by Anna Ray
Knowing my father will want to send a bodyguard with me if I tell him I’m going to a bar with Taylor, I call my mom instead. She tries to convince me to come home for a celebratory meal, saying I can invite Taylor, too, if I want, but I stand firm and promise we’ll have dinner together tomorrow. Eventually, she gives in as long as I promise to call her later, before going to bed, to let her know I’m okay. I say I will, and then Taylor and I head to the waiting Mercedes-Benz.
“Hey, Tony, can you drop me and Taylor off at her place, please?” I ask the driver as Taylor and I get into the car.
“Certainly, Miss Giuliani, but do your parents know you’re not coming straight home?”
I suppress an eye roll and say, “Yeah, don’t worry. I just called mom.”
Taking my word for it, Tony starts the engine. We drive across the city to where Taylor lives in Lincoln Park. She, too, comes from a rich family and lives in a massive mansion, but her parents aren’t overprotective. Mr. and Mrs. Devereux are currently away on business in France, but even when they’re around, they treat Taylor like the adult she is instead of monitoring her every move like my father. I envy the freedom she has to do her own thing and look forward to a night of similar freedom.
At Taylor’s, we have dinner, and she insists on opening a bottle of sparkling white wine. The alcohol helps relax me, and soon, I’m getting into the party mood as she pulls a variety of outfits from her huge walk-in closet. She has more clothes than anyone could possibly wear in one lifetime, and she insists I borrow something for our night out.
“This would look cute on you,” she says, holding up a sequined minidress. The color is a bronze-gold that would bring out the amber in my eyes.
It’s a little sexier than the clothes I normally wear, but after some cajoling, Taylor convinces me to wear the sequin dress. “You’ll look so hot and have guys crawling all over you.”
Her choice of words makes me shudder, and for some reason, my mind immediately flashes to the dark, expensive car I’ve seen lurking around. I’m about to ask Taylor if she’s noticed the car around campus, too, but then think better of it; mentioning it now will only bring the mood down.
Taylor insists on doing my makeup, and after she’s done with me, I hardly recognize myself. I barely wear makeup at home because my father always reprimands me, even when I’m just wearing a little mascara and lip gloss.
I stare in the mirror, unable to tear my eyes away from my glamorous makeup that consists of expert contouring; dark, smokey eyeshadow with a shimmery gold cut-crease accent that matches my dress; and nude, glossy lips.
While Taylor applies her own makeup, I style my long, curly chestnut brown hair, smoothing in some hair serum to define the curls, and adding a generous spritz of hairspray so it stays in shape all night.
Taylor turns to me to reveal smokey eye makeup of her own that makes her blue eyes really pop. She’s accompanied the look with her signature bloodred lipstick.
“Can you help me with my hair, please?” she asks, gesturing toward the hair straighteners that she’s had heating up on the vanity.
“Sure,” I say, picking up the straighteners and a comb and running them through her long, blond hair until every strand is perfectly straight.
Once we’re ready, she has her driver take us across the city to Hubbard Street in the River North area, where bars and clubs line the street and party-goers move from one establishment to another, enjoying the carefree atmosphere.
“I’ll call later when we need picking up,” she tells the driver, who nods and leaves us to it.
Outside Howl at the Moon, we get in line and slowly shuffle forward, moving at a steady pace until we reach the front doors.
“Can I see your IDs, please, ladies?” a burly bouncer asks as we come to the entranceway.
“Sure,” Taylor says with an easy smile as she whips her ID out of her purse and hands it over without a moment’s pause.
I try to adopt her nonchalant attitude and do the same. Even though I’ve been twenty-one for six months, getting ID’d still freaks me out a little. The bouncer stares at our IDs for a moment, then hands them back. “Go on in, ladies.”
We step past the bouncer and into the main area of the bar. There, my senses are assaulted by a million new sights and sounds. The back wall is lined with a massive bar, the shelves of alcohol illuminated in alternating red and blue lights. Tall, dark pillars lead up to a black ceiling, giving the place a simple, classy feel. Lively music thrums through my body, the bass reverberating in my veins as people crowd around.
