Machiavellian: Gangsters of New York, Book 1

by Di Corte, Bella

  Guido was the Italian man with Scarlett Fausti at Home Run. He had showed up at The Club, and everyone seemed to move out of his way. It was clear to see he had pull.

  The Faustis. They were basically Italian royalty, among other things.

  What the hell did I get myself into?

  The guy with Sierra’s ID stood still for a moment. Maybe he was listening to his earpiece, but he watched me the entire time. Then he nodded once. “You’re clear. Now your bag, Ms. Andruzzi.” He held out his big hand.

  I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and handed it over. He took it inside, and I bit my lip, hoping it wouldn’t bust again. I had used Sierra’s makeup to cover up the bruises the best that I could. I wasn’t skilled in makeup application, so the results were…iffy. I had thought of it as coloring in one of my books, making the princess more appealing with color.

  The other guard watched me but turned his eyes in a different direction when the other guy who had my bag came back out.

  “Where’s my stuff?” I said with bite.

  He handed me a ticket in its place. “Checked in. All bags stay with us until you leave.”

  “Bullshit.” I felt territorial over my bag. It was all I had. Everything that was mine was in there.

  He lowered his eyes. “You read the rules?”

  Trick question, I could tell.

  “Yeah,” I said. I tried honesty. “I did. It’s—it’s all that I have.”

  He had no reaction. He stepped to the side and held his arm out. “Enter.”

  Another guard met me at the door. He told me to follow him. The first thing I noticed was the smell in the air. Chocolate. It seemed to be coming from…candles. They were lit from one end of the hall to another, and the sweet scent seemed to be coming from them.

  At the end of the hallway, we took stairs to a second level. If I had to guess, The Club was an old warehouse that had been redone into the space it had become.

  Opulence. The word came right after chocolate. The Club meant to play on all of the senses.

  Squeaky-clean glass stretched the entire second level, and I could see from one end of the club to the next. Below, hundreds of people danced and mingled. Upstairs, people only mingled. Men and women in fine attire circulated the room. Some lounged on dark blue velvet sofas or chairs, a drink in hand, smiles on their faces. Crystal and gold touches enhanced the crushed texture of the velvet. Candlelight softened the atmosphere to a warm glow. Everything shimmered.

  This had to be the VIP area, where all of the gorgeous people hung out. These people were a step above beautiful.

  As soon as my feet touched the floor, I recognized two wildly popular actresses, two actors, three singers, a couple of famous baseball players, and a few high-powered businessmen that I’d seen on the television at Home Run. They’d give their opinions on stocks and things like that. One thing I noticed they all had in common, apart from being famous enough to recognize, was that they were all young. If I had to guess, they were all around my age, early to mid-twenties.

  Except for one man.

  He stood out because of his age. He had to be in his late sixties, at least, though his olive complexion seemed to cover his true age. He wore an old-time suit with suspenders and nice shoes. He sat in the corner with a drink in his hand, watching, almost studying.

  “Ms. Andruzzi.” The guard who had led me in captured my attention by using Sierra’s last name. “Make yourself comfortable.” He pointed to a room that was hard to see through the crowd. “Food and refreshments can be found in there. If you would like a drink, there are servers passing that can take your order. Whatever you wish for, do not hesitate to ask.” He paused for a second. “Do not worry about your bag. If you lose your ticket to claim it, just remember that your number is eleven.”

  Then he left me.

  Eleven. My number. Fucka me. Did that mean when my number was called that it was time for me to…what? Screw someone in this room? My stomach took a dive and acid bit the back of my throat. I needed a drink.

  I slowly headed toward the room that offered food and refreshments. Luckily, it wasn’t as packed as the rest of the place. It was mostly filled with women who were lingering around the different stations of food. Lobster. Shrimp. Caviar. Varieties of rich, creamy soups. A station with meat that a man carved with a knife. Hundreds of desserts and chocolates. Coffee. Tea. If you wished for it, this place seemed to have it.

