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My gaze narrowed at him. I didn’t appreciate this line of questioning, or his insinuation. “Is there a point to this, Father…” I trailed off, since we hadn’t been officially introduced. This man was a stranger to me, and yet he walked up to me, threw these accusations, and was content while doing it. He had balls, that’s for sure.
I’d seen him speaking with Giselle earlier, and it didn’t look like a particularly fun conversation. Giselle had been tight-lipped about it, rushing off afterward.
“Father Ezekiel, but you can call me Zek while we are outside of the church. That I leave up to you.” His black brows creased, and then he turned his entire body toward me, no longer studying the ballroom and its many dangerous inhabitants. Those eyes zeroed in on me, and I was struck by how uncanny his stare was, almost like he knew everything about me in a matter of seconds, simply by looking at me.
There was no way he was a normal priest. Normal priests didn’t give you the willies like this. Although, I supposed I’d never been a religious man. I’d only ever met that Father Charlie once before, the one Giselle liked to spend time with, before he was brutally murdered by the Greenbacks.
Yeah, I supposed Giselle was going through a lot lately, but my thoughts of her were cut short, since I still stared into the azure eyes of Father Ezekiel—or Zek. Whatever.
“This ballroom is a room full of vipers,” he went on. “And if anything is certain, it is that vipers wait until the perfect moment to strike. Sometimes they attack when they are cornered, sometimes they attack just because they are violent by nature. Watch your girl closely here in Cypress, because if the vipers have their way, she will rot among the rest of us.”
I had no idea if that was a threat or not. I didn’t know what the hell to say to him, so in the end, I said nothing. This whole conversation had been pretty one-sided, but that didn’t seem to deter Zek from spewing his so-called wisdom to me.
And he’d called Giselle my girl. I was too stunned at this whole conversation to correct him.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to, for the priest walked away from me, not saying a single word more. I watched him go, truly unable to make sense of his words. I mean, I wasn’t stupid. I already knew everyone here was beyond dangerous. Only a blind man would walk into this room and not know everyone in it could kill him in a dozen ways in less than a minute.
Regardless, the priest soured my mood even more, and I frowned to myself as the night wound down. After dessert, people started to leave. Thank God Miguel decided to be one of the first to go.
Standing up from his table, Miguel nodded his head somewhat at Rocco and Luca and said, “I think it’s time to head out. We will undoubtedly see you again soon, Rocco.” He looked to Giselle, who got up without saying a word.
Together, they turned to head in my direction, but Rocco was quick to jump up and walk around the table. He shook Miguel’s hand again, and then he… he actually went in for a hug with Giselle.
My jaw ground, and I thought, fuck it. I left my station on the wall and pushed through the tables, making it to Miguel and Giselle’s side within the minute. Rocco was still embracing Giselle, saying something about how pretty she’d gotten, but when he noticed my sudden presence, he let her go—though he still smiled.
The sick fuck.
He might have a wife, but he was one of those men that still got handsy with whatever pretty girl was nearby.
I was too busy glaring at Rocco to notice how stiff Giselle had gotten. What his father had done must be nothing out of the ordinary, for Luca didn’t act as if anything was wrong. He grinned at Giselle and said, “Do I get a hug, too?” Ugh, like fucking father, like son. “No?” he asked when she made no moves to embrace him. “Fine, fine. But we’ll get there.” And then he winked at her, like they shared some kind of secret only the two of them knew about.
Okay, it was official. I hated both Moretti men.
Rocco and Luca went to sit back down, while Miguel guided Giselle away from the table. I stuck to Giselle’s side, unable to stop glancing at her as we walked out of the ballroom. I wanted to ask her if she was okay, but I also knew doing so while Miguel was so close would mean I’d get a single-worded answer, and that answer would, of course, be: yes.
“Well,” Miguel was busying saying as we turned into the hall, “I think tonight turned out perfectly.” He was adjusting his cufflinks, not paying much attention at all to either Giselle or me. He was ready to leave, and because of that, he didn’t even stop when someone called out his name.
Behind us, someone had followed us out of the ballroom. I was the first person to turn around, and the man I saw looked out of place here. Odd; he must be really good at blending in with the crowd, because I didn’t recognize him. But maybe that’s just because I’d missed any introductions while I was upstairs with Giselle and the other heirs.
Miguel and Giselle stopped, facing the approaching man, both wearing quizzical faces. Miguel spoke, once the man had arrived a few feet in front of us, not bothering to hide his annoyance and confusion, “Yes? What is it?” He sounded like he wanted to snap this man’s neck; not a good mood to take when you were in a building full of people who would love to shoot you just to get you out of the running.
“I just wanted to catch you before you left,” the man spoke, eyeing up Miguel like he was his next target. This man… was unlike most of the others in that ballroom, in that he wasn’t wearing a suit. He wore a simple black T-shirt with equally dark pants. No belt, no tie, but a whole lot of tattoos covering every inch of his arms, and even some of his neck. His hair was a light brown color, and his eyes were dark—but not dark enough I couldn’t see the mischievousness residing within their depths—and he either had a freckle or a teardrop tattoo just below one of his eyes.
What was he doing? Who was he? Did he work for someone in that ballroom, and if so, why come to us now, before we left?
Miguel did not hide his snicker. “I’m sorry,” he said, so very obviously not sorry, “who are you?”
“The name’s Damian,” he said, offering Miguel his hand, “and I just wanted to shake the man in charge of the Santos business. I’m a big fan. Heard a lot about you.” He smiled, a flawless grin that seemed at odds with the rest of his appearance. Even his voice sounded less sophisticated and more… let’s just say common.
“I’m afraid I never heard of you, Damian,” Miguel said, slow to accept the handshake.
As they shook hands, Damian said, “Well, that’s because some of us like anonymity. We can’t all be like the great Miguel Santos, can we?” Still smiling, even after the handshake ended, and then he looked at Giselle. “Your wife? Seems a bit young for you, but I don’t judge—”
“My daughter,” Miguel bit out with a frown.
“Ah, even better.”
I opened my mouth so speak, wanting to punch him in the gut for looking at Giselle like she was a piece of meat, but Giselle beat me to it, saying, “I’m sorry to cut this short, Damian, but my father and I were just about to leave. I’ve had enough fun for the night, so if you’ll excuse us.” She slipped her arm into her father’s, her back straight, and she pulled Miguel away from the man, not even waiting for his response.
