Chapter One
CIARA
I adjustthe strap of my dress for what feels like the hundredth time, though what I really want to do is rip this thing off of my body. At this point in the evening, it’s just becoming a nervous habit because the dress isn’t the problem. It’s the suffocating air in this ballroom where my friend is hosting her engagement party.
I’m still surprised I’m even here, though that might have something to do with the serious talking-to my best friend Mila gave me on the phone this afternoon when I texted her to let her know I was backing out.
When Mila starts threatening my life, I know there’s no point but to give in. So, here I am.
In order to get through this night, I’ve made it a point not to venture too far away from the champagne bar because the only way I’m going to survive is by drinking an ungodly amount of the stuff.
“How much longer do you think we need to hang around?” I mutter under my breath.
“We’ve been here less than an hour,” Mila laughs. “Itwould look bad if we left now. Besides, we haven’t even had a chance to congratulate Sarah on her engagement.”
I tug on my dress strap once again. “Is marrying a mafia boss really something that needs congratulating?”
“Sarah is our friend. We don’t need to agree with her choices.”
“But we do need to blindly support them?”
“Exactly.”
I curse under my breath as a thin sheen of sweat starts to coat the back of my neck.
Why do these parties always have to take place in a furnace?
The Vue is a high-end reception venue in the heart of New York City, and under different circumstances, I’d be in awe of the enormous chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the gilded gold detailing of the crown molding.
Instead, I want nothing more than to tear my own skin off.
I shouldn’t be here, and everyone in this room knows it. I’ve walked into enough rooms like this over the past few years to know when I’m not welcome, and tonight is no different.
As I look around, I can’t help but feel like this is more of a power summit than a party, with every man dressed in an expensive tailored suit and wearing a watch that cost more than my college degree, using tonight to secure deals and schmooze with potential allies.
It should feel like my own personal episode of theBachelorette,but when your last name is McCarthy and you’re one of only two members of your family left standing, you might as well haveexilebranded across your forehead.
Their whispers still ring in my ears as I sip on my champagne.
Why is she here?
Isn’t her family basically dead?
Wasn’t her father disgraced?
I’m so fucking tired of this. I didn’t choose this life, but it chose me the day I was born into the McCarthy name. A name that used to hold power and status among these people.
I had dreams back then. Dreams of a family, a man who loved me, a man like my father. And if life was generous, maybe even a kid or two.
But when my father died, my dreams died with him.
My brother and I became pariahs, and everyone treats us like we carry the plague.
The McCarthy name was once a force to be reckoned with, a reference.
Now, it is a curse.
My brother and I are all that’s left, and the life my father worked so hard to build for us has crumbled before my very eyes.
