Page 9

They may not be the reason for my exile, but they’re the reason for so much trouble in my family’s life.

Inside, the foyer opens into a large turret. Grand stairs with more metal railings and a dated pink carpet twist along the stairs, descending to the black-and-white tiled floor. Expensive art canvases decorate the walls—some look pricey. I wish I had Killian’s eye for art. Maybe I could steal a few and sell them on the black market.

Not that I need the money, but it’d be funny.

The oak table in the center has a large bronze fountain, with champagne recycled through silver tubes. It bubbles, popping as people pass it. I fill a glass, and Ben follows, shoulder to shoulder, watching the crowd. They mingle, nodding to each other in a silent greeting.

I quirk a brow behind the mask. They’re all men.

Yet, the rich scent of dozens of perfumes coats the air. I hate it. My nose itches, but I push forward, dragging Ben along.

It’s awfully clandestine for such a well-dressed party. I should’ve looked more into why, but it’s the only chance I had in getting close to Roman—and in his own home? How lucky could I be?

Ben stalls at the entrance, and I slap his arm. “Knock it off. Act like you belong here,” I murmur, lips barely moving behind the thick metal.

He snorts. “Okay, but we don’t. You realize we’re in enemy territory, alone? No backup. No weapon to speak of.”

Lifting my mask slightly, I sip my glass, draining it dry. “I have a knife.”

“Like an actual knife?”

“A Swiss knife.”

“Because you’re fucking weird.”

Dragging him into the living room, I ignore his comment. Is it weird that the son of a famous Irish mobster hates guns? Maybe. He’s only mad I didn’t let him bring his. At least, I have something.

He doesn’t understand my hesitancy; Ben wasn’t constantly terrorized with guns during his formative years. I was. The messes, the blood, and the fear in other people’s eyes. I saw what those weapons did—and to whom they did it. I’d rather forgo all weapons if it meant leaving the piece of myself that was my father behind.

The music grows louder. String instruments pluck from a nondescript band, and the lights flicker off. Only various candles along the tables, mantle, and back sideboard combat the shadows. Conversation lowers, volume down to match the atmosphere’s somber mood.

It’s decadent, forbidden, and the others feel it too. They take to the corners, hiding in the alcoves, whispering under the lovely tunes. The energy travels along my nerves, and I shudder, strangely relaxed.

Odd.

“See him?” Ben asks, glass to his face.

I drop mine on a passing servant’s tray. The staff also wears a mask, though it’s nothing but a strip of white covering their eyes. No faces anywhere, tonight.

Scanning the room, I take in the lush brown leather couches, the large armchair fit for a king, and more art prints. The walls are covered in beige and etched florals, and roses perch on every open space.

It’s pretty. But it’s new money trying to look like old money, pretty.

My father did the same. Pathetic.

“No.” Sliding my hands into my pockets, my eyes search the ceiling. There. Disguised in the recessed lighting, I see the faintest blink of a red spot. It’s meant to be hidden, but for someone who works with computers, it’s painfully obvious.

Finally, something I understand.

“Cameras,” I murmur. “Lights.”

Taking another glass, I watch Ben subtly look skyward and nod once. “So, they’re watching.”

“We knew this.” I smile behind the mask. Smiling is natural to me—a better mask than most. It’s deceptive, shielding the darkest thoughts from others. I’ve tried telling Killian this, but he never listens.

If people think sunshine rains from my ass, people are less likely to assume I can ruin them with a few clicks.

Except in Bruno’s home, I’m having a difficult time holding onto that sarcastic, flippant side of myself. Being here brings out the blackest parts of my soul. The parts that house the bit left of Ferguson—his rage, his cruelty, his brutality. Parts I haven’t been able to burn away. I keep them locked up for fear of them taking over if allowed.