Bodies press together as women dressed in a similar way to Taylor and me, grind against guys in black slacks and open collared dress shirts of various colors. Taylor takes my hand, and we weave through the throngs of people and to the bar. There, she orders one of the drink buckets she mentioned earlier, which is a plastic bucket printed with the bar logo and contains a highly alcoholic, bright pink cocktail garnished with lime wedges and two straws. I quickly lose count of the different liquors the bartender pours into the cocktail, but there’s at least three different kinds.
“Try some,” Taylor insists, taking a sip from one of the straws.
Figuring it would be rude not to, after my friend just bought drinks for us, I take a sip and am pleasantly surprised. The cocktail is light, sweet, and fruity. If I hadn’t seen the bartender make it, I’d have never known it had alcohol in it.
We remain near the bar as we share the massive cocktail, and once it’s empty, Taylor drags me onto the dance floor.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol I’ve consumed, the music and atmosphere, or being away from the overbearing gaze of my father, but I let myself go. Maybe it’s a combination of all the above, but for the first time in… I can’t even remember, I feel free. No one knows who I am, or cares what I'm doing.
I dance until my feet ache, singing along to party anthem after party anthem, my jaw hurting from grinning so much. So this is what I’ve been missing out on. Taylor was right. I needed this. I deserve this.
As we make our way back to the bar for another cocktail bucket, Taylor hisses in my ear, “That guy’s checking you out.”
I glance in the direction she’s gazing, and sure enough, a guy in his late twenties with a strong jawline and handsome face, is looking at us.
“He’s cute; you should go over and say hi,” Taylor suggests.
“I don’t know.” I drag my feet, not wanting to make a fool of myself. “I don’t have much experience with guys and —”
Taylor rolls her eyes, but we both fall quiet as the guy and his friend approach us. The one who was “checking me out” has jaw-length black hair and piercing turquoise eyes that seem to stare right into my soul. When he offers me a charming smile, my heart flips over.
“Hey, I’m Massimo,” he says, then gestures to the guy beside him, who also has dark hair, though it’s cropped shorter. “And this is my friend Francesco. Can we get you ladies a drink?”
Taylor gently nudges me forward, then offers Francesco a flirty grin. “That’d be great; thanks.”
I’m still uncertain, and don’t move, until Massimo, his smile soft and reassuring, offers me his hand. “It’s okay — we don’t bite. I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Alessandra,” I say, taking his hand and feeling a spark crackle between us.
Massimo’s smile broadens, and he says, “It’s great to meet you, Alessandra.
3
Massimo
As I take Alessandra’s hand and lead her to the bar, it hits me that this isn’t the same girl I’ve been observing for the last few weeks. Instead of the conservative clothes I’m used to seeing Alessandra dressed in, she’s wearing a short, sequined minidress and much heavier makeup than usual. She looks older, less doe-eyed and innocent. I can’t help but wonder what she has hidden under her “sweet girl” exterior?
When we reach the bar, I turn to Alessandra and ask, “What do you want?”
“I can get it,” she ins
ists, reaching for her purse before I can grab my wallet. I glance across at Francesco, who is already sharing a cocktail bucket with Alessandra’s friend, Taylor.
“Do you want to share one of those?” I suggest.
“You don’t mind drinking something so girly?” Alessandra asks with a giggle.
Usually, I stick to Amaretto over ice, but I’ll drink whatever Alessandra wants, as long as it helps her relax and trust me.
I shrug and say, “Alcohol is alcohol, isn’t it?”
Once we have a cocktail bucket to share, Alessandra and I move to a table by the bar where Francesco and Taylor already sit, their heads dipped together as they drink and chat.
“So, do you live locally?” I ask, knowing exactly where Alessandra lives. I’ve driven past her family’s estate in Forest Glen plenty of times in the past few weeks.
