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This is just another event Marcella pressured us into attending. The Willard’s are anold-moneyfamily. What they do today, I have no idea. You’d think they’d solve world hunger with how highly they think of themselves. Aaron and Tonya Willard are hosting their annual Valentine’s Day—or anniversary party. Again, I couldn’t say. I don’t care too much for them, especially their daughter, Sophia. The last time I saw her, she was hanging all over my husband the night my uncle ambushed the Black Rose Gala and tried to take me out.
“Are you kidding? There’s nothing I love more than schmoozing old, rich people,” she replies as she scans the room.
I let out a chuckle. “Where is your date?”
She waves in dismissal before grabbing our empty glasses and placing them on a server’s tray as they walk by, then takes two fresh glasses.
“Why does your dangerous husband look like he wants to strangle youandscrew you into the next century?” she asks, handing me my glass.
I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the hit put out on Nico.
When we got back from Virginia eight months ago, I came clean about my complicated upbringing, and in typical Maya fashion, she took it all in stride and wasn’t even fazed when the wordsmafia,murder,andwarwere dropped. I smile at the memory.
* * *
“I cannot believe you got married,” Maya calls as she drops her purse on the barstool next to her before sitting, “and moved!”
“Yes, but that’s not all,” I tell her, sliding over a bottle of wine and an opener, signaling for her to open it.
“Wait, is that why I’m meeting you here and not at your place?” She examines the large kitchen.
“Yes, well, this is Nico’s—or, I guess, our place for the time being. We’re looking at getting something new for the two of us.”
“Right, let’s start there. You married Nico fucking Delucci!” she yells, pouring heavy glasses and handing me one. “Cheers to you, girl!”
Maya always kept up with pop culture, and with her networking, she followed everything she could on NYC’s social groups.
“Let me see the ring again,” she demands.
I roll my eyes, trying to suppress a laugh at her antics.
“This is seriously a big deal. The Delucci family!”
“As I was saying.”
“Right, right, I’ll be quiet now. I want every detail.”
“Well . . . my name isn’t Natalie.”
She doesn’t respond but looks at me with her mouth gaping, confusion crossing her expression. When I realize she isn’t going to say anything, I word vomit my life story to her. By the time I’m done, Maya only blinks, which was telling. Maya was truly never speechless.
She holds up her hand, indicating she needs a minute. We sit in silence before she chugs the rest of her glass and refills it.
“Okay, let me get this straight. You’re not Natalie. You’re Anya. The long-lostTriadprincess. You spent the last month and a half in a not-so-safe house you can spot from outer space. Your hot best friend is actually your hot stepbrother, who’s definitely not in love with you and is about to be the boss of the Italian-Chicago mafia. Your hot husband is the second-in-command to the mafia in New York whom you met because he first tried to kidnap you, then saved you from being kidnapped. You actually killedmultiplemen, including your uncle. And now you’re the boss of a super-secret underground Chinese crime organization,” she lets out all in one breath.
“That’s a lot of adjectives, but, yes. That’s the gist.”
“Wow, this Nico must give a helluva dicking for you to get married so quickly. When do I get to meet him?”
Laughing, I throw my head back, then take a large gulp of wine. “That’s what you want to talk about?”
“What else is there to discuss?” She winks at me as she grabs her pizza.
“You can be such a perv.” I laugh, tossing a napkin at her.
“You love it,” she sings.
* * *
