Page 2 of Malicious Marriage (Mafia Lords of Sin #9)

CLOVER

H onesty is the best policy, right?

“Don’t laugh…” I sniffle into the wet tissues. “But do you ever suddenly feel so entirely alone in a room full of people that it’s like you can’t breathe? Like everyone perceives you at the same time while also not seeing you at all? Does that make sense?”

Not the main reason I’m crying, but somehow, admitting that I fear the great Dean Savoy will have me taken out back and shot for trespassing doesn’t feel like the smartest thing to say.

Dean huffs out a soft laugh and nods. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”

“Really?” It’s hard to keep the surprise from my voice, especially when I was just trying to put my out-of-place feelings into words.

“Yup. Although if you feel this way here, are you telling me I’ve thrown a bad party?” His smile is teasing and his eyes light, so it’s difficult not to smile in return.

“No,” I reply hoarsely, then softly clear my throat. “Given how often it happens, it’s definitely me and not the party.”

“Noted. Finding a beautiful woman crying in my office is not a sign of a bad party.”

It’s lucky my face is already buried in the tissues to hide my sniffle when he says that because my breath catches in the back of my throat and I explode into a flurry of short, sharp coughs.

It’s made worse when Dean’s warm hand lands on my knee. His warmth sears straight through the fabric of my dress to the point that it almost burns.

“Do you need some water?” Dean asks, concern dripping from his tone.

“No,” I gasp as my cheeks light up with the burning fires of embarrassment. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just air.”

“Ahh,” Dean chuckles softly. “Our greatest necessity and yet the sneakiest enemy.”

“Right?” Now my eyes water for a completely different reason. Luckily, I have an entire box of tissues to get through. “Sorry.”

“What did I say about apologizing?”

“True. So, do you believe me?”

“Not quite. You haven’t told me why this happens all the time so I’m still inclined to believe I hold the cause.”

“It’s crowds,” I say honestly. “Being who I am and knowing the weight my name carries because of those who came before me. Seeing people look at me and knowing they don’t see the real me, they see the version of me that I’ve put out coupled with what they’ve created in their own heads.

It’s like ten different versions of me exist in the eyes of ten different people and none of them are me.

So it gets… intense, and then I take a break in what I presume to be non-occupied offices.

” I trail off and finally look Dean in his gorgeous blue eyes. “Until now.”

Dean nods slowly, and a strand of hair falling forward from his hairline catches my attention. It drifts in a slow arc across his forehead, kissing his skin until he lifts his hand and pushes it back into place.

“Believe it or not,” he replies gently, “I understand. Why do you think I left my office unlocked?”

“You’re hiding too?” I ask, trying to keep my focus on his hairline and not the burning hand still resting on my knee.

“Hiding isn’t the word I’d use,” he says with another brief, soft smile. “Taking a moment to adjust my center.”

“Little pretentious,” I say without thinking, then my hand flies to my mouth as a pulse of shameful heat rushes through me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

To my immense relief, Dean laughs and leans back while finally removing his touch from my knee. “No, you’re right. How often we’re trained and taught to say things a certain way so that nothing exudes weakness. Far be it for me to fall into the trap of a regular conversation.”

“They say words make wars.” The wet tissues ball up in my left hand, and I pick up one more dry one to finally dry my cheeks now that the tears are no longer building. “A regular conversation could topple cities.”

Dean scoffs and smiles. “Indeed it could.”

“I’m sorry I was just sitting here,” I say suddenly.

“I was in my own world, stressed about how I’ve been presenting myself this evening, and I just needed a moment, but then you walked in and when I realized who you were?

” My cheeks puff out. “I’m not bold enough to interrupt the host, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy.

I was just…” The right word fails me so instead I just laugh weakly. “Readjusting?”

Dean gestures to his own tie. “I understand. More than you know.”

“Host pressures?”

“And the rest.” He adjusts his seat and leans up. “Take the time you need.”

“Oh, no!” His words suddenly spur me into action. I gather all the wet tissues and stuff them into my purse.

“You really don’t have to?—”

“No, no, I should get out of your hair. I’ve hidden long enough.

” Rummaging through the tissues with the realization that I should have done this first, I find my compact mirror and whip it out.

In the light from the table lamp, it’s impossible to ignore how puffy my eyes are or how flushed my round cheeks are.

My mascara is all but gone, but at least my red lipstick is mostly unaffected.

“Besides, people will be looking for me. And you look like you need some decompression time.”

“Do you think it’s common?” Dean looks past me toward the door. “Is everyone here secretly seeking five minutes away from everyone else?”

