“How are you liking the city so far?” Atticus asked.
As my father answered him, I slipped away, moving slowly so as to not draw extra attention to myself. Being glued to my father’s hip all night wasn’t something I wanted, and if I was honest, I was still a little upset at what the priest had insinuated.
When I was far enough away from my father and Atticus Jameson, I surveyed the giant ballroom, looking for the priest. I found him near the bar, off to the left side of the room, near the tables. As the band playing chose another song to do, I stormed over to him, holding my head high.
The bartender handed him a drink, and I raised my eyebrows. “I thought priests didn’t drink?” I asked, my voice coming off only a little menacing, but a whole lot angry.
“There is wine at every mass,” he said, slow to turn to me. “But this,” he paused as he picked up his glass, “is just water.” Ezekiel lifted the glass to his lips, taking a sip, all the while never breaking eye contact with me.
His attitude was abrasive. There was something about him I didn’t like, something that made my skin crawl—and not in the way it usually did when I was near strange men whose intentions I did not know. No, this was a different type of feeling, something I couldn’t describe. Something inherently freaky.Just because he might be easy on the eyes didn’t shake that particular feeling.
“What did you mean when you said you always make time for people like us?” I questioned. We stood beside the small bar, the waiters and waitresses working the ballroom hustling around us. Still, it was as if the rest of the room had ceased to exist. Something about this guy didn’t sit right with me.
Not that I had a great radar when it came to people, but this guy… there was just something about him.
He was slow to lower the glass from his lips, and I noticed how his mouth hardly moved when he spoke, “You already know, Giselle.” The way he said my name… I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all. “Don’t make me say it if you already know.”
I didn’t like the way this man was talking to me. “And what’s that supposed to mean? You don’t know me. You don’t know half of the people in here.” They were all new to town, like my father and me, wanting that position on the Black Hand above all else. There was no way this guy knew us.
“Don’t I?” He set his glass down on the counter, and he took a step closer to me. Involuntarily, I took a matching step back, which he noticed. He had to, because once again, he stared at me without blinking, like some kind of hunter cornering its prey. “You might be wearing white,” Ezekiel whispered, “but that is the biggest lie here, isn’t it?”
I opened my mouth, ready to give him a few choice words that I never would’ve dreamed of saying to Father Charlie, but right then, Zander walked up, moving to stand by my side. He glanced between us, saying, “Hey, Giselle. Something wrong?” His gaze settled on the priest. “Don’t tell me this guy’s hassling you. I’ve never kicked a priest’s ass before, but—”
As much as I appreciated his testosterone-infused interruption, I didn’t need him to protect me. However, I didn’t get the chance to say anything, because Ezekiel spoke first: “Watch yourselves in Cypress. No one is who they say they are.” Then that blue gaze was on me, as if he was stopping himself from saying, especially you.
But he said not another word, grabbing his glass and walking away from us, leaving me to wonder just what that guy’s problem was. I stood there, watched him go, and felt something odd in my gut. Anger, but something else along with it, something I couldn’t name.
Zander muttered, “Man, that dude’s weird. What was his problem?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I don’t need you coming to my rescue. I can handle myself.”
“I don’t doubt it, I just—” I was sure he was saying something else, going on about how he just wanted to keep me safe, that he was hired by my father to make sure nothing happened to me—and that included getting into it with random priests who gave me the heebie-jeebies—but past him, I laid eyes on someone.
Someone who instantly knocked the air out of my lungs. A man I never wanted to see again.
Breath catching in my lungs, I moved so that I was between the bar and Zander’s body, making myself as small as I could so he wouldn’t see me. I’d just gotten a quick glimpse of him, so I could be wrong. It could be my mind playing tricks on me.
“Giselle?” Zander’s voice broke into my thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
I peered around his body, spotting the man in question instantly. He stood with my father now. My father and Atticus, and whatever they were talking about, he was laughing. That laugh carried all the way over to me, crawling down my spine and threatening to choke me.
“I have to… to go to the restroom.” It was all I could say. I spun around, leaving Zander and the ballroom, not once glancing back.
Rocco Moretti was here. He was here, which meant he was trying for the Black Hand position too, just like my father was.
Fuck. I wanted to be sick.
The world spun around me, my lungs refusing to work. I couldn’t catch my breath, and I ignored Zander calling out to me as I walked into the hall, abandoning the ballroom and every single person in it. I could hardly see straight as I walked to the lobby, finding the women’s restroom and pushing inside.
From what it sounded like, I was alone. Utterly alone in this fancy, three-stalled restroom. The sinks were made of white marble, the fixtures all golden. I lurched to the center sink, fingers curling around the cold stone countertop. I focused on my breathing for the longest time, fighting to get it under control. I had to keep my eyes open, because when I closed them, I could picture the room, everything that went on inside of it.
Even after three years, I was still haunted. God, I hated being so weak. I hated feeling like I wasn’t in control, like I could make no decision myself.
The shitty thing was, no one cared. No one gave a shit about it, or me, or the repercussions of that night. And yet here he was, Rocco Moretti, as if nothing at all had happened, talking to my father and Atticus like he belonged with them.
He didn’t. He was just a dirty scoundrel who deserved to be locked up forever. He had not a single ounce of goodness in his body, and I hated that he had this power over me.
The world stopped turning around me, my breathing slowly getting under control. My skin no longer felt like crawling away, and I stared at my reflection in the mirror. A pretty girl in white, her eyes done up in a smoky, mysterious look. I didn’t see a girl who was fifteen, a girl who was forced to do what her father wanted.