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“Check mate,Papá,” I whisper.
7
ELLA
His angry roarsand curses are still ringing in my ears as I beat a hasty retreat down the hallway toward the living room. From there, I can see the patio where most of the party goers are mingling on porcelain flagstones, underneath spiderweb strands of fairy lights. Beyond that, the vaulted roof of the dining marquee is rising from the emerald lawns like a silken, white citadel.
My hands are shaking. My thoughts, muted in disbelief. I’ve never dared trick my father into anything before, and I know there’ll be consequences and endless conditions the second I set foot in New York.
There’s hope, though.So much hope.Not least, because I know that when my father gives his word about something he means it. For the first time, light has appeared around the edges of my gilded cage, and it’s so bright it’s blinding… So much so, that I miss the step and stumble out onto the flagstones with all the grace of a baby elephant on roller-skates.
“Easy, birthday girl,” murmurs a slick British accent as I’m steadied by a huge shadow. “I hate to break it to you, but a broken foot won’t match that pretty dress.”
Gasping out a ‘thank you’, I blink up at the wickedly handsome face of my father’s close business associate, Aiden Knight.
He lets go of my arm and offers me a flute of champagne, and then he’s withdrawing it just as quick. “Not old enough,” he says with a grimace, but I know it’s nothing to do with that, and everything to do with my illness.
I take the flute from him regardless, tipping the entire thing down my throat before he can stop me.
“Ella—shit.”
“It’s okay,” I croak, the back of my throat still in flames. “One glass of champagne isn’t going to kill me. I checked with my doctors earlier.”
“No, but it might killmewhen your father finds out.”
“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”
His scowl breaks, and he chuckles softly. “And I was led to believe you were such a good girl.”
“Even good girls can have hiccups, right?”
“So long as they’re not champagne induced.”
I smile, feeling more than a little reckless this evening. Not enough to hurt myself and negate my medication, but enough to inch into those Badlands, instead of pacing the perimeter.
“How’s Monaco?” I ask, taking a glass of juice from a passing waiter’s tray to appease him. “It’s been so long since we last visited.”
We used to stay on his superyacht on the Cote D’Azur all the time before I got sick. When you’re accepted into my father’s inner circle, you become part of one big happy criminal family.Each of my ‘Uncles’, have earned their status in blood. Aiden runs all the casinos on the French Riviera and allows my father to launder most of his revenue through his establishments. In return, he owns most of Monaco, which is where Edier was living for a time.
“Hot. Posh. Lucrative... Christ, just promise me you won’t get pissed and start singing karaoke.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, laughing as I reach up to kiss him on the cheek. “No karaoke, I swear. It’s lovely to see you. Is Issa here?”
I adore his wife. She’s clever and funny, and with a tongue just as sharp as her husband’s.
“She’s switching out the dinner place settings. You can’t leave anything to chance these days. And I wouldn’t go kissing me like that again, sweetheart. Not unless you want to give me another death wish.” The ghost of a smile touches his lips as I glance around in confusion.
“But I just leftPapáin the study. He can’t have gotten here so fast.”
“I’m not talking about your father, Ella. I’m talking about the man over there who’s about to stab me to death with all the daggers shooting from his eyeballs.”
Frowning, I swing around again, and my heart stops dead.Boom.Just like that, my whole chest is paralyzed.
There’s a second shadow standing in front of the bar, his dark eyes trained in our direction—melting away the rest of the party like he’s fire and they’re ice. He’s even more beautiful than I remembered, with his thick, tousled black hair and his movie star cheekbones…
But I was right. He’s a man now, a big, scary man, with one fist curled around a glass so tightly it’s a miracle it’s not shattering. His knuckles are covered in black ink, reaching deep into his jacket sleeve, and then rising out of his shirt collar to wrap around his neck, as if there’s no end to his darkness.
He’s wearing the same scars and scowl as every othersicariohere, but I could pick him out from a crowd of thousands. He’s a million memories that no ocean of time could wash away.
