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Four?“Who’s coming to dinner?”
Mom turns even paler, and her throat convulses as if she’s going to be sick.
Dad’s smile widens. Always that air of mystery.Father knows bestanddon’t ask questions. Dad’s the smartest man I know and there’s nothing he won’t do for us or the city of Coldlake. When there’s a problem or a scandal, he tells us that everything will be fixed, and then it is. According to him, we don’t need to know how the problems go away. We’re too important for that sort of worry. We’re his beautiful girls.
But this isn’t politics. This is my birthday party.
“You’ll find out.” He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s two minutes to eight. Two minutes until the mystery guests arrive. The ticking suddenly becomes menacing.
Tick tock.
“Chiara.” Mom’s voice is shaking. She comes forward to take my hands in hers, and they’re cold and bony—like death.
“Please try to eat a little more, Mom,” I whisper, gazing into her huge eyes. Lately, she seems to be fading away in front of me. “I worry that you’re getting sick.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Don’t worry about me. You’re seventeen today. It’s time you learned the truth about—”
The doorbell rings, interrupting her. Dad gives Mom a warning look, and she backs off.
“The truth about what?” I look between my parents, but Dad won’t answer, and Mom can’t. She’s always been in awe of Dad, but lately, she’s been downright afraid.
Dad inspects the table, and his face transforms in disgust. He strides over and, with one sharp tug, rips the baby blue birthday banner down and crumples it in his fists.
Mom whimpers, and tears fill her eyes. I grab her hand and hold it tightly, glaring at Dad’s back as he throws the banner into a side room. Now nothing in the dining room is ours. It’s all Dad’s.
I’ve seen him like this on the eve of an election or a big rally, feverish with the ambition to win at all costs. His charisma means that everyone around him is swept up in his determination. Mom and I become the perfect, smiling wife and daughter. Mom will give speeches and I’ll hold Dad’s hand and wave to the crowds. As the longest serving mayor of Coldlake, Dad knows just what to say, just how to smile to convince the people that he’s who they want. He’s who theyneed.
And he is good for Coldlake. The city is thriving and the people are prospering. You only have to attend the parades or stand on Main Street on a Saturday and see all the happy people shopping and eating to know that this city is something special. Dad’s something special.
But tonight, Dad’s brought his ambition to my birthday party. As he gazes at me, I feel the full weight of his expectation.
All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I hear footsteps coming down the hall toward us, heavy and masculine. Not one set of feet. Many feet.
Before I can take another breath, four men enter the room—big, dangerous-looking men with forceful gazes and intent focus. They line up in a silent row, their expressions hostile. And yet, their faces are familiar. I realize with a shock that I know them. They’re famous.
Or rather, infamous.
Standing on the left in a tuxedo like Dad’s is Salvatore Fiore, chin lifted with arrogance as he straightens his cuffs, diamond cufflinks gleaming. His rich brown hair is swept back, and his strong jaw is cleanshaven. He owns half a dozen casinos in the city. Those are the legit ones, anyway. I hear that there are a dozen more where bets are placed on more than just blackjack.
Next to him is Vinicius Angeli, hands casually in his pants pockets, but his clever eyes alight with interest. Angeli, likeangel. He’s got a face like an angel, terrible in its golden beauty. He’s how I imagine the Archangel Gabriel would look if he appeared before me. Rumors of dirty money swirl around him in the news.Lotsof dirty money.
The third man is all in black, his shirt tight across his prodigious chest. He wears his black beard short and painstakingly neat. He’s got better brows than I do. Black curls just touch the back of his collar, and his eyes are narrowed. Judgmental. His name comes to me after a moment. Cassius Ferragamo, nightclub owner. Strip club owner, too, it’s rumored, ones that are filled with the most corrupt people in the city, night after night.
Finally, standing a little apart from the others is a pale-eyed, blond man in a suit with a skinny black tie. He has the tousled hair and muscular body of an Australian surfer, but his gaze is so, so cold that I feel the blood in my veins turning to ice. I’d know him anywhere. Lorenzo Scava. No one knows what the hell he does, but it’s rumored to be brutal, dangerous, and highly illegal.
Everyone in Coldlake would recognize these men. Their pictures have all been in the news. They’re criminals. Extortionists. Mobsters.
Killers.
And they’ve all come to my birthday party.
Vinicius’ mouth quirks in a smile. “Hey, birthday girl,” he purrs in a voice like black velvet. Then he winks.
My face reacts on its own, heat stealing over my cheeks. I attend Coldlake Girl’s Catholic High School. The only males I come into contact with are family and the old priests. Now, four seethingly good-looking men are all eyeing me like they’re wondering how I taste. I feel like I’m completely naked in front of them.
Salvatore finishes straightening his cuffs and steps confidently forward. “Happy birthday, Miss Romano.”
As he places his hands on my shoulders, a hot spark that Vinicius kindled bursts into flame within my chest. Salvatore dips his head to kiss my cheeks, brisk at first, but after the first kiss, he slows right down. I’m out of my father’s view thanks to Salvatore’s massive back, and his fingers trail across my jaw as a devilish smile spreads over his face. My lips part in surprise, and his hand on my wrist suddenly tightens as his mouth descends on mine.
