by J. L. Beck
She saunters back into the fray, and I snag a passing glass of champagne. I don’t usually drink because I feel out of control when I have too much. And no one can see me like that. But Andrea is right. If I continue scowling from the fringes of the ballroom, it won’t help me find the woman I need to turn into my wife.
But I’m not the only one who’s counting the seconds until it’s socially acceptable to leave. A young woman in black with a mass of barely restrained curls stands near a table with someone else I don’t recognize. Which is impossible since I know every member of our little twisted society.
Then I catch sight of Sal squeezing through the crowd, not even bothering to be sly at the way he ogles the women he passes.
When he reaches the table, the girl in black stiffens and shifts away from him but then allows the fucking dickhole to drag her by the arm to his side again. And he isn’t gentle about it either. I’m three seconds from grabbing his threadbare tux and allowing Andrea to escort him out. She loves nothing more than showing a man like him what she thinks of his kind.
So he succeeded in buying himself a family name. And by the size of the rock on Rachel—Royal—no, I can’t remember her name, her daddy had to buy it for her fiancé to propose. Sal and her father, Victor, have been in business together a long time. When word started to spread about his engagement to Novak’s daughter, I thought they were sampling their own product. Now, seeing the way he handles her as though he owns her, I believe it.
And I want to fucking kill him for the way he’s touching her.
For the sadness I see that isn’t quite masked by her bright smile.
My stomach roils, and I shift my focus away before I do something stupid. She isn’t mine, and interfering will only cause trouble. Seeing that look in her eyes—the same look my mother used to wear—unnerves me in a way I haven’t been in a long time.
My mother was the only truly good female I’ve ever known. Even Andrea, one of my closest friends, is a bitch on a good day.
I realize I’m staring at her again. The black dress looks a little loose on her petite frame, and she’s young. She’s so fucking young someone probably should have carded her at the door. Too young to have the weight of the world written in her gaze.
The urge to find out what color her eyes are overtakes me, and I slowly shift around the ballroom, smoothly avoiding people trying to capture my attention. When I finally make it to the right angle, the lighting is too dark for me to tell, but staring at her straight on, with Sal’s hand inching toward her ass, I can clearly see how much she hates him.
A puzzle then. Why would one of the society’s pampered princesses marry her daddy’s business partner if she didn’t like him? She, like me, should have her choice of suitors. Her hair is a thing of beauty, piled up on her head in a mass of natural curls. A flash of what all that black silk would look like spread over my white sheets starts a craving I won’t be able to quench.
No. She doesn’t belong to me. I try to shake off the longing, the stark desire that shoves its way between my ribs and nestles in deep. It doesn’t budge, especially when she delicately lifts her champagne glass, and I watch her pretty pink lips cup the rim.
Instantly, I see her on her knees, that dress pooled around her slim waist, her curls tangled between my fingers as she takes my dick down her throat. It’s an obscene fantasy. Especially because she looks like she’s never even been kissed properly. A likely scenario given her fiancé.
Fuck. I can’t stay here staring at her all night. Someone is bound to notice, and it will paint a target on her back.
I tear my eyes away and duck through the crowd, intent on putting some distance between us. If she came closer to me and I caught her delicate scent, I’d lose my fucking mind and start a war I’m not prepared to win yet. Because when I go into battle, nothing will be left standing but me and my five. She’d be collateral damage. Damage her father likely would consider insignificant if he cares so little of her to give her away to that asshole.
The balcony calls my name. It’s empty, and I spot Ivan, my second lieutenant, taking up position on the other side of the doors. The privacy after being stuck in a crowded ballroom for an hour is a welcome relief. The traffic sounds from below barely reach this high, so it’s nothing but the cold cut of the wind, which I appreciate after the stifling heat inside.
I allow myself a moment to wonder who might have followed me out here and attempted to toss me over the edge if Ivan hadn’t been tailing me. My father had many enemies, and now, I seem to have inherited them. People I barely know hate me for my father’s actions. If they only knew what having me for a real enemy would be like.
But this party opens the season, and for the next three months, every single person here must watch their back. The season-opening signals movement in society. Movement bought with blood, criminal activity, and good old-fashioned murder. Then anything goes until the final party of the season. Afterward, a mandatory nine months of peace allows the new fault lines to be drawn. Anyone who violates it meets justice at the hand of every ruling family. No one has ever survived the gauntlet.
My own father certainly didn’t. Thankfully, once they took his life, his sins washed down the drain with his blood. It didn’t matter that he’d become too old to even understand his actions in the end—they showed him no mercy. And soon, they will learn what my mercy looks like.
Almost involuntarily, I turn back to the doors and peer around Ivan’s shoulder through the glass. She’s still standing beside Sal, who is getting drunker by the minute. The other girl with her has the hard cut of fear in her eyes as she watches Sal and his fiancée. I don’t know why that fear eats at something inside me, but it blooms my own batch of fear for the innocent on Sal’s arm.
I open the doors and step back in, letting the last of the night air cool my back before closing the door again.
