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I scan the crowd, taking in the ‘Power Rangers’ mingling with the guests. Each face tells a story of survival. My gaze lingers on the petite brunette in a fuchsia dress, chatting with a few moms. She throws her head back and laughs at what one of them is saying.
“Can you believe Mezhen? Out in the open and mingling,” I murmur to Sophie, nodding toward the petite brunette.
Sophie follows my gaze, her eyes widening slightly. “I’m so proud of how much progress she’s made in one year.”
Mezhen not only had a severe case of Stockholm syndrome, but she also suffered from mild agoraphobia. But she was determined to get better and continues pushing herself daily. Her progress is a testament to the Power Foundation’s work.
Nico’s voice pulls me from my reverie. “Those women adore you, Addy. They’d go to war for you.” His eyes light up, and I’m instantly wary of his next words.
“Actually, speaking of loyal soldiers—” Nico begins, a new idea clearly forming.
Sophie gives him a playful shove. “No thank you, Don Vitelli. Leave Addy’s women alone. She’s not running a paramilitary organization here.”
Nico laughs, scooping up the twins with ease. As he heads out, he calls over his shoulder, “Well, we don’t think you’re fully ‘empowered’ until you know how to break a man’s arm in three places.”
Sophie rolls her eyes, but as we head into the garden the wheels start to turn in my head.
It’s not such a terrible idea, actually.
The party spreads over the massive grounds in three groups, each about fifty yards apart and with its own decor. The groups are close enough for convenience, but also far enough to pretend we’re not all part of the same circus. The event planner was well worth every penny spent.
Nearest to the house is the children’s party, a wild jumble of color and noise. Tables laden with treats dot the area. A “pirate” entertainer, who I’m pretty sure is actually one of Dante’s enforcers in a costume, is captivating the rugrats with magic tricks.
Nearby, a giant piñata in the shape of a treasure chest dangles enticingly as blindfolded children flail at it with more enthusiasm than accuracy. A small soft play area sits to the side, more to the speed for toddlers like Aldo and Celia to roll around in.
By the tranquil lakeside, the men’s gathering provides a stark contrast. Chicago’s most lethal—and arguably most attractive—men surround Dante, sipping cocktails and exchanging good-natured barbs in rapid-fire Italian. Their voices carry across the water, and I find myself unconsciously translating snippets of their conversation, pleased at my growing grasp of the language.
It’s the least I can do, considering how many languages Dante juggles. In our world, ‘hello’ in a certain language can mean anything from a warm welcome to a deadly warning, depending on who’s saying it and where their loyalties lie.
My gaze lingers on the group of men. Mafiosos aren’t supposed to be this appealing, really. Their sculpted, tattooed bodies are barely concealed by expertly tailored suits—a necessity to hide their holsters. Not that their kids haven’t seen those guns before, but discretion is always desired in public. So instead of casual wear, it’s Armani and Brioni for these men.
I notice the guards strategically placed around the perimeter and the subtle hum of drones in the air. Paranoia, thy name is The Outfit. But I get it, their most precious possessions are here. Letting their guard down completely would be unthinkable.
Finally, I turn my attention to the “normal” party. Wait staff weave through the crowd like ninjas, refilling drinks and offering hors d’oeuvres. The Power Rangers engage in animated conversation, mostly with each other and some of the parents not occupied with child-minding duties.
I can’t help noticing some of them casting longing glances toward the lakeside gathering. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Those women have tasted danger; I doubt they’ll ever be satisfied with ordinary men again.
Just then, Sophie joins me, following my gaze and noting the same thing.
“I wonder how long it’ll take them to sidle toward the lakeside?” Sophie remarks.
I nod, unsure it was a good idea to put them in sighting distance of those hot-as-hell red flags. “PTSD much?”
Sophie follows my gaze and shakes her head. “Not PTSD, Addy. Just plain ol’ temptation calling. Good thing kids are here. Otherwise, we could be hosting the prelude to an orgy.”
I snort. “Not that it could ever stop them. Hello, cell phone and locked doors.”
Sophie’s phone rings, slicing through our conversation. She answers with an uncharacteristic eye roll that makes me wonder who is at the other end.
“Yeah, just come in,” she says with exaggerated patience. “I promise there are no bioweapons with your name on it.”
Sophie pauses to listen, then her expression morphs into one of exasperated fondness. “Cade, you do realize this is a kids’ party, don’t you? You’re going to have to smile at a lot more people than just me and the twins. Lucky for you, it’s also Dante’s birthday. So I suggest you put out the fire on your breath, and try not to scare the children. We’re in the garden.”
She hangs up with a theatrical sigh. “Gotta love him.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Cade Quinn is here? I thought he hates Nico.”
Sophie snorts. “He hates everyone. Well, except kids, and women—when they’re in trouble. Not so sure about when they’re not.”
