I quickly shake my head. “It’s alright. I’m fine here.” I don’t say as much, but I think that would make my untouchable state feel more awkward -Look, only her kin will dance with her and out of pity at that.And if I dance with Alessio, it might give Rocco ideas. I don’t want his hands on me at all.
She gives me a sad smile and shrugs. “As you wish then, Frankie.”
Once Gia goes to fetch herself a drink, I decide I might like one, too. Mom’s absent, she’s got to where she can’t take the stares, andeveryone else would rather pretend I don’t exist than address the issue of me drinking while underage.
As I’m walking toward the bar, I spy Caterina’s brother Nico arguing with his pregnant wife, Margareta.Such happy marriages these arranged unions form,I think, sarcastically. I wonder if my brother Ronan would’ve been engaged to some woman in the Trio by now if he had lived. But that would’ve meant Da never betraying us. That would’ve meant an arranged marriage for me as well with either a Trio man or someone from the BRG. Neither option sounds appealing.
When the bartender turns his attention toward me, I draw a blank. What’s the cool way to say I want something alcoholic that doesn’t taste terrible? “Umm… I’ll have a-”
“A ginger ale for the young lady. Lagavulin for me,” a man’s deep voice rumbles beside me. The bartender immediately gets to work as the man continues in my ear. “I know you weren’t going to do something so foolish as to order anything stronger, right?”
That damn voice along with those tanned, veiny hands resting on the bar, I’m half tempted to claw his eyes out for being so bossyandmaking me blush. “And what if I was?” I grit out, facing Carlo Vicini for the first time in three years.
“Then we might revisit the question of the punishment you once posed.”
My entire face catches fire remembering how he forbade me to drink while underage and how I cheekily asked if he was going to spank me if I did. “You… you…” I’m so flustered I can’t even think of a good comeback. “You probably shouldn’t be seen talking to me.”
“Why? Are you wearing a wire?”
He’s joking, but the shitty remark overtakes my better sense. “Of course, I am. The twelve FBI agents I’m currently screwing are listening to our every word.”
“Listening to wiretaps all day is boring work for them, I imagine. Very generous of you to keep them entertained,” he says, playing along and making me angrier.
“Don’t you want to avoid me like everyone else? I’m the filthy daughter of a rat, remember? I’m diseased, unfit for your princely company. I might be contagious.”
Looking around, I see Piera staring at me again, whispering to a friend of hers. It's not the first time I've been the subject of conversation and condemnation today. Carlo sees them, too, before he tilts his head to the side, coolly studying me as he did years ago while I fight the stupid urge to cry. Why would I say all that nonsense to him? He doesn’t care. No more than he cared when Mom begged him for my brother’s life.
“Is that how they make you feel?” he asks quietly, stepping closer to block Piera and her friend from my view.
I shake my head, willing my chin to stop trembling. “No one makes me feel any way at all. I don’t care about any of them except my cousins. Well, not Rocco but the others. Soon, I’ll be free of these horrible people and live like a normal person.”
“Is that so?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, cursing my big mouth. That sounds like I’m the one joining the Witness Protection Program. “I meant I want to go to school for the performing arts. I want… Never mind what I want. Forget I opened my mouth.” My audition at Juilliard is my best chance to escape. Mom has an old friend who lined it up after hearing my recording. My family knows about it and has agreed to let me try out, but it’s not something we’ve discussed with anyone else.
“I’m afraid it’s impossible to forget anything when you open that mouth of yours. Shall we discuss this more during our dance?”
“Our dance?”
“Sì,”he replies, picking up his glass and gesturing for me to do the same. Once I lift my drink, he clinks his against mine. “To your lovely voice,Bellissima Sirena.”He kisses his fingers to punctuate his toast, and those idiotic butterflies have invaded my belly again. Why do I respond to him like this? He’s the one who’s a siren. Or the devil.
“We can’t dance. You’re engaged to my cousin.”
“Despite your twelve boring lovers at the Bureau, it seems you have some mistaken notions regarding what dancing entails. Come.”
Without waiting for my reply, he takes my hand. Part of me wants to resist, but I'll admit I enjoy how Piera and her friend's eyes grow wide as saucers when they see Carlo escorting me toward the dancefloor. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at them. Barely.
All thoughts of those girls vanish when Carlo turns suddenly, chasing the breath from my body as he tugs me closer. God, he smells incredible. I’ve grown, but he’s still much taller than me. How old is he now? Twenty-four? I hate how he can still make me feel childish when he aggravates me. I hate that I find him so damn attractive.
His hand at my waist is already too much, the way his thumb slowly moves in a circular pattern through the fabric of my dress. When his other hand settles on my bare back where it leaves me uncovered, it feels like he’s branding me. My poor heart thump-thumps in my chest as we begin to sway. No wonder Sofia wears her rose-colored glasses. He’s too dreamy for any girl’s logic to win out.
“I like your hair up,” Carlo comments. I curse myself for blushing and immediately take it down out of spite. As I’m slipping the silver hair tie around my wrist, he starts chuckling. “I like it down even more.”
“I was only wearing this for luck. When I perform in front of others, I always wear my… never mind.” My blush deepens over sharing my silly superstition.
"What is that fragrance you wear?" He inhales deeply. What sort of game is he playing? Sofia is right over there, dancing with Caterina’s other brother, Dante.
“I get the next dance," Rocco says, interrupting us. I squirm at the thought of Rocco's hands on me.
