It was one of those rare moments, seeing the lighter side to the man in the mask. I wondered if Liam used to be different. If before the attack that nearly burned him alive, he was fun.
I would like to see him laughing, letting go of the weighted responsibilities and relaxed. Maybe he could be like that again. If he learned to open himself up to me—but how could he? I planned to leave! Biting my lip, I turned my gaze to look out the heavily tinted window.
That could wait a little while longer. Liam said this evening that he’d spoken to their family physician, and Doc Ryan put him in touch with some doctors who were doing groundbreaking research. They treated PTSD with psilocybin or a synthetic derivative. Liam even sounded optimistic as he told me. The self-shame over needing it wasn’t in his voice, which had made me happy.
We were growing as a couple.
We could be legendary.
I bit the inside of my cheek and refused to think about the future where that dream shattered.
Through the fast-encroaching dark, the long driveway lined with stately trees opened suddenly to a gothic, Victorian mansion. A soft gasp of surprise exploded from my lips.
That was the infamous Grimaldi residence.
The urge to run flooded my veins. I opted for shrinking back into the seat and counting my breaths.
It was always funny to me when normal people talked about the mob. Their eyes would gloss over, their voices become hushed. They’d reference Al Capone or the Five Families. It was the glamour of the old days, and many were shocked to find that organized crime still existed in America—and the rest of the world. Different from gangs, the mob was the elusive, glitzy secret society that normal people dreamed about before going back to the law abiding, dreary normal lives.
My experience had been limited to the smaller scale. Don Morelli ran a controlled organization, which never reached for something bigger or grander. His outfit was invested heavily in black market items, with small deals on the side for extra cash. We were humble folk compared to…this.
Liam adjusted the black bow tied around his neck. He held up a finger to stop Connor’s teasing before launching from the SUV like his pants were on fire.
Maybe he’s nervous too.
That made me feel a touch better.
The back door cracked open. Liam extended his bare hand, and with a gulp, I slid mine into his. A rush of relief washed through me. That solid presence was something I could lean on, and I planned to do just that if I was going to survive in there.
Shutting the door behind me, Liam shifted my hold to the crook of his arm. “Shall we?”
“Sure,” I croaked.
It was all I could do not to trip on my skirt as we climbed the stone steps. A maid, wearing an actual black and white costume, opened the door. She was young, but the glint in her eye was full of mischief.
“Welcome!” she beamed.
I liked her instantly. “Thank you.”
She closed the door behind us, trapping us in the lair of glitter and luxury. Liam didn’t rush me. He seemed to be taking in the scene before us, gauging for a threat, and marking the exits.
I looked too, but not for the same reasons. My father was a capo, but I doubted that meant much here.
“How’s your night going?” I asked the maid, looking for any excuse not to step toward the thriving party that spilled out of the parlor.
Surprise flashed across her face. Guests probably didn’t bother talking to her.
“Oh, I’m making it. Ain’t nothing on fire yet.” Her accent was charming. It was sweeter than honey, and while I might not be from the land of front porch rocking chairs and red dirt roads, I felt more in common with her than the throng that waited to gobble us whole.
“If y’all need anything, just let me know,” she added with a wink, passing us to disappear down a service entrance.
“You’re shaking.” Liam pulled me close. “Breathe.”
“I’m trying.” I let him lead me to the edge of the gathering.
This famiglia was the sort of organization that pretended it had nothing to do with the seedier underbelly. They were drenched in money, fingers in everything. A girl like me didn’t belong here. This was what people thought of when they talked about the mob. The foyer reeked of power. Just the foyer! Influential people milled about, rubbing elbows. Some probably had the president’s personal phone number in their speed dial.
Liam skirted the crowd, pulling me deeper into the mess. He nodded to a few individuals, but didn’t engage with anyone. I risked a peek. That handsome profile was set in stone. His jaw was granite, clenched tight.