Ivan melts back into the crowd, and I watch her. I want to know what her voice sounds like. What color her eyes are. I want to know what kind of words she uses when she begs.
Most of all, I want Sal’s blood pooling across the concrete so he won’t ever touch her again.
I shove past a few society members, intent on reaching their table to introduce myself, but someone catches my arm. I spin with a curse and glare down into the eyes of Madeline Cerny, heiress to the biggest blow empire in the country. And by the way she wobbles in her two-thousand-dollar shoes, she’s been sampling her product.
I try to keep my tone even as I address her. “Can I help you, Maddie?”
She bats her eyelashes, or I think she does. It’s more like a wink gone wrong, but I remain the gentleman.
She, however, has lost her damn mind. I realize this when she reaches out and grabs my cock as if she has permission to touch me. As if she even has permission to speak to me.
I don’t get the pleasure of ripping her claw-tipped fingers off before Alexei, Andrea’s twin, is there, leading her away.
With disgust, I stare after them. Then I remember my mission before she mauled me. I spin to find the flower amongst the weeds. But she’s disappeared.
3
Valentina
If this is what the rest of my life looks like, I don’t want it. Every person at this party is either drunk, high, or both. And not in the glamorous, I’m rich so I can do anything I want sort of way. They are all sloppy and mean, and I’m about to lose my shit if Sal touches me one more time.
Rose meets my eyes for a moment, conveying her own distress that Sal has barely left us alone for a second. We’d hope to be drinking and watching the people we’ve never gotten to meet. But we can barely even speak with Sal breathing down the neckline of my dress as if he’d dropped his keys in there.
A part of me wishes my father had come tonight. He gave his excuses, saying Sal was within his rights to come in his stead since he would soon be his son-in-law. If he were here, he would witness Sal’s clear disregard for the sexual contact rule and maybe, for once, do something to he
lp me. Maybe he’d pretend I’m his daughter and not his burden.
Since Rose is only related by marriage, he does consider her a burden. Her mother, my mother’s sister, died along with my mom, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. I suspect my father knows that if he throws Rose out, there is nowhere in the world I won’t go to find her. To protect her. She may be my cousin by blood, but she’s my sister in every way that matters.
The thoughts of my father showing any kind of support for me are nothing more than a silly fantasy I nurtured as a child. My mother died before I reached the tween years, and after that, well, the darkness that clung to my father before became all-consuming. My mother’s light tempered him. Without her, he has no conscience. No soul. And since it’s my fault my mother is gone, I have to try to be that for him. Even when it earns me bruises more often than patience.
Sal laughs at something one of his greasy friends says. The same friend who latched on to Rose the second he joined our table. I need to find a way to rescue us both. Get us home before Sal gets too drunk to remember he cedes to my father until we marry.
I gently peel Sal’s hand from my waist and give him a smile. “I’ll be right back. Just going to powder my nose.”
Rose takes the hint and squeezes away from the handsy guy whose name I don’t bother to remember.
We link our arms and press into the crowd before Sal can think to call us back. The bathroom is likely the only safe place for us right now. We make a beeline across the marble foyer and past the elevators to the little alcove that indicates the restrooms. The facilities are just as lovely as the ballroom. I’m impressed by the velvet sitting room and the crystal chandeliers in front of each solid wood door leading to the toilets.
I don’t actually need to go, but Rose does and rushes into one of the little rooms while I take a seat on a dove gray settee. My feet are already aching from these shoes, and I feel like Sal’s hand has made a permanent mark on the curve of my waist. Like the ghost of a pool’s water after a long day of swimming.
I wait for Rose but catch the sound of raised voices outside the door to the ladies’ room. Worrying it’s Sal about to embarrass me, I rush out of the room to intercept him before he can storm in to find me.
But it’s not Sal standing in the foyer. It’s an impossibly tall man in a very expensive black-on-black tuxedo, and he looks pissed. He’s watching a man and a woman in red lead another woman to a stairwell, but it appears the other woman doesn’t want to go. I’m about to say something, but when I focus on the other man again, he’s moved several feet closer to me—like only a few inches separate us. I catch the notes of his cologne, something smoky maybe with a hint of ginger.
He smells good. Like really good. I swallow and duck my chin, about to try to make a graceful exit, but he gently lifts my gaze to his with his index finger under my chin.
“What’s your name?”
I swallow so I don’t squeak when I answer him. With his eyes locked on mine, I can’t even think straight. He towers over me, taking up the space both around him and around me, but unlike Sal, it feels like he owns that space, and I’m the interloper.
“Valentina Novak,” I offer.
He doesn’t say his name, only studies my face, his finger our only point of contact. I want to tuck my cheek so I can press my nose to his pulse point and get a good whiff of him.
Like a damn serial killer.
“What is this look on your face for, Val?”
Val. I blink. No one has ever called me anything other than Valentina or Miss Novak. Well, except Sal, but his names are curses and don’t count.
“You smell good.”
His forehead bunches up as he watches me. His dark hair is styled with a soft wave; it even looks like it would be soft to run my fingers through. Sal favors gel that turns his hair into a helmet. Not that I would want to touch it.
