Moving to head inside, her eyes came to a halt at a lone building far in the distance on the other end of the property. The training center.
She lingered there for a second, tempted to head in that direction but shook it off. There were multiple eyes on her - staff and guards and whoever else Maroni wanted to have her watched. So, with a last glance at the building, she returned to the beast.
Darkness had fallen. It was a moonless night, the stars completely concealed behind clouds. The wind was chilly, drifting in her window that she’d left open. Morana glanced down the window at the manicured lawns. There were strings of beautiful lights on the trees that lined the property, lighting the entire area and leaving the lake and the house behind it in the shadows. Morana couldn’t see anything beyond the treeline no matter how hard she squinted.
Due to the possibility of rain, the party was to be held in the hall at the back of the house, a part of the mansion Morana had never been in. Even though she was ready, something was twisting in her gut as she watched cars line up the driveway. Men of all ages in suits, women glittering on their arms like accessories, walked around the well-lit lawns to the back of the mansion, a bevy of staff guiding them through.
Morana watched the who’s who of the mob, recognizing many faces, dangerous faces that smiled, baring teeth like baring fangs. The women, she observed closely. Some seemed happy enough to be where they were; some had clean faces and dead eyes. Morana took them all in from her room above, out of their line of sight, and prepared herself for whatever and whoever she would find. Throngs of people came in. The lights around the property glinted off the women's jewelry, gemstones shining in the dark. People had trussed up in their best for an invite by Maroni.
Amongst the light crowd, her eyes caught sight of one man who strode up the driveway all alone, without any partner. There was something dangerous about the way he stalked up the gravel. Morana observed him closely, sensing something about him that reminded her a lot of Tristan. She couldn’t make out his height or strength from where she was but he seemed older somehow, at least mid-thirties, his stride confident and comfortable in a way she’d very rarely seen in their world. One of his hands pushed in his dark trouser pocket, everything about the man was dark.
Palms clammy, Morana turned away from the window and walked to her mirror. She’d spent her entire afternoon arranging her new wardrobe that she freaking loved, and keeping an eye on her phone for an update. Her program was at sixty percent and her inbox empty of any new messages.
Morana gazed at her reflection with a trained eye. Having dressed multiple times for her father’s dinners, Morana knew how to manipulate her looks to inspire whatever impression she wished the beholder to have. She thought of herself as a chameleon that way. An extra stroke of mascara for some innocence here, a floaty dress for softness there. She knew how to blend. She learned how to stand out. And she enjoyed having people underestimate her because that way she had the upper hand.
That was one of the reasons people rarely remembered her at social events. If she wanted to, she simply flew under the radar. And that was what she wanted tonight. She had planned, initially, on wowing a particular someone and going all out tonight. But for some reason, this party was making her antsy and she was reverting to being invisible. It was safe being invisible. She needed to trust her instincts. Vanity could wait.
It was one of the reasons she had chosen the most nondescript dress in her new arsenal. It was black, with a classy neckline that stopped just below her collarbone and sleeves that went to her wrists. The back wasn’t too deep either. The only thing that added something to the dress was the single split that went mid-thigh, only exposing her leg if she moved. Leaving her hair down and her makeup minimal, nothing extra to attract attention, Morana adorned her wrist with a simple gold bracelet that matched her earrings and strapped her only knife to her thigh. Her gold stilettos, though high and uncomfortable, were necessary. Because nothing attracted more attention at a party like this than a woman not wearing heels.
That done, Morana took in a deep breath, and walked out the door, her phone in her hand. Locking the door behind her and nestling the key in her cleavage, Morana descended the stairs. Coming to a halt in the foyer on the ground floor, she asked one of the staff for directions to the room where the party was being held. Guided, Morana started down the corridor leading to the back.
