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Is it possible that Dario sent this? It has to be him. Who else would invite me?
"Get a grip, Jasmine," I scold myself under my breath, forcing calm into my veins. But the thought of seeing him again sends shivers down my spine—and not from fear.
The masquerade ball presents a perfect opportunity—a chance to get closer to Dario and more importantly, to Tony Marchetti, his father. On their turf, in such close proximity, I’m bound to learn more about their secrets.
It will get me another step closer to bringing down the Marchetti Empire. It's a perilous game I need to be prepared for whatever dangers may lurk within the shadows of the Marchetti estate.
Yet, as I finger the edges of the invitation, I can't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. To dance with Dario, to be in his arms once more... Even though I know it's just a part of the mission, the allure is undeniable. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to use his penchant for playing the hero, against him.
"Alright," I whisper, tucking away the invitation. There’s no turning back now. "I'll do it. I will go to the masquerade ball, and I will get closer to Dario. For the mission…"…and for myself.
The line between anticipation and dread has never been so blurred—or so enticing. Let the games begin.
Chapter 4
A Dangerous Invitation
Dario
I stand outside the double-sided concrete doorway. There's no point knocking on these doors. He won't hear me. Instead, I reach above my head and pull down the lever.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large stone ball move through the air, guided by thick ropes, and on contact with the gong, a loud, reverberating clang echoes through the hallway.
From inside, my father pushes a button and the concrete door parts, allowing me in. When I enter, the lights are already dimmed, indicating that it's whiskey hour for Don Marchetti.
The smoke from a cigar twirls in circles overhead, and my father tugs long and deep. I watch as he exhales, his barely visible pursed lips hidden behind a thick white beard. He wears a scarf above the lapels of his tailored suit, to hide the loose skin around his neck.
"Come, Dario," he commands, pointing to the black leather high-back lounge chair opposite his desk. I walk over and his two dogs walk up to me. I give them a gentle pat, knowing that I shouldn't be fooled. These two mastiffs can cut a man's throat with one bite.
"You asked to see me?" I sit opposite him.
"Scotch?" he inquires.
I shake my head. "Not tonight. Got a busy day tomorrow."
"Straight to business then," my father leans forward and downs his glass in one go. Yet my father's gaze sharpens as he sets his eyes on me, seeing too much as always. I look forward, pretending not to feel on edge, but I wonder what he knows.
"There's a grave matter we must discuss. I have word of a leak within our organization. Someone has been whispering details of our arms shipments to our enemies. Three of our shipments have been stolen, always while the driver is on a break. Someone within our organization must be leaking our routes and schedules. I need you to find the rat, Dario, and make an example of him."
I straighten, a spark of interest piercing my gloom. A puzzle to solve, a traitor to hunt—this is what I'm made for. The thrill of the chase rises within me.
"I will find them," I vow. "And make them regret ever betraying our family."
He nods, satisfied. "I knew I could count on you. Be careful, my son, and trust no one. Not until the leak has been plugged."
"Of course, Padre." I meet his gaze steadily. "C'è qualcos'altro?" – Is there anything else?
"Sì, conosci la Contessa Alessandra?" – Yes, do you know Contessa Alessandra?
Taking my silence as a cue, he continues. "You will escort her at tonight's ball. She comes from good stock. It's time you settled down, my son, and she's an advantageous match. The Contessa comes from old money and has powerful allies."
I don't say a word while my blood rushes to my head. This has been a topic of conversation in his den since I turned 30. It's been two years, and the man still won't give up.
I clench my jaw, holding back the protests rising in my throat. Marrying for the sake of a good match, that has always been the way of my family. That has ensured our continue reign.
But I can't stomach the thought of being tied to a woman like the Contessa. A vain, vapid woman who wants for everything, yet hides behind the mask of a well-bred goody two shoes.
"Padre, the Contessa is a tiresome, cumbersome woman." My father hardly raises an eyebrow, used to my consistent protests. "Well then, perhaps the girl from the race?"