  I slapped my forehead with enough momentum that a loud whap! sounded. Then I sucked in a gust of air, remembering after the fact that I had a bruise there.

  Shit!

  A while back, Keely had invited me over on a Sunday, a rare day off for her, and made me watch a movie with her. It was about a girl who switched places with her younger sister so the little girl wouldn’t have to become a human sacrifice. The girl had to fight to survive while the entire country watched. I had remarked that it was no different than surviving New York, but the thought suddenly hit me.

  What if this was some kind of sick game?

  Whoever the host was held nothing back, money wise. I couldn’t even fathom the kind of money it would take to host a party of this magnitude. And then after we ate and drank until we had our fill—then what? We’d have to fight for the important things in the huge-ass cornucopia to help win our survival?

  That was straight up Keely’s avenue. She was a master with a bow and arrow. My sister from an entirely different mister and mam was kick-ass.

  Me? I didn’t even have my measly piece of pottery to use in defense.

  Accepting a glass of amber liquid, I sipped on it while I studied the women in the room. None of them were speaking to one another. Glances. Polite smiles. But sometimes, when one or the other wasn’t paying attention, eyes would linger. Judging. Wondering who wore it better. Every woman was dressed for this. We, meaning the girls in the room and me, looked like we belonged here.

  Something was missing, though. We didn’t belong here. Not on a regular day.

  It was the vibe. None of the people outside of this room ventured in here. Of course not. If you’re not starving, you’re not worried about being hungry. I didn’t think any of these girls were homeless, but something told me they were all only a step ahead of the devil, too.

  They were starved. They were in a constant state of fight or flight. They only existed.

  Just like me.

  Fucka me.

  An insane urge to ask someone what was going on weighed on my tongue, but the weight kept me from speaking. There seemed to be unspoken rules floating through the richly scented air. No speaking. No questions. You read the rules. You accepted them. Now. Shh. Be quiet.

  I hadn’t read the rules, which put me at a severe disadvantage. I had no idea what I was here for, or what was going to happen to me. All I knew was that desperation was a nasty bitch, and when she clawed with poison-tipped nails, you listened. No matter what, I’d separate my body from my mind, my emotions, and get on with it.

  In a way, this was the survival of the fittest. Wherever the cornucopia was, whatever it held, I was ready to battle for it. The only problem was, these women were gorgeous, in all different ways. It was going to be a bloody war.

  If there was no competition and we were all herded like animals to sell to the highest bidder…well, I didn’t feel so alone. We were all here for the same purpose, living and not surviving. For good.

  Only time would tell what side we stood on—unity or battle.

  A man in a suit walked in, a piece in his ear, going straight for a girl about to stuff a cream puff in her mouth. Once he was close enough, he held out his arm for her to take. She looked at it a moment, wiped her mouth with a napkin, glanced back at the desserts once more, and then took his muscular arm. They took a right at the door and disappeared out of the room a second later.

  I wonder what number she is and when I’ll be up next?

  Taking my drink and leaving the room with the buffet, I decided to take a se
at on a comfortable chair in the midst of the chaos. Laughter steadily grew louder. Two men in front of me mock-punched each other while one of the women I saw in the food room earlier watched them act like fools. A few more women who had been in the room were socializing with men out here, too.

  Were we supposed to flirt if this was some kind of auction? I hated the thought of trying to sell myself. This entire situation was bad enough, but selling the goods before they were bid on? Impossible. How was I supposed to compete with all of these beauty queens?

  Another one of those men wearing an earpiece came out, his eyes scanning the crowd.

  Not me. Not me. Not yet.

  I breathed out when his eyes passed me up and landed on the woman laughing at the two men. He strode up to her, gave her his arm, and before he led her away, she said something to the two men. Instead of heading right, this time the man with the earpiece went left. He and the woman were headed toward the stairs.

