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Chapter Four – Zander
All this pomp and circumstance wasn’t my thing. I didn’t like the fancy ballroom or the band or even the food that was served. I was hungry, don’t get me wrong, but I’d eat something after the night was done. For now, I was simply a guard.
I stood on the outskirts of the ballroom, watching. I always watched. That’s what I was good at; it’s what got me here to begin with. I watched others when they didn’t think I was paying any attention. I had eyes on the back of my head, so to speak. I liked to think I was keenly observant, and it was because of that fact that I knew something wasn’t right.
Giselle had been acting off all night. This wasn’t what she wanted to do either; spend her night here with all these people. But the moment she’d gone to her father at the table, something had shifted. Her posture had become stiff and rigid, and she had difficulties holding eye contact with anyone else at the table.
Her father, Rocco Moretti, and Luca, who I assumed was Rocco’s heir. Every table was busy having their own conversation, so it was hard to pick out words they were speaking. I was able to read some of it off their lips, though; a skill that was useful when you were observing people without wanting them to actively know it.
“You were telling me something about your wife,” Miguel was saying.
It was hard to focus on their mouths and read their words when all I wanted to do was go over to that table, pull Giselle to the side, and ask her if she was all right. She certainly didn’t look it, and I seemed to be the only one who realized it.
Well, maybe Luca realized it too, because he couldn’t stop staring at her.
Although, I supposed, green envy threatening to take over me, perhaps Luca stared at her for a different reason. He’d gotten all too close to her upstairs, way too chummy. I’d noticed it immediately, even though I hadn’t been at her side. I’d given her some space, which she seemed to want, for she constantly hated me shadowing her like a silent guardian, which had allowed Luca to talk to her in what they might view as a private capacity.
But it wasn’t private. I’d listened to everything they’d said, even if I had to read their lips to do it.
Luca had flirted with her, smiling all the while, and it had taken every ounce of self-restraint inside me to not go over to them, grab him by the neck, and pull him away from her. To stop myself from pounding into him for even daring to look at Giselle. It was a miracle I didn’t, really. I couldn’t say how I managed.
As Rocco Moretti said something about his wife’s health not being too great, which was why she had to stay back home, I couldn’t stop staring at Luca and the way he gazed at Giselle. One look at him, and I knew the type of guy he was. A tool. A playboy. The kind of guy who was used to girls tripping over their feet to get to him, to lay themselves at his feet and spread their legs for him. Oh, I was certain he had his pick of the gender, so to speak.
Giselle deserved better than him, definitely. In fact, I believed she deserved better than anyone here. She might be a Santos, but she was so much better than all of us; it was effortless on her part. Maybe that’s why I felt so fiercely protective of her, even if I’d only known her these past few years. Less than three, but it felt like a lifetime.
Oh, I’d always known about the boss’s daughter. Well, technically back then she was the boss’s boss’s daughter, since I didn’t work for Miguel directly, but once I got evidence of my boss planning to turn him in for a sizeable reward and protection from any future indictments, my bosses changed. Mostly because Miguel took me under his wing after he had me kill the old one and dispose of him.
Yeah. None of us were good men here. We all had blood on our hands. Surely, the purest out of all of us was Giselle, and seeing her be uneasy at that dinner table filled me with a rage I couldn’t quite describe.
I wanted to make things better for her, to be there for her. I wanted to play the white knight in shining armor, even if it was a lie. For her, I would gladly do it.
I watched them eat, though I saw Giselle did more fiddling with her food than actual eating. Miguel and Rocco kept up the conversation, while Luca occasionally chimed in—and when he did, it was usually in an attempt to get Giselle to speak, which she always gave a noncommittal answer to. Or she shrugged. She really had checked out of the conversation.
It was so unlike her.
How I wished I could storm over to that table and take a seat beside her. How I wished I could do a lot more than that. Giselle… she was pretty. More than that, really, and I’d be the worst liar in the world if I said I didn’t think about her in ways I shouldn’t, in ways I knew would make Miguel dismiss me automatically by having a bullet shot in the back of my skull when I wasn’t expecting it.
Even if she was standoffish, even if she could be just as rude and assertive as her father, Giselle had my full attention. She had my thoughts. She made me want things I shouldn’t, dream of things I definitely shouldn’t.
Her body. Her gentle moans. The way her soft skin felt when it touched mine. How fucking amazing she’d feel beneath me, writhing and sighing out her pleasure. Even if it was wrong, I could picture it perfectly.
And it was wrong, because Giselle so obviously didn’t think of me in that way. Hell, I was pretty sure she’d applied to join that club, the Playground. An adult sex club. I didn’t understand it. She was a girl who could have anyone she wanted, surely, even if it had to be under her father’s nose. She didn’t need to join a club to let off some steam.
But… but maybe it was for the best. If she started to see anyone, let alone someone Miguel didn’t approve of, they were liable to end up dead.
Not having the freedom to choose who you were with had to suck something major.
The night passed slowly. The main course ended, while dessert was being served. I couldn’t wait for this night to be over. Seeing Giselle at that table, even though Miguel was beside her, wasn’t something I enjoyed.
Someone stood beside me, and I was measured in pulling my gaze off Giselle and moving it to the man next to me. The priest. His blue eyes surveyed the room much like mine did. He stood with his hands behind his back, head held high in the way most priests seemed to hold themselves. Still, with how he looked around, picking up details, I could tell this wasn’t a normal priest. I supposed he couldn’t be, since he was the chosen priest of the Black Hand.
“You are with Miguel Santos, aren’t you?” he spoke quietly, keeping his voice low.
I didn’t know how to answer him, so I didn’t. If he was as perceptive as I thought he was, he already knew the answer to that question. I wasn’t going to waste a breath to say so. All I did was continue to stare at him, wondering how a man of the cloth could be so comfortable in a room full of killers.
Because he had to know. This priest had to know exactly who these people were, who we were, and what we did to our enemies. And, sometimes, even to our friends to make a point.
“You are. I take it with how much you watch Giselle, Miguel has told you to keep an eye on her throughout all of this,” he went on. “Or perhaps you simply want the thing you cannot have. It is the way of men.”
