Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Aemelia tenses as he approaches, her spine going rigid, but to her credit, she doesn’t back away. His hands are quick but clinical, patting her sides, under her arms, along her calves. When he reaches the hem of her dress, he crouches, sweeping his palms up the inside of each thigh until she gasps and jerks.
“Relax,” he murmurs, not unkindly. “I’m just making sure you’re not hiding a wire or a blade between these sweet little legs.”
Her eyes narrow, but she says nothing, breathing shallow as he finishes and stands. He holds up his empty hands. “Clean. No weapons. No wire. Not even a lipstick knife. Disappointing.”
“Write down your address in the city,” I say, sliding a sheet of paper to her. She strides forward quickly, her cheeks flushed, scribbling in an elegant cursive that perfectly matches her refined features, giving the vital information with an innocence I don’t understand. When she’s done, she slides it back, and I catch a glimpse of the heart birthmark that was her tell. The last time I saw her, she told me in her sweet little voice that an angel had kissed her wrist, and the heart meant she’d find true love. I wanted to tell her that true love doesn’t exist, but I didn’t. I may be a heartless son of a bitch, but even I wouldn’t go as far as to crush a little girl’s romantic dreams. I scribble my phone number, tear it from the top corner, and hand it to her.
“If you have trouble while you’re in town.”
She nods, accepting the scrap and folding it neatly.
“You can go,” I say finally.
She blinks. “I—what?”
I nod toward the door. “Go back to work.”
Relief softens her expression. She’s thinking about the money. “Thank you,” she whispers, pushing past Antonio and Alexis in her haste to leave.
We don’t stop her.
At the door, she turns. “Tell Rosita I said congratulations, okay?”
I wait until the door clicks shut before turning to my brothers.
“She’s not lying,” I say before they can question me. They don’t. I lick my lips, giving myself time to sort my thoughts. “But that doesn’t mean she’s useless.”
Antonio raises a brow. “What are you thinking?”
I lift and drop one shoulder. “She’s Lambretti blood. That makes her valuable.”
“Yes,” Alexis says darkly.
I stride to the door and push it open, walking the short distance back to the ballroom.
Aemelia is there, clearing plates, dodging drunk guests, trying to disappear into the crowd again, but I keep watching, and eventually, so do my brothers, flanking me on either side. I tug my sleeve and finger the cufflinks Mario bought me for my eighteenth birthday.
Alexis rubs his jaw. “Aemelia Lambretti, huh?”
“All grown up,” Antonio says.
Alexis snorts. “She looks like her mama did twenty years ago. I always said Carlo was punching above his weight, but mothers tell their daughters to avoid the most handsome men because they’ll stray. Pick an ugly man, and he’ll stay loyal.” Alexis pushes his hands into his dark jeans. I love my brother, but he never dresses like a Venturi should, not even on an occasion like tonight.
“Is that why we’re all still single?” Antonio asks dryly.
“I fuck more than every married man in here.” Alexis cracks his neck, and I grit my teeth.
Antonio shakes his head. “She shouldn’t have come back.”
“I held her when she was a child,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
Alexis raises a dark eyebrow, his hazel eyes dancing. “Your dick doesn’t need to feel guilty.”
“Not yet,” Antonio says, walking away.
***
Long after the wedding ends, when the music fades and the guests leave, I stand in the shadows, watching Aemelia shrug on a tattered coat and hug it close against the cold. I watch as she pulls out a phone and has a brief conversation with her mom, which is mostly reassurance that she’ll be home soon and that she made some tips, so they’ll be okay. I watch as she disappears into the night like a ghost.
I exhale a long breath, the weight of old memories pressing down, and pull a cigarette from the packet, lighting it and inhaling deeply. Smoke swirls around me like Medusa’s snakes, and I exchange the darkness of the night for the darkness behind my eyelids.
Aemelia Lambretti. A mafia princess turned Cinderella.
Mario should have been here tonight. He was the oldest of us, and walking Rosita down the aisle was his job, not mine. All day, his shadow has trailed me, and his ghost has lingered in the cavern of emptiness in my chest.
He should have been at this wedding, not Carlo’s spawn.
Aemelia Lambretti.
I toss the cigarette and crush it with my polished leather shoe.
She has no idea what she’s worth.
But she’ll find out soon enough.
3
ALEXIS
THE PRICE OF REVENGE
The city penthouse apartment is dimly lit, the amber glow from the liquor cabinet casting long shadows across the sleek leather furniture. Luca stands by the window with his hands clasped behind his back as he stares over the city. The balcony door is open, and the faint tang of smoke, car exhaust, and the distant blooms from rooftop gardens scents the air. The skyline sprawls before him, stars blinking in the darkness like diamonds spilled over black velvet. He’s lost in thought, and I understand why.