As usual, the Vitiellos had an entourage of bodyguards surrounding them. Blending in wasn’t their style.
The bodyguard on the staircase leading up to the balcony gave me a quick once over, but his face didn’t show any recognition. With the stiff dress shirt and slicked-back hair, I looked too much like one of those Wall Street brokers that frequented Vitiello’s clubs to blow cocaine up their noses.
I danced with Mary-Lu but my gaze kept darting up to the VIP balcony. Unfortunately, the angle wasn’t the best, so I could barely make out Marcella Vitiello. The main reason why I knew she was up there were the many curious stares from the people on the dance floor.
“Let’s go to the bar,” I shouted, growing tired of dancing.
“I’m going to the restroom,” Mary-Lu said, and I nodded absent-mindedly because Marcella was heading toward the staircase leading down to the main floor.
Several people craned their heads to watch the spoiled princess of New York as she glided down the stairs in a boner-inducing dress. My eyes were glued to her as she headed for the dance floor through the parting crowd. She wore heels that had my head spinning. High and pointy, but she danced in them as if they were sneakers. Every move, every toss of her hair, even every bat of her lashes was in perfect sync with the music, as if she’d spent months perfecting a choreography. Marcella Vitiello was pure perfection. She knew it, and everyone around her better acknowledge it.
And I despised her for it. She lived a spoiled life, bare of hardships. She’d never suffered the way I had. Her father had put her on a throne, made her a princess without any achievements of her own. Hard work, pain, sacrifice meant nothing to the princess of New York.
Her fall would be steep. Fuck. I’d make her fall flat on her arrogant nose.
I let my gaze wander around the crowded club. Apart from her brother, a kid whose resemblance to his father made me want to slash his throat. She had three bodyguards with her. For once, her lapdog of a fiancé wasn’t at her side. Trouble in paradise?
I smiled against my beer bottle and took another swig. I should leave. Even in disguise, the risk of being recognized by one of the Famiglia soldiers was too high. It would ruin everything, but tearing myself away was hard.
I stayed where I was for a couple more minutes and watched her dance. That girl didn’t need bodyguards or her giant of a brother to keep everyone at a distance. Her gaze with those soul-suckingly cold blue eyes built higher walls than the Chinese emperors.
Another toss of those black tresses and suddenly those blue orbs locked on mine, for less than a second, but my pulse sped up. Fuck it. The only time I’d felt this arrested by a gaze had been her father’s but in a very different way. The tables would soon turn. I smiled. Her brows puckered and I tore my gaze away. After leaving the bottle and cash on the bar, I found Mary-Lu and exited the club with her.
“What’s gotten into you, Mad? You look as if the devil’s after you,” Mary-Lu said as she stumbled after me in her heels, displaying none of the grace that Marcella showed off with ease.
I got into the fucking Prius Earl had forced on me again and waited for Mary-Lu to get in as well before I hit the gas. “Let’s go back to the clubhouse. I’ve had enough.”
She gave me a curious look but I focused on the street and occasionally the rearview mirror as we hastened away. Marcella Vitiello had eyes that could freeze the blood in anyone’s veins while the rest of her body had the opposite effect.
That night was the second time I dreamed of her, and from that day on, she’d haunt my nights.
Usually dancing always worked wonders on my mood. It was my personal happy place, the medicine of my choice when I felt blue, but today it didn’t have the intended effect.
I preferred things to go my way, to follow the plans I’d laid out meticulously for my future. So far all of my plans had worked out. I’d finished high school best in class, and had made it to the university of my choice. When I started something, I always finished it and when I finished it then I did it as one of the best. Breaking up with Giovanni, even if it was the right choice, felt like a failure, like admitting defeat on my part. I’d given up.
“Why are you pulling such a face? I thought we were here to have fun,” Amo shouted over the sound of the music.
My eyes sought the club for something to catch my attention and distract me from my wandering thoughts. And then I spotted the guy who seemed completely out of place in this fancy Manhattan club, despite the standard outfit of dress shirt and dark slacks. Something in his eyes told me he despised everything about being here, as if he had to pretend he was someone else. I knew that feeling, but no one would ever suspect anything. I had perfected my mask over the years. Maybe he would too, eventually, or just stop doing what he hated.