“I’ll be away this evening,” I tell Sasha over breakfast, giving Art a narrowed, pointed look. “Agosti business.”
Art’s eyebrows rise sharply. “Giving up that vow of poverty, hm? Good to see you come to your senses about one thing at least, brother.” The expression on his face clearly suggests that he’s disappointed to hear it, given his designs on the inheritance.
The look I give him is withering. “I suggest you start thinking about going back to Milan,” I tell him flatly. “I can’t say there isn’t a place for you here, since youaremy brother, but not a permanent one.”
Art shrugs. “I’ve already been looking into it. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair before long.” He throws me a flippant wink and pushes his chair back, picking up a muffin off of his plate and striding out of the room with it in hand.
“I wish I could go with you,” Sasha says softly. “I want to help, Max–”
“You can help by staying out of danger,” I tell her firmly. “I’ll be able to focus on what I need to do better if I know you’re here, safe. That’s what matters more than anything, Sasha. It’s why I’m doing this at all.”
“I know.” She bites her lip, shredding a piece of toast on her plate. “I do understand. Really, I do.”
“Good.”
The rest of the day is tense. Art leaves the house at some point, saying he’s going into town, and Sasha drifts off to the pool. I bury myself in the study, intent on remembering as much as I can about the ins and outs of the influential men that I’ll be speaking with tonight, to make up for a decade away from it all.
I’ve spent years trying to escape all of this, to ignore it, and to put it out of my head. Now I’m thrown into a crash course on it, trying to remember how to be the kind of man who can walk up to someone like Edo Casciani and ask for doors to be opened for me.
Doors that, I’m confident, will come with favors of their own.
I press my face into my hands, trying to remain calm. All this time, I’d been thinking that Sasha had been thrown into this world by an accident of fate, but she was born into it as certainly as I or Viktor or Luca, or anyone else in my circle was. She just didn’t know.
None of us did. And now all I can do is try to get her out.
The biggest question is how to do that–and what’s harder still, how to do it in a way that Sasha will agree to.
When I come downstairs that evening, Art is nowhere to be seen. Sasha is in the informal living room, curled up on the chaise-style couch and reading a book. She looks up the instant I hover in the doorway, as if she knew I was standing there without my saying a word. I see her eyes widen a little at the sight of me dressed up for the evening.
She swings her legs over the edge of the couch gracefully, striding towards me as I stand there, stunned by how beautiful she looks even like this–in loose black sweatpants bunched up around her knees, a thin white tank top, and her strawberry blonde hair bunched up atop her head. Her pale face is bare and smooth, her green eyes shining out of it as she walks towards me. I feel my chest clench with a wave of unrestrainedwantas Sasha stops a few inches away from me, her gaze sliding up and down.
“You always look so handsome like this.” Her teeth graze her lower lip as she steps a little closer, reaching up to touch the knot of my tie. “It’s a little crooked, though.”
I can feel the heavy thump of my heart in my chest as she adjusts it, looking up at me under lowered lashes as she smiles with a hint of sadness, stepping back with her lips pressed together.
“Good luck tonight,” she says softly.
“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say, looking across the space between us. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
I drive myself to the Casciani estate, since I don’t currently have a driver employed. It makes me cringe a little to think of a future where I need to fully staff the Agosti estate again, after so long of mostly doing for myself. I have no desire to go back to being waited on hand and foot again, and I don’t like to think of a future where I’m required to stay in Italy most of my time, either. New York is my home now, Boston a close second after that, and all of the memories I have here are ones that I’d rather tuck into a dusty old box in the attic of my mind.
But whatever I have to do in order to keep Sasha safe, I will.
The courtyard of the Casciana estate is already filled with cars, couples in elegant evening wear stepping out and heading up the steps to the mansion as valets take their vehicles. Sparkling, buttery light streams out from the open doors into the darkness, the sound of a string quartet spilling out along with it, and I feel an automatic knot of unease in my gut as I hand over the keys to my Ferrari to the valet.
A uniformed usher is at the door, guiding the guests toward the formal ballroom at the back of the mansion. The room is awash with that same light and music as I step in, the glass doors at the rear of it thrown open to let in the warm summer air and sounds of trickling fountains from the gardens beyond. Tables and a dance floor are set up, and I stand a bit awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, trying to recall how to do this.
I went to an event like this exactly once, just before leaving for seminary, so that my father could show off his dutiful sons–one the heir, the other the priest–and remind the Families that his was more than just one errant child. The memory is a haze now, and I feel an intense desire to be anywhere but in this room.
“No date tonight?” A soft, feminine voice comes from my elbow, and I turn to see a tall, slender brunette standing next to me. She’s stunningly beautiful, dressed in a forest-green evening gown made of some slippery material, her hair twisted into an elaborate updo secured with emerald and silver pins that match the emerald and diamond jewelry dripping from her ears and neck. Her eyes are a deep, dark brown, and they sweep over me assessingly, a light smirk on her rose-tinted lips. “You’re far too handsome to be without one.”
She extends a slim, manicured hand. “Adriana Casciani.”
I tense, taking her hand and giving it a light brush of my lips across the back of it. I know the name after all of the research I did–she’s Edo’s eldest daughter, and as of yet, not engaged to anyone. I sense a trap or a plot, and I keep my expression carefully smooth as I look at her.
“Maximilian Agosti. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Casciani.”
“Agosti. Well, that’s a name none of us have heard in a while.” She smiles prettily, letting her hand linger in my grasp for a moment before tugging it free. “My father is so pleased you’re here tonight. And now that I’ve met you,Iam too. You have to promise me a dance tonight, the music is lovely, and I want to hear more about how the Agosti family has a new heir.”