Page 33 of Of Vows and Betrayal

I sigh. “Ah, I wish.” I look at the door, where there is a ridiculous number of guards. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Javier steps out first, scanning the area before offering me his hand again. I take it, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement as I step out of the car. The club is an opulentfortress of excess, and the music’s bass thumps in time with my racing heart.

I brush my fingers against the bee necklace, its familiar weight a small comfort against the chaos of the night. He notices it, and a half smile appears on his lips. I’m wearing his present, and it pleases him.

We walk through the entrance, past the bouncers who give us only cursory glances—one of the perks of being Bergotti’s daughter. Inside, the party is a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast glittering prisms of light over the guests, all dressed to impress, all playing their parts in this elaborate charade.

One of Gambino’s lead guards blocks our way as Javier follows me down the steps to the main party area. “Bodyguards stay here,” he says, glaring at Javier.

“I’m going where she goes,” Javier insists, his voice steely.

Javier’s hand settles on my waist with a firm possessiveness, drawing a sharp glance from the guard, noting the gesture and clearly not ignoring the impropriety of him touching me.

I move away from his touch. “It’s fine, Javier. Stay where you belong,” I say with a voice I hope sounds dismissive. I’m doing it to protect him, but I can see in the set of his jaw that he doesn’t like any of it.

“Miss Bergotti,” he says, bowing his head, and I hate the frustration I see written all over his face.

“He’ll be in the back room with the other bodyguards. Let me know when you wish to leave, and I’ll retrieve him for you.”

I have to use all my effort not to wince at the way he refers to Javier as if he is nothing more than a piece of furniture—an accessory for Mafia daughters.

“Great. Thank you.”

Walking deeper into the party, I feel Javier’s eyes on me, a silent promise. Francesca spots me and waves, her smile wide and fake. I plaster on my smile and make my way over to her, feeling like a marionette in this puppet show.

“Ophelia, you actually came!” Her laugh rings as fake as everything she is. “I guess I owe Romero five bucks then.” She kisses my cheeks soundly. “Look at you! We could almost believe you belong.”

Here we go.

I extend the present I have. I don’t even know what it is—my father’s assistant gave it to me, and I didn’t care enough to ask. “I just wanted to look nice for your classy party… It’s veryJersey Shore, I love it.”

Francesca narrows her eyes slightly, a warning in her gaze. I straighten my shoulders, determined to hold my ground.

“Antonela, you’re here,” she says, effectively dismissing me.

I shake my head and look at the inviting and empty red sofa at the back. Maybe I can just stay in the corner for a while and?—

“Ophelia, I win five dollars.”

I turn to face Romero, who’s smiling brightly at me.

“Oh, thank God. I’m sure you need the money.”

He laughs, his hand settling on the small of my back with a confidence that borders on arrogance, guiding me tothe bar. “A drink?”

I nod, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. Romero might not be my type, but his company is a welcome distraction.

“You look beautiful tonight. Well, you always do, but tonight…” He lets out a low whistle.

I smile politely, but his compliments don’t affect me, not the way a long look from Javier does.

I sigh, and he cocks his head to the side. “Am I boring you?”

“No, of course not. It’s just—” I gesture around us. “Everything.” I see the eyes of a few girls watching us. “You’re putting a target on my back, showing me interest.”

He laughs. “It’s fine, let them stare.” He orders a glass of scotch and turns toward me.

“A white wine,” I say. I need alcohol to get through the evening.

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