33
Karma
If he’s watching me, it’s not because he has cameras in this room. I glance around the space again, taking in the light fixtures, the air vents, the shelves in the room—hell, even the corners of the ceilings, where a camera would have most likely be hidden—but can’t see anything. Which is not to say that there can’t be cameras in the mirror that is pushed up against one wall, or even embedded in a piece of furniture or something, but somehow, I doubt it. In the few days since Michael had made that statement, I had slept well, hadn’t had the sensation of being watched in any way—not in my room, definitely not when I go walking in the large garden that surrounds the house, or even on the beach, for that matter.
A few hours after Michael had left, Cassandra had hauled in yards of different fabrics. Then Antonio had shown up carrying a sewing machine—a new one, by the looks of it—followed by a drafting table, and all of the other instruments I need for sewing.
The result is that half of my bedroom has been transformed into a studio, and honestly, I am not complaining about it. I had also asked Cassandra to fetch me additional supplies that I’ll need for the creation I have in mind, and she had done it very happily. Andy is now a permanent fixture in my room and he keeps me company as I sew.
I’ve taken to having my meals with Cassandra in the kitchen, and while I have not seen Michael on any of those occasions, she has assured me that he is very much around, and working hard, both in his study as well as at meetings that he has had to attend out of the house. Something to do with a flare up of tensions with a rival clan. Which is none of my business, really.
I have less than two weeks to come up with a creation which will blow his socks off, and I intend to make the most of that time. I have also drawn up a guest list for the event, which is beginning to look like an evening party, which is good. It means there’s no need to sit around a table and endure uncomfortable silences. No, for my Christmas party, which is going to be goth themed—surprise!—there are going to be lights and music…and a DJ. Yep, definitely need a DJ to get the crowd going.
I run into Michael briefly in the hallway and ask him who he wants to invite, and he says I can decide. When I tell him I want to get in a DJ, he flat out refuses, though. No strangers are to be allowed. Only close family i.e. his brothers, and yeah, unfortunately, that also includes extending an invitation to his father and his Nonna, I guess. So much for getting to decide who to invite.
I head back toward my room, grumbling under my breath. I don’t want to. But clearly, the man is close to his grandmother… As for his father… Well, he is family…so it makes sense to have him. And his brothers…of course. Not that I have a problem with any of them. Speaking of, I wonder what’s going on with Luca? Anyway, we’ll invite Antonio, Cassandra, and Aurora, as well. Which still leaves the question of the DJ. Damn it! I reach my room and start slamming things around on my work table. “What’s a party without a DJ?" I muse aloud.
"Someone mention a DJ?"
I jerk my head in the direction of the voice and find Xander, standing in the open doorway.
"Didn’t realize I had mumbled that aloud." I redden.
"I heard you were organizing a Christmas bash and figured you could do with a hand." He ambles in. "Mind if I take a seat?" He nods toward the chair by the window, then before I can agree, he wanders over and sits down on it. Apparently, all of the Sovrano brothers are confident enough that no one will refuse them. Of course, whether that confidence is a result of respect or fear is another story. Oh, well.
He kicks out his long legs, clad in tailor-made slacks, no doubt, cut by the same family tailor who creates Michael’s clothes. He taps his long fingers on his thigh, "So, you need a DJ for the party, huh?" Xander asks.
I nod.
"And I guess my brother did not want anyone from outside our immediate circle of family and friends at the party?"
"You know your brother well," I mutter as I place my scissors down by the cloth that I had been cutting earlier. I lean a hip against my worktable, "Do you have any ideas? I mean a party without a DJ is like a rose without thorns."
"Or the sixties without the Beatles," he smirks.
"OrApocalypse Nowwithout music by the Doors," I chuckle.
"Or likeHarry Potterwithout Draco Malfoy," he offers.
"OMG!" I gasp, "Seriously though, sometimes I am sure I am more of a Dracohead than a Potterhead."
"You always fall for the bad boy, huh?"
I firm my lips, "You have no idea."
He raises his hands, "I didn’t mean anything by that statement."
"I know you didn’t," I murmur, then hunch my shoulders. "How are you in here anyway? I thought the Big Bad Capo had forbidden even his brothers from coming in here."
"Not me, though."
"Not you?"
"The rules don’t apply to me." He grins and whoa, his charm hits me full whack, like the fireworks over the Thames on New Year’s Eve. Jesus, these Sovrano brothers sure pack a punch. Each of them is deadly in his own right. Though Michael is, by far, the most dominant, the most mesmerizing of all of them.
"Is it because Michael doesn’t consider you a threat?"
He blinks then chuckles, "You think fast, don’t you?"