Page 5 of Impenitent Claim

Tapping my fingers against the marble counter, I waited for the bartender to pour my cocktail.

“What are we drinking?” a lighthearted voice teased.

Rounding, I arched a brow at my fiancé. “Rum. Want some?”

Alonzo tipped his head back and forth in consideration. “Sure, why not? I’ll have what she’s having.”

With a clipped nod the bartender took out a second highball glass. Smart man that he was, he didn’t ask to see an ID, even though it was painfully obvious that Alonzo wasn’t twenty-one. The five-year age gap didn’t bother me as much as the fact that we’d grown up together and he was practically a brother.

I braced my elbows against the bar top and leaned back against it. Signor Aldo Bruno was the logical choice to become the next boss. It was evident by the masses turned out tonight that Don Aldo was well liked. The crowd, dressed in black tie formal, milled around the backyard. It was impossible to recognize my childhood home in the mess of wealth and status.

That was probably because it wasn’t my home anymore, but a prison.

Just like the Rinaldi Famiglia wasn’t my family’s legacy, but an empty title. Aldo wisely didn’t change the name when he became don. It would have been too great a change, done too soon after my beloved father’s passing. But I wouldn’t be surprised if after my wedding, the organization began to slowly stylize itself as the Bruno Famiglia.

“Careful with that,” I murmured as Alonzo took his glass. “It’s sweet and can hit you hard.”And if your witch of an aunt catches me giving you booze, we’ll both be in trouble.

“Noted.” He took a long pull. And coughed.

I let out a rough laugh. I’d been drinking hard liquor in soda for years. Hell, recently, I’d been indulging in it straight. I took my own cup and sucked down the contents. The diet cola masked the potent punch of the booze, but the buzz would creep into my veins soon enough. Scanning the crowd, I didn’t see the strega anywhere. But the don’s sister could pop out at any second.

“I’ll take another,” I said over my shoulder, as I looked around for my little brother. Gio had probably disappeared with the other young lads and was no doubt planning some mischief. “Make it a double.”

It was Alonzo’s turn to arch a brow. “Should I be worried, wifey?”

“Only if you call me that,” I jibed back. “I hate it.”

With a noncommittal grunt, the don’s son tried another sip. This time he managed to swallow without choking. “I heard the dress fitting went well?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

I stifled a sigh. This was my future. Thisniceboy who was trying to be a man was going to be shackled to my side.

Caterers emerged from the staging area, proceeding to mingle with the guests. A sumptuous dinner would be held inside, but the hors d'oeuvres and cocktails were out here. I greedily watched the waiters, trying to see who had the tartlets.

“Did you know that the entire process of making rum can take as little as forty-eight hours?” Alonzo asked, peering through squinted eyes at the cocktail.

“That’s interesting,” I said absently because he did find that information interesting.

As my gaze scanned the trays, something made my stomach flip. It was a flash of steely grey eyes, the flutter of black hair. My gaze snapped in the direction the waiter had turned. The crowd closed around him.

It’s impossible.

My feet moved of their own accord, summoned by the mysterious call. Blood raced through my veins, and my heart was thoroughly lodged in my throat. Eleven months, and now I was seeing the phantom in the face of a stranger? This was it. This was how I became mad as a hatter.

It wasn’t him—Lord of the Midnight Court.

Me and my fanciful brain remembered that night in Chicago as a chapter from a fantasy romance.

But what if it was true? What if he found me?

Unable to help myself, I hurried forward, pushing past guests and rudely ignoring their greetings. I had to make sure my secret hadn’t found me. Not that it was possible, there had been no names.

Emerging at the edge of the crowd, I stopped at the yawning descent created by arching branches of trees. There was a wisp of black that moved through the shadows. The shape disappeared before I could determine if it was real or the figment of my imagination.

A caterer had no business going this way.

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