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Chapter Two

FIAMETTA

“ C ome on, get dressed. Let’s not be any later than we have to be,” Simone orders as I step into my bedroom. She’s in the en-suite bathroom, wearing only white lace lingerie, and she’s focusing intently on applying her eyeliner in the mirror.

“Yes, ma’am,” I give her a half-assed salute and grab the one-of-a-kind black dress I had laid out on the bed before she summoned me to the Sanctuary Club.

The dress is perfect for our night out. Low-hanging shoulder straps extend into a very deep V to show off my cleavage and are accompanied by a tight bodice that shrink-wraps my body down to my waist, highlighting my frame. The high hemline barely touches my knees to allow for high maneuverability, and it frills out at the hem to give the overall look some depth. Finally come the glittering sequins that give the eye something to look at. That is, if anyone who looks at me cares about my dress, rather than all the skin I’ve left on display.

Without wanting to sound too egotistical, I love it the most because I’m the one who designed and made it.

“Where did you go?” Simone looks at me through the mirror’s reflection, moving away from the eyeliner and onto her lipstick.

I sigh before finding the strength to reply. It doesn’t relieve any of the weight my meeting presses on my shoulders. Everything is such a song and dance with my father and it’s starting to drive me nuts. Especially, now more than ever, with what’s going on among his ranks. You’d think he would want to be direct and avoid middlemen. Instead, I am being dragged across the city to listen to his message.

First, one of his men came to my front door, and he escorted me to the Sanctuary Club without as much as a hello. Then, I was left to wait for half an hour while another guy finished a meeting with some empty suit. Finally, our business was concluded in less than a minute, with his instructions:

Your father wants to see you for dinner tomorrow evening. He has organized it at his home and expects you to arrive before seven. Dress appropriately and make sure no one sees you coming.

Two hours of my night wasted, when I could’ve been getting ready for my wild night out with Simone. But this bullshit isn’t surprising anymore. It’s been happening since I was a child, and there won’t be an end to it until Father leaves his seat as head of the Napoli mafia, or one of us is dead.

If I were a betting person, I’d put my money on the latter.

“Family business,” I answer, starting to undress out of my less provocative jeans and crop top and into my dress.

“Almost got scared when I arrived, and you were nowhere to be seen. Thought something had happened to you.” Her eyes narrow like a mother’s would when trying to scold their child.

That is a missed pleasure when it comes to my own mother. Father said she died from unforeseen complications when I was young. I did attend my mother’s funeral though. Her closed casket didn’t strike me as odd as a child, but the more I think about it now, the more I realize that it probably was to hide the sight of her remains from her grieving relatives.

In our world ‘unforeseen complications’ means someone got to her, to hurt my father. I’m not surprised. He’s made an enemy of everyone in New York. But that doesn’t stop the sharp sting of sadness when I think about how broken he looked on the day we laid mother to rest.

Still, I’m not going to cut him any more slack than I have to about his secrecy surrounding me. Although I understand that it’s for my safety, I still crave the love and family togetherness any daughter would. But you don’t get to choose your family. That’s a saying that has burdened me since birth.

“Nah, you don’t have to worry about me.” I slip my bra off and toss it onto a growing pile of clothes in the corner of my room. I’ll have to take care of it this weekend, if I don’t want my entire closet to become a messy decoration. Or worse, leave this mess for the cleaners to happen upon. They work hard enough as it is and don’t need me adding to their workload. “It’s just the way things go.”

Simone frowns and, after a brief silence where I can tell she wants to say something but can’t find the words – or chooses not to – she nods.

“Holy shit, you have a rocking bod,” she says instead, allowing her eyes to travel from my eyes to my toes.

“Jeez, you can’t say stuff like that to me while I’m naked.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I cover my bare chest with my dress.

I used to hate getting ready like this. Simone broke down those walls during our college years of clubbing. It’ll save time if we both get ready together. And what’s the worst that could happen? I see your cookie. Reality check, babe, I’ve got one, too. Those words convinced me to go ahead with it, but they didn’t do much in the way of stilling the bundle of nerves I felt under her leering blue-eyed gaze.

