AllFreeNovel
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He’s regal. Handsome. Severe.
He adjusts one sleeve of his long, dark coat and tugs on the cuff of one black glove, stretching his fingers.
Together, we’re quite the picture. Dark leather gloves to lacy, silken white. Sheets of black against cascades of red. Guns and smoke. Knives and mirrors. A perfect, crisp deck of cards.
“Princess. You’re staring.” His austere gaze lands on me. “Still. Please try to stay focused.”
If only he knew how focused I was.
I pull my lips into a trained smile. “You look nervous.”
His attention cuts across gold leaf and pearl, the squalling animals in gilded cages, several auction displays of stolen goods. His fingers flex again as he fiddles more with his glove. “It is wholly unfamiliar.”
I know that much.
The thing is: it shouldn’t be.
Places like this, in the lavish underground, saturate my entire childhood. My papa had to put bullets in the heads of opportunists who assumed the girl in their midst was for sale. I grew up beneath the champagne fountains and deluxe fruit swans, peeking from under the tablecloths and doing my reconnaissance.
Even if this world was no place for a child and my parents fell on the eccentric side in my upbringing, Rowan is thirty-eight. He should have been dipping his toes in the liquid gold for the past two decades. We should have met, long, long ago.
Maybe, if we had, things would be different between us.
Maybe, if we had, I wouldn’t have to let him go.
“I suppose we should mingle until we catch sight of our target?” Rowan’s gloved hand appears in front of me. “Is there any chance he doesn’t show?”
Humming, I take his hand. “No. Not a chance at all.” His fingers—strong and sturdy—close over mine, guiding me into the fray of spun silver and glass. With my every step, the slit running up my leg reveals the gun holster strapped to my thigh. A dozen eyes take note. A handful of men sweep back the flaps of their suit jackets to reveal their own weapons tucked into their waistbands.
Extravagant standoffs like these—where one wrong move could send the entire room into an uproar of shots fired—excite me more than they should. I thrive in the tension. The secrets. The power plays.
Mama owned stages like these. She and Papa stole shows together, gathering information, sowing doubt, twisting stories and words.
No one the wiser.
No one understanding the simplest fact…
Rosanera as a criminal family doesn’t appear to pose any threats because we aren’t a mafia built on violence and injustice. We aren’t big dogs barking at anyone who approaches our territory. We don’t run the brutal rackets, steal, destroy, leave dismembered messages that make the news.
We’re just people. The single mothers. The construction workers. The nine-to-five office men. The lawyers. The good cops. The underpaid teachers. The average citizens who—at one point or another—needed help and turned to the shadows to get it.
We are just people, all over the world.
From the surface, a rose isn’t threatening even with its paltry thorns.
Our strength has always been in what can’t be seen.
Our roots spiderweb beneath the noses of every family represented here. Our roots strangle each unknowing weed. I have men working for me everywhere. In Pratt. In Veleno. In New York. Even in Italy itself.
Rosanera owns this world.
And with that ownership, I am capable of doing many, many selfish things.
“Should we dance?” Rowan asks, having brought me to the quietest section of the dance floor. Couples around us use the excuse to murmur their interests in one another’s ears. Eyes cut toward desired goods. Lashes flutter. Men sloppily present new jewels as though purchasing them weren’t their women’s ideas.
Rowan and I have no need for such conspiracy as of yet, so I fix my gaze on him. “I thought we were going to mingle and keep an eye out for our target.”
His hand plants against my back, sending liquid heat rushing into my stomach. “I just remembered.” His fingers thread with mine, putting us in position. “I hate mingling.”