“I live over on the Northwest Side,” she says, carefully revealing the area, but no specifics. Clever girl. “How about you?”
I almost reveal the location of my penthouse, but quickly cover and throw out an area at random. “Oh, I’m from over by the House of Blues,” I lie.
“You’ll have to take me to a show there sometime,” she says playfully.
“I’d like that. You’ll have to give me your number, and we can arrange something,” I say, maintaining steady eye contact so Alessandra feels like my sole focus is her.
She blushes and bows her head. “Let’s see how the night goes first.”
“Sure,” I reply, offering a reassuring smile and gently running the pad of my thumb across her hand. “So, do you work over on the Northwest Side, too?”
Again, I know the answer to this, too, but I need to earn her trust.
“No, I’m still at college studying business and economics.”
“Smart and beautiful. A deadly combination,” I tease.
“How about you? Apartments near the House of Blues can’t come cheap.”
“That’s right,” I say, playing along with her assumption I’m a wealthy businessman. It isn’t far from the truth — my business is just a little unconventional. “But don’t get too excited; it’s nothing glamorous. I just run a money lending and check cashing service. How about you? What are your plans for after you graduate?”
Alessandra bites her bottom lip in this adorable way I’ve seen her do before, and it stirs conflicting feelings to life inside me. I’m torn between wanting to close the distance between us and crush my lips to hers or giving up on the plan altogether and walking out without another word.
Think of Bianca, I remind myself.
“I haven’t decided yet. My father wants me — ” she suddenly stops herself as though she’s said too much, and I almost give myself away when I raise a curious eyebrow. Does Alessandra know what her father does? Does she know he’s a murderer?
I recover quickly and prompt her to go on. “Let me guess, he thinks a woman’s place is in the kitchen.”
Alessandra laughs uneasily. “Yeah, pretty much. I don’t think he’d approve of me being here, talking to you.”
Yeah, I bet. What would Stefano Giuliani think if he knew his daughter was having drinks with the man whose family he murdered?
I want to ask more, but then I can’t make it too obvious, either. Instead, I remain silent, watching her as she tucks a strand of curly, chestnut hair behind her ear and bows her head to take a sip of the garish cocktail. Her lips pucker in the most seductive way, and I have to focus my attention on something, anything else to stop my mind racing.
She pulls me back when she asks, “Wanna dance?”
I glance at Francesco and Taylor, who’re now joined at the lips, and then at the cocktail bucket that’s about half empty. I take a quick sip of my own, then say, “Sure, lead the way.”
She slides out of the booth and offers me her hand, which I gladly take and let her lead me onto the dance floor.
We start off awkwardly at first, standing at least ten inches apart, my hands light on her hips and hers on my shoulders. Knowing I have to turn up the heat, I move in closer, gripping her waist tightly, and Alessandra instinctively loops her arms around my neck. Our bodies move in rhythm to the music, and I grind my hips against hers.
“You look really good in that dress,” I whisper against her ear, my hand snaking down from her waist to cup her firm ass.
She stiffens, but only for a moment, and then melts into my touch, her head resting on my shoulders and her fingers playing with the ends of my hair.
What the fuck are you doing? A voice that sounds disturbingly like Carlo screams in my mind.
What I have to do to get what I want, I tell myself. But, as I glance down at Alessandra, the multicolored lights above making her hair look green, then blue, then purple, I know this is way beyond what I need to do to get revenge.
Taped to my leg, and concealed by my pants, is a plastic bag containing a drug strong enough to knock Alessandra out for at least twelve hours. At any time while we were chatting, I could have easily retrieved the drug and slipped it into our drink.
Instead, I’m on a packed dance floor with my arms around her and her chest pressed against mine as we dance. I feel her heart pound and wonder if she can feel mine. Can she feel this pull — like the opposite ends of two magnets?
As the song ends, she looks up at me, her amber eyes probing and curious, as though wanting for something. I incline my head, and it’s a moment before I remember that’s not why I’m here.