I’m not unattractive, at least I don’t think I am, but I’m also vastly inexperienced when it comes to compliments from someone who actually means them. Shrugging off drunks, who want to get in my pants at bars, is easy; they’ll say whatever you want to hear as long as it gets them laid. But real kindness? God, it makes me want to curl up and hide in my bed.

“You’re not naked. You’re wearing panties,” she grins wickedly, finishing the last of her makeup and joining me in the room, to get dressed.

Makeup and panties were as far as I got before father’s man appeared at my door. At least it cut down my to-do list.

In contrast to my ensemble, Simone’s wearing an off-white dress. It has some of the same skimpy proportions as mine does, but with a higher riding hemline and no sequins that sparkle. I’d say she looks like an angel in her outfit, but it’s only half true.

Her unnaturally vibrant, crystal-blue eyes are enhanced by her powder-white skin. She has delicate and dainty features, from her freckled cheeks to her small feet. But the mess of long, ginger curls that comes to a stop just above her shoulders is a telltale sign of her fiery personality.

Simone’s the perfect blend of heaven and hell.

“Zip me up and I’m all set to go.” She spins around and walks backwards to me. I do as she asks and gather up the last of my things.

“Then, let’s get this party started.” Excitement oozes through me as I slide into my platform heels. They add an extra three inches to my height, and at five-foot-three, I can use all the help I can get.

We make our way out of my building and Simone waves down a cab that’s passing by. Apart from a few stolen looks from the cabby in his rear-view mirror, it’s an uneventful ride to the nightclub.

“Oh, and don’t forget this.” She slips her hand into her purse and draws a white winged plastic mask from it. In all the tedium I endured earlier, I completely forgot that this was a masquerade party.

“Right, thanks. I almost forgot the most important part.” I take it from her and slip it over my face. Given how cheap the plastic feels against my fingertips, it fits surprisingly well and feels pretty comfortable.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you covered.” She snickers at her pun. “I knew you’d forget anyway. It’s why you’re my scatter-brained princess.”

It was Simone’s idea for me to wear a white mask, so she could wear a black one, so we’d be matching to some degree. If it were up to me, I’d have spent some time making something that actually matched my outfit.

She isn’t wrong, though. I’d have spent days crafting the perfect accessory for my dress, only to forget it at my shop on the night of the party.

“Here we are, ladies. Cash or card?” The cab driver asks and reaches for a portable point of sale terminal underneath the meter box.

“Card,” I say, but it comes out unanimously with Simone’s saying cash .

“You’ve already done enough, the least I can do is buy our ride over.” She rolls her eyes at my wanting to pay for another thing.

It’s in my nature to give. Not only to my friends, but to others also. I can complain all I want about being born into the mafia, but it has afforded me opportunities that few people will ever have the pleasure of experiencing. Aside from running a fairly successful, high-end clothing store, my father pays weekly allowances into my bank account.

And really, there’s only so much happiness money can buy before you realize it’s better served in helping others.

“I heard someone say this is going to be the hottest party of the year.” Simone grabs my hand and pulls me out her side of the taxi and onto the sidewalk. The enormous line stretching from the club’s entrance, all the way to the end of the block confirms what she heard. “Great DJ’s, guest appearances and celebrities from all circles drinking in the festivities.”

I understand why the event organizer made this a masquerade. Hiding everyone’s faces shrouds them in obscurity. Celebrities, who are approached day in and out by fans, can kick back and let loose and no one will even know that they’re there. It’s brilliant.

“Holy shit, it’s a good thing I got tickets,” I comment.

My eyes travel the lengthy coil of people, who probably won’t get in, even if they wait out here all night.

“Hell, yeah it is. How did you manage to swing it anyway?” Simone asks, as she drags me toward a second, much shorter line, on the opposite side of the entrance. “This event has been sold out for months.”

“All the suffering of being a mafia kingpin’s daughter should come with a few perks, don’t you think?” I giggle. As much as this city despises him, no one would dare turn down a request from Lorenzo Napoli.

