Olivier had me at a disadvantage. I did not know these people, and he did. I always stayed up to date on the goings-on in our world. It was always safer that way. Especially when I did not want the enemy to know I was at a disadvantage.
Olivier stared at me with his eyebrows raised and grin on his face.
I waved a dismissive hand. “My honeymoon took me away.”
I did not know if the issue with these two went before that time, but I grasped at it anyway.
“He took you away,” he breathed out. “I wish I could have been there.”
“You were not,” I said. “Not even in thought.”
“You are a bitch, and I adore it.” He sighed. “Scarlett Rose Poésy is the newest etoile at the ballet. She is American-born, but dances as if she were born in Russia, France, and every other country where ballet seems to run through the veins. She is a star. A prize. I was able to get her underground. You see. Her man, the one there,left her out in the cold for much too long. I invited her to my warm club, she accepted, and now…she will be the star of my show.”
“What is she?” I murmured, feeling a burning dread settle in the pit of my stomach.
The Nemours, like the Faustis, looked one way to the world, but were another behind their ornate gates. Except, the Faustis would never use a woman the way the Nemours would. If that family wanted something a woman had, no matter if this thing was born inside of her or not, they would take it. They would start a war over it.
“A vampire?”
He waved this off, dismissing me. “What she is has no name. That is how spectacular she is.”
“She is not a girl from the street.”
“Non!Non!” He laughed. “Of course she is not. What she is is otherworldly. The blood that runs through her veins is called magic. Does not matter where she dances, she captures the world around her when she does.”
“What does her man say about this?” I was certain I had never met him before, but he was blood related somehow. I would never be so bold to put my beautiful head on a chopping block for most things, but for the truth that was plainly staring me in the face, I would. This was how certain I was of the dark-eyed man’s blood.
There was that woman in America that the family kept mostly to themselves. She was not a secret of Luca’s, but the information surrounding the relationship had always been kept under lock and key. Marzio had kept the lock and key close to his heart. So had Luca. I had always wondered…
“You say his name is Brando?” I asked.
“Brando,” Olivier said, making sure to enunciatehis name correctly.
Interesting enough, but what made my heart race and my breath catch? If he was a son of Luca’s, in which order did he come? Something told me he was older than my husband, even if not by much, and if he was…
Both of our worlds would be rocked to the fucking core.
If this Brando claimed the Fausti name, and he wanted to accept his birthright, and he was older, he had the right to challenge my husband for his spot.
And if he did and Rocco lost?
We would both lose our titles.
Our standing in thefamiglia.
The toy in my ass seemed just like that—a toy. It was an irritant that I wanted out. All pleasure had left my body as soon as I realized our future in the family could be in jeopardy.
“I will be right back.” I excused myself from Olivier’s side and found the bathroom we had used before. It smelled of our sex, candy and wild animal, even though we did not have it. The dirty towel was still on the rack. It seemed like Olivier left it there on purpose. “Dirty, dirty boy,” I whispered to my reflection as I slid the toy out and left it on the counter.
I was a dirty woman, but in that moment, I had turned into a sleuth, and my dirty desires would have to be put on hold. I could attend one of Olivier’s orgies any night, but I may never get a chance with Brando and the ballerina again.
I stopped when I found this Brando on the dance floor, slow dancing with the old ballerina, Maja Resnik. The sound echoing inside of my head was that of clicking fingers. I tried to remember…Maja Resnik…Maja Resnik…Maja Resnik…?
A solid click.
She was the ballerina’s grandmother, who was a legend in that world.
If this Brando was Luca’s son, which I was almost positive he was, that made complete sense to me. The Fausti men always sought out women to marry who were the who’s who of society. Take me, for instance. I checked off all the boxes on paper, even if Rocco was not satisfied with our physical relationship.
