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“Just spit it out, Mark.” I snarl.
Mark sighs, “Are you driving? Find somewhere to park and then go to TMZ. There’s an article there you might want to see.”
I snort. “Really? All this over some gossip in a tabloid?”
“Just do it.”
I expel a breath. “No, I already spent too much time away from the mansion. Someone’s gonna be asking questions. I’ll come on over there and we can talk about whatever this is.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Your father is in a bad mood because of all the press the Cardinalis are getting over this wedding.”
“Oh yeah?” I grinned. “What’s up? He jealous? Did he want to marry the girl himself instead of her getting hitched with that old guy?”
“That ‘old guy’ as you put it is richer than both your families combined. This could be bad for us.”
I roll my eyes, “Whatever man. Since when do you care about family politics?”
“I don’t. I’m just kinda... stressed about the other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“The one you’re not reading about.”
I huff, shaking my head. “Fine. I’ll see you in a few and then we’ll see how serious this other thing is.”
“Yeah okay. I’ll open some good whisky.”
“Any excuse…”
“You know it.”
I hang up, increasing my speed. As far as I’m concerned there’s nothing life threatening that the tabloids could be writing about me. I don’t see what they could possibly have that would elicit a reaction from both Benedetto and Father Lorenzo.
Probably lies, whatever they are, so why sweat it?
CHAPTERTHREE
My stylist and make-up artist were waiting to get me ready for the evening when I arrived. In other circumstances, I’d be super excited. Now, I can barely muster a smile.
My dark hair is piled high on my head, random curls falling over my face. It’s held together by a diamond brooch that shines brightly from within the inky tresses of my hair. Matching diamond studs sit pretty in my ears, and I am wearing a dark velvet choker with a diamond brooch in the middle.
I run my hand along the soft material. It’s such a perfect representation of how much my family owns me.
If I had my way, the only person I’d wear this collar for is Romeo.
I push that thought away as ruthlessly as I can. He’s in my past now. My present awaits.
My dress is made of midnight blue satin and velvet. It’s a gown really, strapless with a neckline that folds over like the turning of a page. At the fold and the slit on my right side, a lavender satin material is revealed. My shoulders are free of adornment, and I must admit the aesthetic is stunning.
My artist has kept the make-up minimal, just splattering my face, neck and shoulders with foundation before adding some luminizing body lava. A light blush on my cheeks and natural lips with a deep smoky eye in shades of purple to make my dark eyes even darker and deeper, complete the look.
The six-inch silver sandals on my feet are a little uncomfortable to stand in, but nothing I haven’t done before.
I can’t help but feel like a princess. I walk slowly out of my rented hotel room and take a lift down to the ballroom. This party is big enough that the tabloids have been writing about it all week as preparations were ongoing.
It’s more of an engagement party than a birthday party. It’s a display of wealth, power, and the privilege to do crimes without having to pay for them. It’s elicited lots of excitement in my crowd. The guests are an intersection of people from pop stars to actors, influencers to tech bros, and of course, allied Cosa Nostra families of New York.
I step into the room and immediately there’s a spotlight on me. My heart is thrumming way too hard, and I feel like bursting into tears. There are very few people in this room I even want to see.