This man, though, there are a lot of things I want to do. And I don’t understand why. We don’t know each other. And while he is very beautiful, he must be fifteen years older than me. Apparently, I have a thing for older men now.
He’s still silent, and I let him hold my chin even though it’s a dangerous game with Sal likely about to discover us at any moment.
“Did you just say I smell good?” he asked. His deep and smoky voice has a hint of incredulity that is sweet, exactly like his scent.
“What did you want me to do? Lie?”
“Most would. Many here would make something up or deliver a stinging remark meant to gain the upper hand.”
I shake my head, and it dislodges my chin from his grasp. He drops his arm slowly as if he’s reluctant to stop touching me.
“No. I’ve had enough malice in my life. I refuse to give it back to others. Are you alright? I saw those people dragging someone away. Did she try to hurt you?”
His frown deepens, and he gently shakes his head. “Not hurt me, no. She only succeeded in embarrassing herself in front of a room full of people. However, I can’t let the insult pass. She was removed, and that will be enough unless she tries again.”
I shrug and smile. “Seems fair. I’d want to throw a woman out if she grabbed my genitals too.”
A short laugh bursts out of him, and his smile...good lord...that smile is like staring directly into the sun. There are dimples, his five o’clock shadow, the straight white edge of his teeth, and those full lips, can’t forget those.
“You saw that, did you?”
I give him a smile back, a real one that I could feel on my forehead. “Of course, I just didn’t realize who she was until I thought about it some more.”
The click of heels from the bathroom brought Rose in line with my back. I glance at her over my shoulder, but her face has taken on a pallor I only see when Sal is drunk and forward with her.
“Valentina,” Rose whispers. “We should get back.”
Her eyes are locked on the man, who is significantly more rigid and forbidding now that someone else is with us.
Dipping down, he captures my hand, brushes his soft lips over my knuckles, and releases me. It takes less than a second, yet I’ll be replaying it in my mind for the next year.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Val. I hope to see you again soon.” He tugs a black card from his pocket and presses it into my hand. The only thing on it is a phone number embossed in gold. “If you need anything, call this number and ask for Adrian.”
“Adrian,” I intone, still memorizing his features.
Rose pulls me away, and I let her, stumbling slightly as I shove the card into my clutch. We skirt the edge of the crowd until we reach an alcove, then Rose spins me to face her and clasps my face between her hands. “Are you okay?” Her voice is frantic, panicky, and thick.
I bat her fingers from my face. “No, what? No. Why are you freaking out right now? Adrian was very nice to me.”
Her eyes are huge, and she still hasn’t regained her color. “That man is a monster. The monster. The head of the Doubeck family. If you think marrying Sal is bad...that man will chew Sal up and eat him for breakfast. He’s not someone you fucking make friends with, Valentina.”
I shake off her hands and take a deep breath. Every second he and I spent talking about nothing felt meaningful. Thick with tension and possibility. A low ache has taken root in my belly and springs to life when I think about him.
“You’re overreacting. He was nice to me. And he didn’t hurt the woman who basically molested him in front of the entire party.” And we both know I don’t use that word lightly, considering some of the things Sal has forced us to bear witness to.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know what happened between you but don’t think about him again. He will get you killed, tortured, and tossed out like trash. Just be careful. If he tries to talk to you again, be nice, but get away as fast as you can.”
“That is ridiculous. He’s not some monster lying in wait to chew me up.”
She shakes her head, something else in her eyes now, and she spi
ns me to face the crowd. Across the room, Sal is leaning against a column, and his eyes are locked on us. There’s nothing kind there, nothing curious or open. The only thing I see in Sal’s eyes when I look at him is death. “Him, on the other hand?” I say, tugging her along with me as I head toward him. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to murder me the second after I say ‘I do.’”
When I reach him, he grips my arm hard and sets a punishing pace to the elevators. I guess the party is over. I try to look around, hoping I’ll see Adrian one more time before we leave. No doubt this will be our last party if Sal saw us talking. And the hatred on his face tells me he did. He can’t kill Adrian, but he can certainly hurt me enough that I won’t try to talk to anyone else ever again.
No sooner than the elevator doors close around us does the back of his hand hit my cheek. And the blow is hard. I can feel the indent of his knuckles where they made contact with my cheekbone. I do nothing more than cup the stinging spot and stare straight ahead. Breathe and don’t enrage him further. Those are the words I live by, and the words that have saved my life more times than I can count. And as long as his attention is locked on me, he will leave Rose alone. She’s the only reason I’ve stayed in that house. I can pretend it’s for my father’s sake all I want, but I do it for her. My best friend. My only family.
We reach the foyer, and I drop my hand to quickly pull some curls to cover the red welt I spot in the shiny elevator doors. He drags me through the people and furniture outside. Once the driver opens the limo door, he shoves me in. Rose goes around to the other door.
When the car pulls away, I brace for the next strike, and like always, he delivers. Except I expect another slap. I don’t expect the punch that hits solidly on my orbital bone. Blackness overtakes me before I even feel the pain.
4
Adrian