I hate that she knows my dirty little secret, and my father would probably kill both of us if he found out I had told her, but I wasn’t going to spend my life coming up with answers for all the shit he puts me through. Like earlier, saying Family Business is usually enough to steer her off course when it comes to what I get up to. And though I can tell it eats her up inside not to be in the know any more, she respects me enough not to pry.

We fall into line with the rest of the masked partygoers and wait our turn to get in. The wait is much shorter than expected and, before I know it, Simone and I are inside.

Still clutching my hand, Simone pulls me from the entrance to a small room sectioned off from the dance floor. It’s a separate bar area, where patrons of the club can relax, far away from the eardrum shattering music in the main dance floor.

I let my eyes scan the room to build some sort of familiarity of my surroundings, but my excitement about the night ahead quickly starts to fade. Among the masked horde circling the bar, I spot the first of many familiar faces. I don’t know his name, but I recognize him from outside the Sanctuary Club, when I was earlier.

Tilting my head to one corner, then the next, I see two more faces instead of masks. Of course, father would send men to watch over me. Why wouldn’t he when so many of his men are dying like flies? But it makes me wonder if having a security detail in the club isn’t doing more harm than good to his secrecy. People will wonder what he is trying to hide. And if the guy, who is murdering Napoli soldiers, is here tonight, their maskless faces scowling menacingly will be a huge indicator that someone of importance to my father is here.

“Quick drink to keep us hydrated, and then I’m not stopping my groove until the sun comes up.” Simone sways her hips and adds a raise the roof gesture with her hands to sell the statement.

I’m glad she hasn’t noticed my father’s men, and I doubt she will. It’s easy enough to label them as security and bouncers, without knowing the full story.

“Sounds like a great idea. You got the ride, so I’ll buy our first round.” I wink and slip between her and the bar so she can’t decline my offer.

“Is that right?” Her nose crinkles deviously. “Then I’ll have the most expensive thing they have on the menu.”

“A finger of whiskey doesn’t strike me as your kind of drink,” I tease, gesturing to the liquor cabinet’s top shelf, where an imported bottle of Japanese whiskey reigns supreme above the rest of the cheap liquor.

“Hmm. You’re not wrong.” Her eyes sink to the glass-fronted mini-fridges and their easy drinking options. “Fine, a shot of tequila and a cider will do.”

“Coming righ—” the rest of my words get stuck in the back of my throat as my eyes move to the far side of the bar.

They’re instantly drawn to a leather jacket clad towering figure, who fills out his bar stool so well, it looks as if he’s floating on air, instead of sitting down. Beneath the jacket, rippling muscles flex and strain against a tight gray tank top, which barely extends over the golden belt buckle holding up his jeans.

His exquisite body aside, it’s his emerald-green eyes that hook me. If Simone and I hadn’t just gotten here – and if I didn’t want to get on the dance floor immediately – I’m sure they’d be able to reel me in, too. His gaze is inviting, but it looks so calculated. I guess it has to be, when the rest of his face is hidden beneath a black, biker’s face mask and all his desires have to exit through his eyes.

It’s his lack of inventive originality that makes me want to go over to him and see what makes his mind tick. He spent a great deal of money to get in here, and probably took the time out of what is no doubt a busy schedule, if what Simone says about celebrities and high-powered individuals is true. But, instead of playing the game and going all out on his mask’s design, he’s wrapped his face with a cheap covering of cotton that you can buy for ten bucks at a dress up shop.

Someone moves over to his side and snatches his attention away from me. They share a brief conversation before both depart for the dance floor.

I’ll see you out there, big boy.

I order our drinks, choosing to get the same as Simone. A tequila to lower inhibitions, and a sweet cider to quench the thirst that will come from the workout we’re about to get.

After slamming back our shots, we head back into the wall of noise and join the many gyrating bodies on the dance floor. At first, everything is great amid the feverish dancing and sweat-sparkled bodies of New York City’s royalty. At least, that’s what I’ll call them, since I don’t know who’s underneath the masks swaying and weaving between Simone and me.

