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Rossi shoots me a glare before pointing at me. “Next time you call him, make sure it’s not when I’m working with you.”
“Stop being a little bitch,” I tease him, smirking. “Let’s go get something to eat. I’m fucking starving.”
“Your dumbass is buying,” he mutters, shaking his head.
Was it risky to call Enzo after he specifically told us not to bother him? Fuck yes, it was. But would I take it back if it meant the girl got to be free from spending the night with that creep? No, not in a million years would I take it back. Even if he did kill me and throw me in the ocean. It would have meant I saved her for one more night.
And for some reason, I’d be okay with that.
I look around the room at the event, knowing there’s enough money in here to feed and clothe a whole fucking Third World country. But almost every single fucker in here is rich because they are doing shady shit, not because they are making an honest living. So, they’d better live it up now; soon, all their fancy shit will be gone. And I, for one, can’t wait.
Out of all the shit I do as a guard, these parties are the worst. People look at the waiters like they are peasants. Hell, they even look at me and the other security guards like we’re dirt beneath their fancy fucking shoes. Without us, a lot of them would have been slaughtered long ago.
My eyes roam the room, just as they are supposed to, making sure nothing is amiss and nobody is doing anything they shouldn’t be doing. This is a huge fundraiser. One that undoubtedly is used to distract the people of Italy from what these monsters are doing behind the scenes. Most of the public truly believes the Romanos are a good family. One that gives back to the community when they can, especially to underprivileged children. But I think some know the truth, or at least suspect it—that for every good deed they do, there were a hundred horrific things done first.
Enzo steps back into the main room. Briar walks beside him, staying close enough that people know they are together, but not so close that she intrudes on conversation while he talks business with some of the other men here. Though she tries to blend, it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable. And her neck is red and blotchy, telling me exactly what I already know. That she’s nervous.
Her honey-blonde hair is pulled into some sort of fancy, low ponytail, falling down her spine. Her black dress hugs her body in a way that makes me curse because I know every single fuck in the room is looking at her. How could they not? She’s easily the most beautiful woman here.
She’s soft and delicate, trying to seem completely oblivious to everything around her. Her bright blue eyes look around like this is just another night. I find myself wondering if she really is just scared of her uncle, so she’ll do whatever he says, or if she has another motive. Whatever it is, if she hasn’t already, soon, she’ll wish she were back in Georgia.
He ignores her as he talks to person after person. And she continues to stand there like she was made just to serve Enzo fucking Romano.
Pathetic really. Then again, doves aren’t known for being that smart. That’s what the majority of the population thinks anyway. In reality, they are much more intelligent than they lead people to believe. So smart that back in the day, they were used as messengers because they had a strong ability to navigate their way to places.
Everyone else in the world might look at a dove in a park and think it’s dumber than a rock. But the truth is, it’s probably thinking the same thing about them. And that leads me to believe one thing …
Briar James might be the biggest con artist of us all.
“Hudson will drive you home,” Enzo mutters, giving me only his profile because, of course, he can’t look directly at me. “I have business to attend to.”
I’m no dummy. By business, he means that the busty, black-haired beauty in the red dress with enough cleavage to suffocate a grown man is giving him the look. And he’s not wasting any more time with me, his so-called fiancée, tonight.
I move my fingers around to feel the ring that was delivered to my room this morning. It’s huge. And gaudy. And frankly, though many women would kill for this ring, I hate it. Because it means absolutely nothing besides a way to show control over me. But here I am, wearing it. Walking next to a man who makes me call him sir, pretending like I don’t want to stab his eyes out and put them in someone’s martini.
“Yes, sir,” I say softly as he jerks his chin upward at Hudson, who slowly heads our way.
Even through his suit, I can see tattoos peeking out. His arms are massive and pure muscle. I try not to stare too long, scared that Enzo will take notice.
“Take Ms. James back to the crew complex,” he commands like I’m a small child or maybe a package. “Return at midnight for me.”
Hudson doesn’t speak, but simply nods. His hand gently wraps around my upper arm, and he begins marching me out.
I want to scream out that I’m not a toddler. I don’t need someone to physically force me out of a party. But I don’t know how dangerous of a man he is. I also don’t know how close he is with Enzo. So, instead, I say nothing.
As we head outside, we walk up to the same black SUV we rode in before. He opens the back door, never releasing his hold on my arm. As I step up onto the running board, I glance nervously at him. I suppose I’m searching for anything to show that he’s a human being. With Beckett and Natasha gone now, it’s just me and my psychotic, egotistical fiancé—and this guy.
It sure would feel nice to have an ally.
Once he releases me and shuts the door behind him, I get situated in my seat. As he gets behind the wheel, I look down at my wrist.
“My bracelet,” I whisper. Starting to panic, I turn the dome light on and begin to search the SUV. “Fuck!” I cry out. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Getting back out of the SUV, Hudson yanks the back door open. “What the hell is going on back here? What are you freaking out about?”
I sniffle, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “My bracelet. It’s … it’s the only thing I have left from my mom.”
I remember when my mom gave it to me. She and my father had been clean and sober for a few months, but even so, I knew my family didn’t have the kind of money for jewelry. I was sure either her parents had given it to her or it had been stolen. But for whatever reason, I put it on. The clasp on it is loose. And it’s come undone a few times and left me in a panic—just like right now.
