I grimace as he loosens his hold on my neck, wondering how he’ll explain my new identity to Niccolo, but it’s too late to ask. We reach the final step, and what amounts to a giant stone porch, where two guards stand at attention on either side of a roped-off continuation of the red carpet. One of the men greets us in Italian, then checks our names off a clipboard after asking for identification. Once he’s satisfied with our identities, Kayden and I walk the remainder of the red carpet, where two additional guards monitor the tall double doors, opening them at our approach.
“Is my gun in my purse a problem?” I whisper, suddenly concerned.
“Not for us,” he says, and I don’t ask for details. This is Kayden. This is the power of The Underground.
Moments later we cross the threshold of the magnificent palace, green-and-beige-streaked marble beneath our feet, the room seeming to stretch onward for miles. “It’s breathtaking,” I say as we move to yet another check-in point, my gaze lifting to the curved ceiling adorned with green-and-beige-toned paintings of Roman armored soldiers on horses, while intricate trim work divides it from the beige walls.
“From the fourteen hundreds,” he says, guiding me toward a pedestal where yet another man in a uniform holds a clipboard. “Obviously restored.”
He tells me a bit about the royal family while we are once again checked off a clipboard, and a young woman in a long black dress takes my coat in exchange for a ticket.
“And now the games begin,” Kayden says, linking my arm with his again and setting us in motion deeper into the palace.
“Is that what this is? A game?”
“These parties are always games about positioning. Someone wants something. Someone needs something. Expect them to hint at those things to you, and just soak it all in. Often what doesn’t seem important now becomes so later.”
“Well, I won’t be a big help there since I don’t speak Italian.”
“The brilliance of their choppy English and your lack of Italian is that you’ll speak Italian soon—while the people you meet tonight will assume you don’t.”
“And say things they don’t think I’ll understand near me,” I supply. “That’s devious.”
“This crowd is devious,” he says. “We have to keep up or get stabbed or shot in the back. We won’t, but I’m sure a few people will try to come at me tonight through you.”
“Gallo’s given me plenty of practice dodging those kinds of bullets.”
His cell phone buzzes and he reaches into his pocket to glance at the screen, replacing it in his pocket as he says, “Matteo has a visual on the ballroom.”
The unexpected announcement puts me on edge all over again and I don’t know why. I want Niccolo to find me. And I must stiffen or react because Kayden wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “What just happened?” he asks.
“If you suspect bad things might happen tonight,” I say, “just tell me.”
“Bad things can always happen, and I won’t pretend otherwise. What are you specifically concerned about?”
“You have Matteo doing live monitoring of the party.”
He stops walking, facing me, his hands on my shoulders. “I always have a tech guy tap the security feed for these events. The playback makes for interesting viewing, which you’ll see when we watch it tomorrow. I asked for Matteo specifically because you’re here for the first time by my side, and I will always want the best for you.”
We. It’s a good word but it, and everything he just said, reminds me of just how protective he is. “Don’t shelter me,” I warn. “Don’t put me in a situation without arming me with the facts, no matter how good, bad, or very damn dirty.”
“I have every intention of letting you get very damn dirty with me, sweetheart. In all places, things, and situations. Okay?”
I study him, searching his face, and I don’t believe for a minute that he’s going to stand by those words if he thinks he can protect me from something. But I do believe that he thinks he will, and for now, that’s enough. “Yes.”
He wraps my arm around his. “We’ll watch the videos together in the morning,” he says, turning us toward the music, and under a giant archway that leads us to another stairway. “It’ll help you get to know all the players.”
“I’d like that.” As we grow nearer to the sound of heavy chatter, and even louder music, a thought hits me. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask this. What if I see someone I know?”
He smiles. “Amnesia is like pleading the Fifth Amendment. You don’t know who they are, or what they’re talking about. And I’ll be with you. We’ll wing it together.”
“Wing it,” I repeat in disbelief, but as we reach the top of the stairs, and more cameras begin flashing again, it’s clear that’s the best plan I have right now. “I think I need a drink.”
“Don’t drink and drive,” he replies, moving us past several reporters to enter a ballroom speckled with glitzy gowns and tuxedos, a dance floor in the center, and at least five hundred candles dangling from long ropes above.
We stop just beyond the crowd, which I guess to be in the hundreds, and we both scan the room, my gaze going toward the two giant ice sculptures framing the musicians to our right. “Butterflies,” I say of their design. “That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“Nothing with these people is a coincidence,” he confirms. “It’s a message to someone, and we need to find out who before we leave here tonight.”
A waiter stops beside us and offers us champagne, which we both wave off. “What happened to needing a drink?” Kayden asks.
“It’s better if I’m sober when I pretend to forget people I just remembered, and ask subtle questions about things I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t know about. And that statement was just so ridiculous that it sounds like I am drunk.”
Kayden’s eyes light with amusement and mischief, his fingers lacing with mine. “I’m hungry. I need either a private place to have you for a snack, or the only good thing about these events—the food.”
“Where is the food? Because I’m starving.”
