wait.”
“For you?”
His lips thinned. “For things to be safe.”
“When are they ever?” I whispered. With Benedetto Falcone ruling over the West, nobody was safe, least of all women and girls. I was only twelve, almost thirteen, but that was a lesson I’d learned early. I was tall for my age, already five feet five, so many thought I was older for that reason alone. Not that Falcone let age stop him.