As I dance, I catch glimpses of father’s men, but it’s not them I want to see. I don’t know where my infatuation for the guy at the bar has come from, but I presume it’s something about the way he managed to hold my interest longer than a few seconds without making some filthy remark about my attire.

Or the nonchalant way he walked off without so much as a single word said. Tall, dark and mysterious is right up my alley, and he has it in spades.

After a while of it just being Simone and I, someone steps in between us and whispers in her ear. She stops dead for a second, eyeing the guy up and down, before leaning in to speak into my ear. Even this close, she has to shout for me to make out what she’s saying.

“This guy asked for a dance. Mind if I entertain the request?” I know I would hear lust dripping off her words, if she wasn’t competing with the music.

“Of course not,” I shout back. I’m not worried about security with father’s men here, so why stop Simone from enjoying herself? “Go have fun.”

As her focus moves to the man who came to steal her away, mine falls to the second drink of the night. I downed the cider somewhere between the second and third track we were dancing to, and after this short break to speak, I notice how parched I am.

I wade through the sea of frantically moving bodies and make my way back to the secluded bar we were in earlier. Might as well have my thoughts to keep me company since I’m alone.

But the barman who served me before is ready and waiting the second I approach. I’m sure there’s a coy smile on his lips, and it matched the playfully raised brow above his right eye.

“It’s your lucky day,” he announces as I take a seat in the stool. “Saw you eyeing the bottle up there, and it just so happens someone ordered you a cocktail that has it, and several other high-priced drinks, inside it.”

He pulls a cocktail out from behind his back and sets it in front of me. It has a dark orange bottom and grows progressively lighter in color until it reaches a yellow top.

“What? Who?” I take it off the counter and inspect the contents.

He shrugs and shakes his head. “The whole point of a night like tonight is secrecy. Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.” Bullshit . If my suspicions are correct, it was the towering slab of muscle I saw earlier. Masked or not, you’d remember him. But it’s the barman’s job to keep the secrets for tonight, so I won’t ask any more than that.

“Well, that sure wasn’t what I was expecting.” I chuckle to myself.

“We call it The Morning After... ” The barman goes back to do his job and waves a hand over the drink as if presenting it to me. “…because once you’d had it, you’re not gonna remember a thing until tomorrow morning. Only the highest end booze, blended with orange juice, various sweeteners and served over crushed ice.”

“Sounds dangerous.” I’m salivating for my first sip.

“For your wallet…,” he starts. I can’t help but chuckle at his salesman-pitch mentality to a single drink. “…this puppy will run you more than my week’s paycheck. You must’ve made a real impression on the dude who bought it.”

“Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.” I parrot his words from earlier but it’s a sincere answer.

If it is the green-eyed guy I saw earlier, I didn’t do anything to deserve a drink like this. We barely looked at each other before he wandered off.

I swish the small straw through the glass, mixing the top contents with the bottom before I take my first sip. An involuntary hmm of satisfaction follows it. Holy shit, it tastes like angels dancing across my tongue. My next sip, and all the subsequent ones are met with the same thrill as the first, until half the glass is empty.

“Woah. Easy, tiger.” The barman returns after serving some other patrons. “It’s a stiff drink, and I’d prefer to see you walk rather than fall out of here.” He laughs, but I can hear how serious he is.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” I’m not a huge drinker, but dinners with my father and Simone often end up with more than a few empty wine bottles.

“Not worried. Just a heads up, is all. Have a great rest of your night,” he concludes and heads back to work.

Though I doubt a single cocktail is going to be the difference maker on my level of sobriety, I heed the barman’s advice and take my time with the second half.

I’m glad I do, too, as by the time I finish and slip off my bar stool to go back to the dance floor, a warm haze of good liquor is coating my brain and making my knees wobbly.

Okay... now I’m really ready to get this party started.

I approach my next session with new vigor. The thrum of music against the inside of my chest takes control, and before I know it, I’m lost to the sounds, swaying my hips like I just don’t care, throwing my arms around in vicious flurries, and taking on every newcomer who wants a dance partner.

