It’s nice to know that Jacopo still has my protection at heart. Who knows what might happen when that door opens?
Don Bernardi widens his mouth, showing his teeth in a rage-induced smile. “Age before beauty, eh?” he asks me, eyes on my scar. He gives an unpleasant laugh. “Age before beauty. Yes.”
And with that, he turns to the door, which Jacopo opens, making sure that if there’s someone on the other side of it, Bernardi will be the first target.
Jacopo catches my eye as I follow, a silent warning not to rise to the bait. But he has no idea how pointless Bernardi’s digs are.
The old man is not the one I blame for my face, after all.
* * *
There are no assassins, no hitmen waiting on the other side of that door, only a glittering Hollywood-style party with loud chatter, no food, and a lot of booze circulating the room on platters held by beautiful, immaculately-uniformed servers. I notice them only because so many seem to have the golden hair that has haunted my dreams and, yes, my waking fantasies as well these last few days.
Teddy.
I wonder if he’ll return.
I wonder if it would be wise of me tolethim.
My father had a preference for blondes. I hate that I’m like him, that fair hair is what catches my eye. He ingrained in me from such a young age that it was preferable—not just by idolizing his second wife, but by favoring Julian all those years.
But there it is. I can no more change my preference now than I can change my face.
My guards, Jacopo included, have gathered around me while they assess the threat level. It is, in my own estimation, low to nil. This party is exactly what Bernardi claimed it would be: a gathering for the rich, famous, and influential. Besides, security here is almost as numerous as the guests. There are armed guards near each entrance, near the artworks on the walls for the charity auction, and then there are the men like my own, the sharp-eyed, well-dressed Family members who are here to watch over their charges.
Bernardi and I are not the only high-ranking Family men here. I see the Esposito Enforcer who was at the funeral—and to my surprise, I see Anna-Vittoria is here tonight as well: a slight, auburn-haired woman whose physical smallness belies the power she possesses. She gives me a nod, and I nod back. Vincenzo stares a little longer at me than seems polite, but looks away when I stare straight back.
To my irritation, I catch sight of Chuckles Moran over near one of the more modern art pieces on the wall, looking carefully at it as though he had any understanding at all of artistic merit. I’ll avoid him if I can. I’m not in the mood for bluster tonight.
“Where to, Boss?” Jacopo asks lightly.
“Where’s your boy?”
“Miller? He never hits a party until at least two hours in. Arrive late, leave early is his motto. Besides, he’s not much of a Roxy Rochford fan. Speaking of…” He trails off, nodding as Roxanne Rochford makes an entrance with her fiancé, Gino Bernardi. I join in the bored clapping of the audience while the two of them make their way down the stairs opposite, pausing halfway to soak in the applause and attention.
What it is about all these Hollywood parties that feels so similar; what did my father enjoy so much about them? The beautiful people? So far my face has raised no eyebrows, provoked no comments. But then, I haven’t spoken to any—
“Fancy meeting you here.”
I swivel slowly, because I know that voice. Monica Anderson, the Ice Maiden. And there’s the Barbarian, too, dogging Ms. Anderson’s six-inch heels and glowering at me as though to intimidate.
“Ms. Anderson,” I greet her with a nod. She might not respect me, but I have all the respect in the world for her. I know how damaging her work has been to various Families here in LA, and she’s obviously set her sights set on the Castellanis next.
“I’m surprised to see you here tonight,” she says, holding my eyes fearlessly. “I was under the impression you liked to keep a low profile—unlike your father. Or brother.”
I look her head to toe. She is dressed in a pale pink, skintight sheath dress, her fair hair done up in the intricate braids that are fashionable among women at the moment. Her eyes are rimmed in a metallic rose-gold, making their blue shade stand out.
She is, without a doubt, a very beautiful woman. And I know how dangerous beautiful people can be.
“Dior?” I ask.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your dress.”
She looks very, very slightly taken aback as she glances down at her dress. “Yes.”
“You look very lovely tonight, Ms. Anderson. Though I’m also surprised to seeyou. I was told the guest list would be exclusive.”
