When he turns me to face him, concern lingers in his gaze as he searches my face.
“I didn’t wear you out, did I?”
“No.” I muster a smile, grateful for the interruption when someone knocks at the door.
“Abella?” Gabi calls out.
“Yes?”
“The girls want to know if Angelo’s done bruising your throat yet. We have a fashion emergency.”
“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” I mutter, regretting the words even as I say them. Because I know they aren’t true.
Soon, all of this will be a distant memory.
Angelo tells me to wait while he grabs a cloth from the bathroom. He returns and cleans me up, dark satisfaction sparking in his eyes when he sees his cum leaking out of me.
“Go.” He lets my gown fall back into place. “Do what you need to do. We’ll be leaving soon.”
46
ABELLA
The ballroom at the IVI compound in Seattle drips with dark elegance and an air of mystery as guests in masks begin to filter inside.
Overhead, gilded chandeliers cast the room in a golden ambient glow while candles flicker on tables throughout the space. From the stage, a live orchestra plays haunting ballads and dark waltzes for the couples already on the dance floor.
Servers in black tailcoats pass by with trays of moody cocktails in shades of garnet, deep plum, and absinthe green.
Beside me, Angelo’s hand rests at the small of my back as he scans the room. I follow his gaze through the sea of feathers, lace, and jewels, admiring the suits and gowns as they glide over the floor.
In our world, the masquerade ball is social currency. It’s an opportunity to showcase wealth and influence, but it’s also a night free from the usual societal pressures. Behind the mask, mysterious and flirtatious interludes thrive. It isn’t unusual to hear of new romances after the ball—and occasionally, scandalous liaisons.
For theCosa Nostra, it provides opportunities to disarm their rivals, collect secrets, and plot their next moves from the shadows. While the men in this room feel secure in their anonymity, I don’t doubt Angelo already knows who is behind which mask. I can see it in the way his razor-sharp gaze cuts through the crowd and lands on one particular group of men. He gives his brothers a subtle nod, and they disperse into the horde, carrying out some secret mission.
Alessio and Natalia follow suit, leaving us as he declares his intent to introduce his wife to some associates.
Within moments of stepping foot inside, single men come to ask each of my friends to dance, plucking them off like coveted baubles they’re eager to display. Angelo and I watch as a tall man in a dark mask spins Mariella around the dance floor, and I know he’s wondering the same thing I am when his fingers stiffen on my back.
Ares never returned for a follow-up appointment, so it’s possible that it could be him in a suit I don’t recognize. However, that question is answered a moment later when a shadowy figure appears beside us as if we summoned him through dark magic.
“It’s a taxing job, isn’t it?” Ares remarks. “Guarding such delicate flowers.”
Angelo turns to face him as I fight a smile. Mariella is as far from delicate as it gets, and he knows it.
“It’s not that taxing,” Angelo answers dryly. “My sister is quite capable of discerning who is worthy of her time and who is not.”
Ares glances at the woman in question. “Yes, well, let them play with boys long enough, and eventually, they’ll realize they need a man.”
“If and when Mariella finds a man, I’ll be the first to let you know,” Angelo tells him. “Only then will I sign off on her marriage contract.”
“How fortunate she is to have such a loyal guard dog.”
As I watch this verbal tennis match, I wonder if Ares even realizes how tightly he’s gripping his glass of whiskey.
“She’s fortunate that she recognizes what she wants.” Angelo’s lip tilts into a smirk. “And she’s not willing to settle for anything less.”
Ares takes a sip of his drink as his gaze moves to me. “It’s funny how circumstances can change. I might have said the same about your wife at one point. You just never know how things might work out.”