I step back and say, “Do you want another drink?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, looking slightly hurt at my rejection of her.
My chest aches with regret, but I know I can’t be distracted from my true mission — no matter how hot she is.
At the bar, I buy her another brightly colored cocktail, though a single this time, not a bucket, and a bottle of beer for myself. Hot and sweaty from dancing, she greedily gulps down half the cocktail before we even leave the bar; then we make our way over to the table we were sitting at earlier.
“Where’s Taylor?” she asks, looking around in panic. Then she frowns. “She’s ditched me for your friend, hasn’t she? Typical!”
She flops down on the seat, and I gently slide in next to her. As I’ve instructed, Francesco is keeping Taylor occupied. What he does with her now, as long as it won’t lead back to me, is his business.
“Seems like it. But don’t worry, I can make sure you get home safely,” I say smoothly.
“Thanks, but I’ll… erm, call my driver..”
No, that won’t work, I think as she reaches for her purse. While she’s distracted getting her phone, I finally give in to temptation and retrieve the bag of pills taped to my leg. I slip two into the cocktail glass and stir them around so they fizz and dissolve.
“Damn it,” Alessandra curses, sitting upright. “My battery is dead.”
“Here, use mine,” I offer, handing her the burner phone I invested in. I don’t want her calling her driver, that’s more people who could possibly work out what happened to her, but I can’t let the mask slip yet. She has to continue trusting me.
I’m surprised when she ignores my offer and takes a long sip of her drink instead. Slowly, a smile covers her face, as though she’s just had an excellent idea or a change of heart. “Thanks. But didn’t you offer me a ride home?” she asks playfully, and I know I have her exactly where I want her.
“Of course,” I say with a grin. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll call my driver…” I say, implying I’m over the limit. I’m not. I’ve only had a few sips from the cocktail bucket and a mouthful of beer. I like to keep a clear head when on a business mission. But I want Alessandra to think I’m buzzed like she is.
She sucks down more of her cocktail and then looks at me. “I’m good to go whenever you are.”
“You don’t want to finish your drink?” I insist, wondering if she’s gotten enough of the sedative into her system.
“Do you mind if I don’t?” she asks,
as though seeking my permission because I bought the drink. “I think I’ve had a bit too much.”
Not wanting to seem like a pushy asshole, I shrug and say, “Sure. Let’s get out of here.”
I slip out of the booth and then offer my hand to her. She takes it, and as she stands, it’s obvious she needs my help. Have the drugs kicked in, or is she really that wasted?
With her leaning heavily on me, I lead her outside and into the cool night air, where she shivers in her short dress. I wish I had a jacket to offer her, but didn’t think of wearing one to the bar. Instead, I quickly call my driver, Daniel, and ask him to pick us up ASAP.
Already briefed on what I’m doing, Daniel arrives quickly and asks no questions as Alessandra and I get into the back of the dark, unmarked car with tinted windows. He doesn’t even need to ask where we’re headed and instinctively starts driving in the direction of the house I’ve rented for this specific purpose.
Alessandra is too out of it to even realize I haven’t asked for her address or anything and lays her head on my shoulder. As we cross the city, she dips in and out of consciousness, and I know she has no idea where we’re going.
Perfect.
The rental home I’ve arranged is large and in a quiet neighborhood, with a barb-wire fence and security gate surrounding the premises. In preparation for Alessandra’s arrival, I’ve hired a cook and housekeeper, both under strict instructions to ask no questions if they want to get paid. What they don’t know is keeping quiet will also save their lives.
Daniel pauses as we reach the security gate, and I roll down the window and enter the security code. When the light flashes green, the gate swings open, and he drives up the long, flagstone arrival.
The house, while not as big as Carlo’s mansion, is sizable, with two massive bedrooms, each with their own ensuite bathroom, and a kitchen, sitting room, formal dining room, laundry room, and garage. To the rear is an expanse of land, surrounded by trees and enclosed in the barbed wire topped fence.