It’s a whirl of music and movement. Men, women, anyone who wants a turn; I don’t discriminate. I lose all of my fears about what tomorrow night’s meeting with father might bring, for one night of normalcy.

That is, until his gloved hands slide over my hips.

Until his enormous tattoo laden chest is in direct line of my eyes.

Until his emerald eyes shimmer beneath the low light of the floor.

“Thank you for my cocktail.” Holy shit, I’m slurring my words. Moving constantly from one partner to the next, I didn’t realize when I shifted from warm giddiness to actually feeling drunk.

I’d better keep moving so it doesn’t catch up with me even harder.

“You’re most welcome.” His voice somehow carries itself as a husky whisper through the music.

“I knew it was you.” I proclaim giddily, but never allow my feet to stop moving. I’m starting to feel something, and if I take a break now, it’s going to get a whole lot worse. I really don’t want to make an ass of myself in front of my mysterious stranger.

“Are you doing alright?” His smooth as silk voice travels down my ear.

“You’re probably so freaking sexy under that mask.” I blurt out, without thinking. My eyes widen and I gulp down hard at my outburst.

There goes any attempt at not making an ass of myself.

He uses his hands, on my hips, to pull me tighter against his body, when he leans in again. I can feel every inch of his firm body now. The tight abs he must spend way too much time in the gym for. His strong hands grip me firmly in place, while we rock back and forth to the beat. Most surprisingly, it’s the stiffness of the muscle dangling between his legs that I feel most of all.

If I hadn’t just caught myself saying something I’m already regretting, I’d have probably made some crude joke about his club bashing down my walls. Well... if he’s lucky, I might still do it. Aren’t random hook ups part of the clubbing experience?

As my mind crosses from nearly drunk t o full-blown, on the verge of making big mistakes drunk, my senses reach new heights. He moves smoothly to the music and pulls me along with every one of his motions while I breathe in the intoxicating, woody aroma that clings to his skin. I can feel every flex of his muscles against my breasts and belly as we dance, and I’m constantly reminded of the bulge in his pants with every hip gyration he makes.

I’ve never been swept off my feet before. Who would’ve guessed it would be someone wearing a mask? Turns out, this bad boy shit is totally my jam.

But my euphoria is short-lived. Barely a song goes by before my head suddenly feels as if it has tripled in weight. My limbs follow suit, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep time with the mysterious stranger’s energetic movements.

For the first time since he came over to me, his entrancing eyes have shifted away from me. I can’t see where he’s looking, but there’s a cold intent in that gaze. Total hardness that rivals the rod jamming into my side.

“It’s time for you to go home, Fiametta.”

Did he just use my name? No. It can’t be. My drunken brain must be playing tricks on me.

“What did you ju—” My words aren’t slurring anymore, they’re full-blown gibberish in my ears. I can’t even shout them out to cut through the music anymore.

“Go home. You’re not looking well.” His eyes continue gazing out into the distance while he speaks. “Wouldn’t want to see you hurt by someone looking to take advantage of you.”

That’s a plus, right? He can tell I’m on the verge of blacking out, but he’s trying to help me get away from here. His good-natured spirit makes me want to stay even longer. Spend time in his arms and—

“Fia?” Simone’s voice tickles the inside of my ear. Her hands wrap around my waist, breaking the stranger’s contact for the first time since he touched me. “Are you okay?” Her question comes out in a frenzy of anxiety.

“ I’m fine ” is what I try to answer, but the noise “ im fn” is all I can muster.

“Do you know her?” The stranger asks Simone, staring into her eyes with a dangerously protective glare.

“She’s my best friend.” Simone hooks one of my arms over her shoulder. “What happened to her?”

“Drunk, I think.” He rolls his enormous shoulders. “Started collapsing in my arms.”

I admit to Simone, in the broken language of inebriation, that I had a drink without her.

“Oh, Lord, let’s get you out of here.” The giggling that follows her statement is proof that this isn’t anything serious. At least not to me.

Well, Mr. Barman, you weren’t lying about that drink. So, cheers to a great night out and The Morning After .