Since she was going through this part of the interior of the mansion for the first time, Morana kept her pace slow, letting her eyes float around, taking in every single detail. The corridor was empty except for an occasional staff or two passing her. It was lined with beautiful paintings, some of which she recognized as classics, some she didn’t recognize at all. Almost two minutes into her walk, one wall of the corridor broke into a black door. Morana looked at the door, wondering what lay behind it. She knew that there was no bedroom downstairs. It could be Maroni’s office. Or maybe something else.
Knowing this wasn’t the time to appease her curiosity, especially since she was certain the room was under surveillance, she kept moving forward, her skin crawling with sudden dread. Unable to explain any of it, she wondered if she should just forget the entire party and simply go to Dante’s house and stay there. She was certain he wouldn’t mind. But something also told her she needed to keep going.
Preparing herself as much as she could, Morana finally came to a stop as the corridor ended, opening to two large mahogany double doors. She observed the door, the ornate carvings in the wood and the polished brass knobs. Whatever Maroni was, he had classy tastes and not in the flashy way of her father. His entire house screamed of good, refined taste.
Gathering her courage, hoping she would see either Dante or Tristan inside, Morana twisted the knob on the door and pushed it open just slightly, only wide enough for her to slip inside without attracting too much attention. She succeeded. Nobody spared her a glance as she quickly walked to a shadowed corner of the room by a pillar, picking up a glass one of the many waiters had on a tray and leaned against the corner. It was the perfect spot for some surveillance of her own.
Her heart was beating swiftly for some reason she could not understand. Keeping the small tremble in her hand contained, Morana took a little sip of the champagne and let her eyes rove around the place.
The room was monstrous. She could see at least fifty people already inside and more guests coming in through the door that opened in the lawns and yet it felt empty. Much to her surprise, the guests coming in stopped beside the door, handing their weapons over to the staff at the threshold. Astonished, Morana realized it was a weaponless party of sorts. She didn't even know such a thing existed, especially in their world.
And she had a knife strapped to her thigh.
An orchestra played soft music unobtrusively in the background from one corner of the hall, the corner opposite hers. A small clear area, evidently the dance floor, was right in front of the musicians. Waiters milled about with glasses and appetizers held perfectly balanced on silver platters. At the end of the hall, a long table sat, adorned with dishes and servers and seating space. It was a buffet. Love
ly.
The decor of the room, like the rest of the house, was tasteful. The high ceiling was adorned with a chandelier that wasn’t turned on. Instead, low lights high on the pillars cast an intimate glow all around the room. It felt medieval - the lighting, the people, the ambiance.
Lorenzo Maroni stood near the entrance door, sipping what looked like scotch from a glass tumbler. Morana watched him from her spot, wanting to see the man interact with his people. She watched, with amazement, as grown men went up to Maroni, who stood in his spot like an emperor. Then, they proceeded to take his hand, kissing his fingers. Maroni, in turn, bestowed them with a smile and a few words she couldn’t make out. He also took the hands of the ladies with the men and kissed their fingers, like a true gentleman.
Watching him like that, Morana could understand why men and women alike were taken by him. He was charming, wealthy, and powerful. A combination that, when interspersed with danger, swayed people in his direction. This man was the leader of one of the biggest mob organizations in the world. This man reeked with the security of his authority. This man was the Bloodhound whose reputation preceded him.
And then the most fascinating thing happened.
The Predator walked in the door.
For once, Morana forced herself not to become entranced by the man but instead notice everyone else’s reaction to him.
The energy in the room crackled. It buzzed over the people, who turned to watch him. Men straightened, women inhaled.
And Lorenzo ‘Bloodhound’ Maroni lost the security of his authority. The man kissing his fingers had stopped in the middle to watch The Predator stride instead. And Maroni stiffened, an emperor feeling the challenge to his throne pulsing through the room.
It was fascinating.
Morana didn’t know if the occupants of the room reacted to him the way they did because he was the rumored heir or because he was the anomaly. Or simply because it was him. But one thing was for sure, he incited a reaction. And the best part, he neither thrived on it nor shunned it. It just was.