  Huh. He was leading her back outside. Did she even know it?

  A few minutes later, the same thing happened to a couple more women who mingled with men in the crowd.

  Each time a man in a suit came looking, my stomach dipped. I sat my drink down on a marble coaster, not feeling so hot. No food had been a good idea. I was cold and hot simultaneously, and goosebumps puckered my arms. I broke out in a cold sweat, and I hoped the makeup Sierra had wasn’t the cheap kind. I patted instead of wiped, hoping the bruises would stay hidden for a little while longer.

  Just as I thought a trip to the bathroom was a good idea, the old man with the suspenders took a seat next to me and said something in Italian.

  I shook my head. “I don’t speak Italian,” I said, my voice close to betraying the nerves making me sick to my stomach.

  “Ah,” he said, almost like a sigh. “How are you feeling?”

  The kind eyes under the glasses took in my face, and I felt no need to lie. “Honestly?” I breathed out. “Not so well. Nerves.”

  He nodded at this. “I am Tito. And you are?”

  “Ma—Sierra. Sierra Andruzzi.”

  His eyes narrowed under the glasses and he tilted his head to the side. “Sierra Andruzzi,” he repeated.

  “Sierra Andruzzi.”

  This Tito knew I wasn’t Sierra. He didn’t outwardly show his surprise that I gave her name, but I just knew. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, another man in a suit, another earpiece, came to stand before me. He looked down at me but said nothing.

  It was time. 11:11 P.M.

  Make a wish, Mari.

  Taking a deep breath, stealing one last glance at Tito with the kind eyes, I took the escort’s offered arm. He led me down the hallway, allowing time for my awkward walk, past the room with the food, right, and into pitch darkness.

  * * *

  The smell of chocolate seemed more concentrated in the dark. I wondered if my senses were making up for the lost one—sight. I couldn’t see a thing, but my escort seemed to know where we were going. We didn’t run into anything.

  The music in this area seemed more intense, too. It was deep, pulsing, slow. The female singer sang about falling from grace for the man she loved.

  It screamed loyalty. She was extremely loyal, even when love made her crazy.

  I wasn’t sure how long we walked in the darkness—a couple of minutes, at least—but when we came to a stop, I felt my escort push against something. Then we entered into a space that mimicked the darkness.

  The room’s walls were dark, every place to sit black velvet, and the tables the same color. It was entirely monochromatic except for two decorative additions—the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, burning with more candles, and the ceiling itself. The entire space above was created from mother of pearl.

  “Would you like a drink, Ms. Andruzzi?” the escort asked, his voice husky.

  I don’t know, you tell me, I almost spit out. I had no idea what was in store for me, and I was too chicken to ask. When I had committed to this, I did so with all that I had. I was going to see this through.

  Set. For good. My last chance.

  Take a deep breath, Mari.

  “No,” I said, my voice just a whisper, the breath I had taken slipping out. Maybe it was my imagination, but the candles seemed to sway with an invisible breeze in the room, making me feel like I was in a world that existed under this one in the darkness.

  My escort nodded once, his eyes glistening with the soft light. “Are you ready, Ms. Andruzzi?”

  Maybe the details were best left unsaid. That way I couldn’t run.

  On the other hand, what if there was some kind of protocol?

  If I did something wrong, maybe they’d find out that I was lying.

  Maybe not.

  If I could just go with it and not stumble trying to make my way out of hell…or was I trading one for another?

  Closing my eyes, I nodded.

  Whatever will be, will be…

  A second or two later, something soft touched my face, and a breath trembled out of my mouth. My eyes were covered by a cool silk wrap, the escort’s hands securing the tie, and even if I wanted to open my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to see.

  I didn’t hear him leave, but I got the feeling he had. I was alone.

  Or was I? It was hard to tell.