“No,” I reply honestly. “I think it’s just a certain kind of soul that needs breathing room. Some of us just want to be seen, y’know? And in our world, it’s impossible to be seen for who we really are.”

Despite focusing on my own reflection as I do what I can to wipe away the stray flecks of mascara, I see Dean’s gaze land on me and remain there as he watches me intently.

“Indeed,” he replies quietly as if confirming something else in his mind. “We’re all wearing a mask.”

“Exactly.” Closing my compact mirror, I set it aside next to the table lamp and resume gathering the tissues.

Then as I stand, Dean stands with me and suddenly, he’s towering a good head above me with his peppermint aftershave tickling my sensitive nose.

I look up at him and the air suddenly feels thin, like his presence is sucking up everything breathable.

I swallow. Hard.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Dean says as he steps away from me and walks slowly back toward his desk.

“It’s Clover.”

“Clover,” he repeats, reaching his desk and running his fingertips along the edge of the lampshade. “Take care of yourself, Clover.”

“I will. Thank you. And thank you for the tissues. Please, send me the bill.”

Dean laughs softly. “That’s hardly necessary.”

“Please.”

“Should I charge by the tissue?” His eyes catch mine from across the room. “Or by the box?”

I pause with my hand on the door handle and my bag clutched to my abdomen. “By the tissue,” I tease back. “Make it interesting.”

Dean’s eyes narrow faintly. “So be it.”

I leave Dean’s office slowly, but as soon as I reach the top of the stairs, I start running.

I need to get out of here. I need air. Outside air free from the stink of alcohol and fancy food, expensive perfumes and aftershaves, and music so loud that my teeth ache.

Weaving through the party is a rush in itself, but there’s no one here to stop me, and no one cares enough to ask if I’m alright.

I don’t stop until I’m outside and the gravel surrounding the Savoy manor crunches under my heels, but even then, I don’t stop.

I wobble my way across the gravel, cursing every unstable stone that catches on my heels and threatens to twist my ankle the wrong way, out the gates and past guards who barely spare me a glance, then all the way down the street.

By the time I reach the black car tucked just around the corner, I’m breathless and sweating from every possible crevice.

“Fuck.” Bobby, my driver and bodyguard, leaps out of the car and rushes around to me, catching me before I open the door. “Clover, are you alright?”

“In!” I gasp, pointing at the car. “Let me in!”

He opens the door for me and then hurries back around to the driver’s side as I flop into my seat and breathe deeply like I’ve just resurfaced after being underwater that entire time.

Bobby flips on the AC and passes me a bottle of water, then we sit in silence for a few long moments while I catch my breath.

“Should I be worried?” Bobby, my ever faithful bodyguard and friend, regards me with a worried frown. “Clover?”

“I’m okay,” I gasp after several gulps of water. “Fuck, why is it so hot? Are you too hot? I’m too hot.”

“Calm down,” Bobby says, raising his voice slightly. “Clover, what happened ?”

“I saw him.” My heart resumes beating wildly at the thought of Dean in his office.

“Dean? Did you talk to him?”

I nod quickly.

“And?”

“It wasn’t like we planned. I was supposed to bump into him and get talking, flirt a little and then hope he calls me. That was the plan.”

“A good plan,” Bobby says.

“A terrifying plan.”

“But?”

I shift in my seat to look at him. “I was feeling so overwhelmed. I felt like everyone took one look at me and could tell I was a disaster. So I snuck away to catch my breath, and I was getting worked up and crying, and then who should find me?”

Bobby’s eyes widen. “Dean.”

“Yup!” Sweat trickles down between my breasts, and I hurriedly wipe it away with a grunt of frustration. “Oh, hell, I’m melting.”

Bobby turns the AC up. “You’re killing me here.”

“We didn’t flirt,” I whine softly. “We talked about anxieties and the social pressure of parties. Hardly the romantic talk that will make him call me.”

“Shit.” Bobby sighs softly. “How did he seem?”

I shrug. “Kind? Nothing like I expected. The Killer Savoy wasn’t all that killer.”

“Maybe he’ll still call,” Bobby decides. “You spoke to him and that’s a start.”

“Is it?” Bobby’s hopefulness isn’t enough to reinflate mine.

“Of course it is. Listen, if nothing else, then you have an in with him to try again. You will try again, right? We’re not giving up?”

Despite the defeat that weighs down on my shoulders, I nod slowly. “We’re not giving up.”

We can’t.

This has to work. If it doesn’t, then I’m all out of ideas on how to save my sister.