Prologue
~Nadia~
I hate these parties. Papa says I have to be here because it’s a family duty, and I’m expected to be on my best behavior. Behave like a lady. Be alert, kind, passive.
I’m always alert.
I don’t think I’m always kind, but I wouldn’t say I’m mean, either. I mean, the other girls at the private school my parents send me to all seem to like me. I’m not like that mean girl, Shannon, who makes fun of the girls who haven’t gotten their boobs yet.
I don’t have boobs yet, either.
But I can’t wait for the day I get them. Then maybe I won’t hate coming to these stupid weddings the family is obligated to attend. They’re so boring. But, someday, my boobs will grow, and the boys won’t ignore me anymore.
No one will ignore me.
But back to my behavior. I’m not passive. And I’m not meek, even though I’m sure my father would prefer that I was. I talk too much. I ask too many questions. But I want to know everything there is to know about my family and the business we’re in.
I take a sip of my Shirley Temple and scan the crowd. My parents are laughing with a bunch of other people—all old, like them. Papa puffs on a cigar. He doesn’t usually smoke, but Mama doesn’t mind if he does at events like this, in celebration.
The bride, in her white dress with its puffy sleeves, twirls around the dance floor with the groom, who doesn’t look nearly as nervous as he did at the ceremony.
I thought he might pass out. He was green and shiny, and someone had to pass him a tissue to clean up the sweat on his forehead.
It was awesome.
I’ve seen most of these people before—usually at other weddings or funerals. I’ve heard Papa and Mama talk about the families and how it’s important to maintain peace during these functions.
Whatever that means.
My big brother, Alex, is off chasing after some girl. I saw him looking her over with hungry eyes, giving her the kind of once-over he seems to do more often now that he’s sixteen.
It’s gross.
And when I told him so, he said I was just a baby and that I’d never understand.
But I’m not a baby. I’ll be thirteen next month, after all. I’m practically a grown-up.
I blow out a breath, and when my eyes land on him, I feel my stomach clench. I haven’t seen him before. He looks about Alex’s age. Tall with dark hair and brown eyes. And he’s laughing at something another boy said.
The guy looks as if he could be the dark-haired one’s brother.
I smooth my hands down my red dress, square my shoulders, and walk over to him.
“Hi. I’m Nadia,” I say and look all three of them in the eyes as I hold my chin high and wish I had bigger boobs. “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”
They turn quiet and look at me as if I’m a science experiment.
“Carmine,” the most handsome one says. “And this is Shane and Rocco. My brothers.”
“Rocco?” I snort. “Did your mother not like you very much?”
“It’s a nickname,” Rocco says with a shrug. “I like it better than Rafe.”
“You’re wrong.” I prop a hand on my hip. “Rafe is much better. I want to talk to you.”
I point at Carmine and then take his hand in mine, pulling him away from the others. We walk past the food table loaded down with shrimp and crab and then move around a corner where we can have some privacy.
“Are you always this forward?” Carmine asks.
“Sure. What’s the point in being anything else?”
His brown eyes narrow, and he looks me up and down. Once again, I’m reminded that I’m sorely lacking in the boob department.
I should have stuffed this stupid bra with something to make me look…fuller.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asks.
“I don’t want to talk. I want to do this.” Before he can reply, I boost myself up onto my toes and press my mouth to his. He squeaks in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away.
I drop back onto my heels and stare up at him. Holy shit, for a first kiss, that was fun.
Really fun.
And he didn’t even use any tongue.
“Look, Nadia—”
“Gotta go.”
I turn and hurry away, suddenly embarrassed and not sure what to say. I just wanted to kiss him. To see what it was like.
And now, I know.
It was freaking awesome.
I smack into a hard chest. When I look up, my eyes meet my father’s.
“What are you up to, little one?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I was just—”
“Do you know who that is?” he interrupts. Of course, he knows. He always knows. It’s so annoying.
“Who?”
“That boy you were with.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Carmine.”
“Carmine Martinelli.” I feel my eyes round. I’ve heard my father talk about that family before. “I want you to stay away from him. And his brothers. Is that understood?”