He bends our elbows and places our connected hands together, my bracelet on full display, and then indicates the far corner. “The goal line is directly in front of us and to the right. That is where we find pasta and chocolate, and mock the crowd with full stomachs. Between us and it, though, are people who want to keep us from that reward.”
I laugh. “So what’s the plan?”
He gives me a serious, focused look. “An all-out American football attack. Straight up the middle. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say, playing along, the nerves I didn’t realize had attacked settling down to a tolerable level.
We start walking, and before we’ve gone three feet, we’re tackled from the left. Then the right. Before I know what has hit me, I’m being introduced to people, struggling to understand questions and remember accented names.
Except one.
Suddenly, Kayden and I are standing in front of the politician in the photo Gallo showed me this morning.
“Eleana,” Kayden says, his hand settling at my lower back. “This is Lino Conti. One of the only honest men in Parliament, which unfortunately earns him more enemies than friends.”
On that unexpected tidbit of information, Lino, who happens to be a bit of a silver fox, offers me his hand, which I accept. “Nice to meet you, Eleana,” he says, but rather than letting go of me, he and Kayden lean over me, sharing a quiet, brief exchange before Lino releases me and they separate.
“You have a good man here,” Lino says, offering nothing more before he disappears into the crowd.
I give Kayden a questioning look that he answers by pressing his cheek to mine and whispering, “There are two sides to every story.”
He leads me toward the food tables, which are finally in view, but his statement has me searching every passing face, looking for answers. My worst fear and hope is that one of them knows the other side of my story. Just the idea has me holdin
g on to Kayden’s hand a little tighter.
twelve
Finally, Kayden and I clear the crowd, the table of food standing in an alcove under a giant white stone stairway, filled with all kinds of goodies. I go for the spill-proof options of bread and cheese. Kayden fills his plate with a variety of items he then tries to feed me. “Try this,” he says, picking up a ravioli.
I let him feed me the bite, and the creamy, cheesy center has me moaning in delight.
“That’s not the way to keep my mind on business,” Kayden warns, his lips curving.
“And pasta and cheese is not the way to keep me from outgrowing the clothes you bought me,” I counter, dabbing my mouth with a napkin.
“I promise to help you work it off,” he says, offering me another bite.
“No,” I say firmly. “No more.” A waiter passes and I hand him Kayden’s plate.
Kayden arches a brow. “You know I wasn’t done, right?
I laugh. “Oops. I’ll get you another.”
He shackles my waist, holding me in front of him, his mood suddenly darker. “Why haven’t you asked me about Lino?”
“Because just like I think we both needed to know I could call you just to call today, I think you need to know that I trust you enough not to need details.”
“Niccolo had his wife killed, and made it look like Lino did it.”
My eyes go wide. “Why? Or does he even have a reason?”
“Payback for him refusing a political favor.”
I start putting the pieces together. “Lino tried to hire you to fix this for him.”
“More like to exact revenge. He wants to destroy Niccolo.”
“Did you tell him to join the club?”
“I told him, when his trigger finger cools off, to call me.”
“And has it?” I ask.
“He says it has.”
“But you’re not sure,” I conclude.
“I’m not, no, but we have a mutual enemy. Where that leads us, I have yet to decide.”
“Gallo’s placed you together. That means Niccolo can, too.”
“I knew Gallo was snooping around, which forced me to call Niccolo after that meeting.”
“What impact did that have?”
“Aside from amusing Niccolo, not much. But then, I didn’t tell him everything, either.”
“But you told me.”
“Yes. I told you.”
“Thank you,” I say, a moment before a male voice says, “Kayden,” from behind me.
I turn to discover a fifty-something-year-old man several inches shorter and stockier than Kayden, his gray hair a shade lighter than his eyes, which fall on me as he says, “And you must be Eleana.”
“Meet Chief Donati,” Kayden says, reaching for my hand and kissing it, the act exposing the bracelet. “He also happens to be Detective Gallo’s boss.” He eyes the chief. “Who threatened and manipulated Eleana today in an effort to turn her against me.”
Donati eyes my bracelet and then me, surmising. “Obviously he failed.”
“Miserably,” I say. “But he did teach me that a bar means coffee in the morning, not wine.”
“Wine is acceptable at all times in Italy,” Donati corrects, his English heavily accented but nearly perfect. “However, coffee is a good remedy or preparation for the evening’s wine, depending on how you choose to look at it.”
Kayden’s phone buzzes and he removes it from his pocket, inspecting the screen before announcing, “I need to make a call.” He leans in to kiss me, lingering long enough to whisper, “Give him hell,” before he straightens again. He then eyes Donati, gives a laugh, and says, “Good luck,” before he leaves.
Donati arches a brow at me. “What does ‘good luck’ mean?”
“He thinks I’m a handful for everyone but him,” I say.
“And why is that?”
“Apparently Italian men find self-proclaimed feminists intimidating.”
He studies me for several heavy beats, stunning me as he asks, “Do you know what that bracelet means?”
“Do you?” I challenge.
“That you’re his woman.”