  Was it the breath of the candles swaying, breathing, consuming the air? Or was I losing control? My breath came faster and faster. My chest felt hollow, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room to sustain me. My skin felt hot. The fires licked my skin but blistered my soul.

  What were they going to do to me? Or was there something I should be doing?

  When I breathed in, trying to control my breath, all I could smell was chocolate, not even the perfume I’d used earlier. It almost seemed…purposely done, to throw someone off.

  Everything here seemed to be done with a specific objective in mind. Stay hidden.

  A soft, cool breeze seemed to enter the room, making the candles hiss instead of pant. A bead of sweat rolled from my neck between my breasts. I felt its cool race down my skin, trying to cool the burn of the fires around me.

  The hands that touched me out of the darkness were warm, pleasant, but my skin contracted at the surprise anyway. Someone had entered the room and stood behind me. I felt his presence, his heat, which was different from the candles. Wilder. Hotter. His breath fanned over my skin, only making me feel…overheated.

  He.

  He had to be a he. Those hands. They were big in comparison to my arms. He was tall. Wide. A force. The strength of him engulfed me.

  There was no doubt that this man was a hunter, but what side would he stand on? Would he kill for me, or make me his prey?

  Please don’t hurt me. Please.

  My knees started to knock together at the thought. At the memories I had suppressed for so long.

  If I could’ve closed my eyes even tighter, I would have. I couldn’t. They were starting to cramp from the strain of trying to keep my shit together. The drink I had earlier was a small ember in the background, doing nothing to help ease the uncertainty of the moment. It added to it.

  I forced myself to listen to reason, to think this through. Follow the line of his touch. It was firm but not hurtful, like his hands were not soft but not rough either. He was feeling me out. Tracing my lines. Memorizing them?

  Even though I had no idea who he was, something about the way he touched me, taking his time, made me feel like he was looking for something that went deeper than flesh—a connection? A spark?

  Maybe I was losing my mind, imagining that he was not only doing this for sex.

  Or maybe it was wishful thinking.

  His hands slowly came around my waist, and he pulled me into him, my back to his front. We sort of moved in time to the music, from side to side, until I relaxed enough to almost melt into the embrace. He seemed to know when I did. This time, his hands felt like they were burning through the fabric of the dress.

  I
inhaled, wanting to catch his scent, but…chocolate. Bingo, I thought. I was right. It was the reason why the entire place smelled strongly of the rich scent. He didn’t want me to know him, to see him.

  Maybe it was for the best. This would be over soon enough, and maybe I’d be set, and life would be better. I’d never see his face when I thought of the moment that changed everything. I’d only think chocolate. No strings to keep pulling me back into the fire.

  Another breath trembled out of my mouth when one of his hands started to venture against my body. In the darkness, his touch reminded me of white lightning streaking across the night sky. The hair on my body stiffened, goosebumps puckered my skin, and something about the way he moved made me feel…pliable, like he could mold me into a shape to fit his.

  My mind wanted to shut it out, go along with it, get it over with, but my body…it did something it had never before.

  Responded.

  My body started to shut my mind down, wanting, taking, wanting, taking. I willingly relaxed my hand so that he could hold it in the hand that had been searching my body. He entwined our fingers together, and in a move so smooth that it seemed perfectly timed, he turned me.

  We must be facing each other. The candles are brightening my face and he’ll truly see me now.

  Complete silence.

  I waited. I waited. I waited. And waited some more.

  What the hell?

  Did he leave?

  I was ashamed to think it, to feel it, but I craved his touch in the darkness. I wanted his hands on me again. I wanted to feel their soothing warmth. I wanted to feel that security again. The nothing behind the blindfold started to feel imposing. Unnerving.

  In the darkness, I didn’t feel so wicked reacting to his touch. To him.

  I lifted my hand, about to remove the blindfold, but hesitated. I knew once I did, the spell would be broken. He had set the scene and the tone. Made it ideal. Romantic even. Made it not so hard to think the words…I can handle this. Touch me again.