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“A party?” I cross my arms over her chest.
“Yes. My ex-boyfriend always used to say even the most hateful hearts can be won with some alcohol and good music.”
“He sounds like a snob,” Michael mutters. We all pretend not to hear him.
Kiara’s smile is amused as she continues. “Listen, you’re trying to get these people to like you, right?”
“Not necessarily. I want them to fear me,” I say easily.
“Okay. Regardless of your intent, I think your first course of action should be gathering them all in the same place. Show them you’re capable. Be a good host or a good Don or whatever. I can help you plan it. It could be your official…” She trails off. “Promotion party? Or whatever you want to call it.”
I ponder her words for a second. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
We’ve never really been the type of people to host or attend parties. My family’s pretty private. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Are you kidding? It’s a great idea,” Tony says on a laugh. “I’ll take any excuse to party. You’re a genius, Kie.”
“I’ll talk to my mother and Salvador about it. We can have the party here,” I announce.
Elena is surprisingly quiet. She’s moved away from the group, a weird expression on her face. While Tony begins discussing ideas with Kiara, I go over to the pool table and grab the ball she was about to place in the triangle.
“What’s up with you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she mutters.
“Really? I thought you of all people would be happy about a party.”
She shrugs. “It’ll be fun. I might not be here for it, though.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I have to go back to Boston. I have a job, Roman. Responsibilities.”
I stare at her for a second and shrug. “Quit your job. Move back home. Problem solved.”
She stares back at me in disbelief. “That’s not happening.”
“I can see it in your eyes,lupacchiotta. You want to come back, too. Nobody’s going to think any less of you if you do.”
“No, but I’ll think less of myself. I’m not quitting,” she says stubbornly.
I grit my teeth. “When are you going back?”
“In about a week.”
“Good because the party’s this weekend.”
She stiffens. “Which day?”
“I don’t know. Saturday, I guess,” I say, confused about her reaction. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?”
“No. Nothing at all. I can’t wait,” she says with a smile on her face that I immediately know is fake.
My eyes narrow and I’m about to question her further when Michael launches to his feet.
“We have a problem,” he announces, staring at his tablet.
I’m already moving toward him. “What is it?”