“Yes,” I say. “I am very much his woman.”
“And you know who, and what he, is?”
“I do know who and what he is. Do you know who, and what, Gallo is?”
“A man who doesn’t like to color outside the lines, even when it might be to our benefit.”
“And yet he threatens me, and seduces the young woman who lives with us. That’s outright scribbling in all the corners.”
“Are you telling me that Gallo is involved with Adriel’s sister?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. She isn’t part of any of this, and I respectfully request that you keep him away from her.”
He studies me for several moments. “You are bold for a woman so newly inserted into Kayden’s life.” The word inserted hits a very bad spot in me, but I have no time to explore his meaning. “What do you think Kayden would do for me, should I grant your request?”
“I wonder what he will do should you not grant it.”
A man in uniform steps to his side, whispering something to the chief. A moment later the newcomer leaves, and while the chief’s expression remains unchanged, I don’t miss the subtle tightening around his mouth. “I’m afraid I have a situation to attend to. I’ll handle Gallo and we’ll talk again.”
He turns and leaves, and I have a bad feeling that “we’ll talk again” translates to him calling on me for a favor. I scan for Kayden and start walking through the random clusters of sparkling dresses and tuxedos with no success. I finally spy him standing in profile, with a beautiful brunette woman, at the exact moment that she grabs his arm and leans her body into him. I suck in a breath and exhale as he immediately extracts himself. The woman looks at me and says something to Kayden, and I have déjà vu, remembering a similar incident in the bar with the bartender.
Sure enough, he responds as he had then, turning to seek me out. Rather than leaving, as I tried to do then, I hold my ground and he motions me forward. Not certain I really want to meet Little Miss Grabby Hands, who doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, I force myself to sidestep several guests and make my way to his side. The instant I’m within his reach, Kayden shackles my waist and says in my ear, “You know—”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I do.”
“Good,” he says, approval lighting his eyes before he turns to face the other woman. “Eleana, this is Sasha. She’s one of ours.”
“You’re so beautiful,” Sasha gushes, reaching out and stroking my arm, her accent not quite like everyone else’s. “I love your green eyes,” she continues. “They’re the color of grass on a perfect summer’s day.”
I’m not sure what to make of her, and Kayden laughs. “As you can see, Sasha is a toucher and a talker, with a big personality, which ensures that she’s well known at these events.”
Sasha points at her deep cleavage, and shakes her breasts. “These are why I’m well known.” She waves down her body. “And all of these goodies, too. Do you like?”
The woman has me blushing. “You’re fabulous. And I wish I had your confidence. Is your accent Italian?”
“I am the best French import Italy has ever seen.” She adds, “Je séduis les gens pour leurs secrets.”
I blanch and repeat her words. “ ‘I seduce people for their secrets.’ ”
Kayden turns to face me. “You understand French?”
“Yes. Or I think I do. Do you?”
“Fluently,” he confirms. “Comment a été votre rencontre avec Donati?”
I repeat his question. “ ‘How was your meeting with Donati?’ Kayden, I know French! How? Maybe I took it in school, but that doesn’t feel right.”
“I have a thought on that,” he says, “but we’ll talk about it later. How did it go with Donati?”
“I asked him to keep Gallo away from Giada, and he was trying to manipulate me into promising hi
m a favor when a man in uniform came up to him, whispered something, and Donati left.”
Another interruption occurs as two men join us and start a conversation with Kayden that I of course can’t understand.
Sasha listens a moment and rolls her eyes, stepping closer to me. “They want him to sit on some ridiculous board, which he’ll never agree to join. I need to go to the toilet. You want to join me?”
“Yes,” I say, glad for a few minutes away from the crowd.
She nods and then interrupts the conversation, announcing our departure. Kayden leans down and whispers, “I’ll get us out of here soon,” before Sasha links her arm with mine and leads me past the piano and violin, and then down a hallway that is blessedly free of other guests.
“Thank God,” she says, releasing me, her silliness evaporating along with her heavy accent. “These events are exhausting. Everyone wants something, including us.” She gives me a sideways look. “Be careful with Donati. Aside from his preference for quid pro quo, something about that man bothers me, and don’t ask what, because I don’t know. But I’ve been doing this long enough to trust my instincts.”
“How long have you worked for Kayden?”
“Since he took over France a few years back, but my family is made up of generations of Hunters and Hawks, most of them now dead.”
“So you transferred from France?” I ask, wondering if she’s related to the prior Hawk in that region.
“A year ago, after I stupidly tried to seduce Niccolo’s stepbrother.” She snorts. “That went badly.”
“Who is his stepbrother?” I ask, hoping a name might trigger a memory.
“He runs the French mob.”
“Wait. So the French and Italian mobs are one?”
“Oh no,” she says. “That was the idea when the two families married, but it didn’t take long for the parents to end up dead, while their sons claimed control of their own regions.”
I gape. “You’re saying they killed their parents?”
“Without a blink of regret,” she says.
“And who is the head of the French mob?”
She holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t even speak that man’s name. He’s a monster.”
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