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Just then, Frank Bonanno enters the grand hall, his presence alone casting a dark shadow over the festivities. His gaze meets mine. Has he been watching me?
Fucking Frank Bonanno. Son of Luca "Lucky" Bonanno. The father and son are polar opposites of each other. Where Luca comes from humble beginnings, Frank was born with a silver - no, scratch that - diamond spoon.
The "Lucky" in Luca tells you that the man was never expected to be named Capo, not in a million years. A nobody from the slums, Lucky worked his way up through the ranks. Frank, on the other hand, believes life owes him.
He's egoistic, overconfident, and erratic. How do I know that? The same age as me, we attended the same schools, ran in the same circles, dated the same girls. I know this man and I don't like that he's in the same room as Jasmine.
My grip tightens around the hidden blade concealed within my sleeve, my instincts flaring at the sight of my rival Mafia boss.
"Frank" Marco spits out the name like poison, and I nod in agreement. While our fathers have no beef, we've been at odds for years, and the mere sight of him makes my blood boil.
Frank's eyes scan the crowd through his black and red Nasone mask, finally settling on Jasmine. His greedy gaze lingers on her. He looks back at me and gives me a lopsided grin.
"Merda," I mutter under my breath, the need to reach her surging through me like wildfire. Frank noticed me watching her, and now, just to spite me, I can tell he's going to go for her.
Though we haven't exchanged a single word since the day of the accident, I can't bear the thought of her falling prey to someone like him.
My eyes lock on Jasmine as Frank begins to make his way toward her. With that ends all subtlety. My heart races in my chest as I finger my concealed blade.
My every muscle is tensed and ready for a confrontation that could very well set an end to the evening’s festivities. And perhaps set our lives on a collision course.
Chapter 7
The Dance of Deception
Jasmine
I stand at the bar, my fingers idly tracing the rim of my champagne flute, as I scan the crowd for Dario's familiar figure.
The room is awash in a sea of silk and velvet, glinting jewels and laughter, not to mention a hundred handsome men, but my heart yearns for only him.
His gray eyes and that wicked grin have haunted my dreams since the moment we met on the race track, one look igniting a fire within me that nothing else can quench.
As I ponder who invited me and whether Dario will come and say hello, several men approach me, vying for my attention. Their compliments and advances barely register as my focus remains on Dario.
I dismiss the others with a subtle wave of my hand, hoping they understand that the seat next to me waits empty for just one to take his place.
My impatience grows as I notice Dario circling me, his gaze lingering on my figure as if he's appreciating a fine piece of art. The corners of his lips lift into that devilish smirk I've come to crave, but he refuses to approach.
It's maddening. We’re playing a wicked game, each wanting the other, yet neither willing to cross the invisible line between us.
"Miss Abella," a voice interrupts my thoughts, smooth and seductive like velvet. A charming and thrilling man approaches, his dark eyes filled with mischief. He's as tall as Dario, leaner maybe.
"I've heard so much about you." I'm taken aback by his familiar tone, his perfectly tailored suit, and the air of confidence that surrounds him.
"You have?" I arch an eyebrow, trying to maintain my composure. My heart pounds in my chest, threatening to betray the calm facade. How does he know my name? Is he the one who left me the invitation? Friend or foe, or just an irrelevant distraction?
"Indeed," he says, extending his hand for me to shake. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Frank...Frank Bonanno."
My breath catches in my throat as I shake his hand. All of us at the agency studied Dario and his father for months. It was impossible to ignore the connections to Frank Bonanno.
A rival mafia Don the same age as Dario. They go back a long way, from attending the same summer camps to partying at the same clubs. His name answers my question.
It would be easy for a man as powerful and connected as Frank Bonanno to find out who the girl at the bar is, to find out my name in mere minutes.
I can't believe that Dario's arch-nemesis, or perhaps, friendly enemy is right here, in this very room, sitting next to me of all people. I grip the edge of the bar, feeling the cold metal dig into my palm, grounding me in reality.
This is dangerous territory, and I must tread carefully. But, this is also a huge opportunity for me. A chance, served on a silver platter. If I play this right, I can learn more about Tony Marchetti and his son, through the eyes of a competitor who runs in the same circles. This is too good an opportunity to let slip.
