AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Paige rolls her eyes. “A fish as big as you? Oh, please.”
“What about you, Anya?” Whitney asks. “Any great travel stories?”
I shake my head. “Not me personally. But my parents immigrated here from Russia along with my aunt before I was born.”
“That’s cool,” Fin says. “My grandparents moved here from Japan.”
I give him a warm smile, appreciating the camaraderie that comes from being a member of an immigrant family. There’s something special about people with enough courage to uproot their entire lives to start anew somewhere halfway across the world and completely foreign to their upbringing.
Slowly, the line creeps forward as we chat and laugh. After what feels like a good chunk of time, we finally make it to the front of the line and the silk rope that keeps us separated from our final destination. At the door, stopping people from entering without permission, are two massive, burly men who look like they could easily snap any one of us in half over their knee without batting an eye. My new friends seem to ignore them completely, turning their backs, so they’re not looking toward the intimidating men or the entrance we’re having to wait to go through. But I can’t help observing the men out of the corner of my eye.
The purr of a soft motor rumbles up the curb, announcing the sleek black Maserati that makes my jaw drop. It’s a beautiful car made of soft edges, pristine lines, and tinted windows that keep its passengers hidden from view. The driver puts the car in park, and the line in view of the fancy car falls silent to see who the celebrities are that can just drop their car off outside the club while they go in.
Three heads of thick, dark curls rise from the car as the driver, and his two passengers exit the vehicle. The boys who step from the back look to be in their late teens and similar enough in appearance, one might be tempted to think they’re twins. They are definitely brothers. They have the same proud nose and confident smiles that curl the corners of their lips. The hint of a cleft lingers on both of their chins.
My attention turns to the driver, and my heart flutters uncomfortably. Nicolo Marchetti straightens his button-down and tosses his keys casually to a slight doorman I hadn’t even noticed behind the two big burly ones.
The younger guys from the back seat must be Nicolo’s brothers. They look enough like carbon copies that I can’t believe I didn’t see it right away.
“Take care of her for me, Dino,” Nicolo says to the slight man I’m assuming is a valet. “And enjoy yourself. Just don’t fuck up her paint job.”
The valet chuckles, striding toward the car as Nicolo and his younger brothers make their way toward the club. My mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty as I watch him silently. He seems so at ease with his world, perfectly comfortable to simply pass up the line while the rest of us common people wait for our turn. Of course, if his family owns the club, that comes as no surprise.
As Nicolo’s long strides carry him to the entrance, one of the doormen opens the door for him. But something makes Nicolo glance right, and our eyes meet. His stride falters as his gaze travels over the group I’m standing with, and a smug smile spreads over his face.
“Well, if it isn’t the new girl,” he sneers.
Anxiety ripples through me as Nicolo’s attention is diverted. He turns to face me, allowing the doorman to wait with the open door in hand so Nicolo can taunt me. Nicolo’s brothers pause with him, their gazes landing on me with open interest.
“God, this place is going to the dogs if we’re letting people like you in now. Wouldn’t you say, Brasco?” Nicolo glances over his shoulder toward the doorman, who’s still standing sentry. The man gives a subtle nod, though he continues to hold his pose, remaining intimidating as he bars the door.
“You know this girl, Nico?” one of his brothers asks with surprise.
“This is the kind of charity case that goes to Rosehill nowadays–and apparently, our club.”
His brothers exchange a glance before eyeing me with curiosity. I wonder if it’s that they’ve never seen a relatively poor person before or if they’re assessing what their brother finds so distasteful about me.
Nicolo–Nico, apparently, to those who matter in his life–eyes me coolly before his gaze flicks to my friends once more. They stand speechless around me, all their attention turned to the Marchetti heir as if he’s some kind of Roman deity.
“So, is this your best attempt to prove you’re worth something, New Girl?” Nicolo asks, eyeing my friends. “Running with the rich crowd to show you can be one of them?” He steps up close to me, and I can smell the woodsy scent of his cologne as he leans in to whisper, “I hate to break it to you, Anya, but nothing you do will ever make you worth anything.”
My stomach knots at the combination of his proximity and the spiteful words he murmurs just for me.
Then he leans back with a smug smile. “Enjoy your evening out, Cinderella. But make sure you’re home by midnight, or you might just turn back into a pumpkin.” He waves his brothers along, and they enter the club without a backward glance, leaving me speechless in their wake.
“Holy shit, Nicolo Marchetti justtalkedto you?” Whitney says in an awed voice.
“That’s not a good thing,” Paige observes dryly. “He and his father are nothing more than low-life criminals with enough money to buy their way out of facing the law.”
“Yeah, but he actually knows who you are?” Logan asks, his eyes wide with amazement.
“I might have spilled my lunch on him the first day of school,” I confess, my cheeks flushing with the memory. There’s no chance I’m telling them anything about theotherreasons I know Nicolo Marchetti–my past with him, or the daughter waiting for me at home that I’ve done my best to make sure he’ll never know about.
Not that he cared to find out.
“Oh, shit.” Paige snickers. “No wonder he doesn’t seem to like you.”
I shrug, trying for nonchalance, though my heart is still racing from the encounter. After it’s apparent that I don’t have much more information on Nicolo Marchetti and our abrupt reintroduction the other day, my friends lose interest and return to their previous conversation. But I bite my lip, remaining preoccupied as I wonder if it’s really smart to be walking into Nicolo’s club when he’s here.
