Page 81 of Rubies and Revenge

“Gemma—” I turn to Tamayo’s capo as I straighten and steel myself for the impending confrontation. “I think the hour is up.”

Gemma follows my gaze and throws me a nod of understanding. “Jaime, Mais—how do you feel about Taco Bell?”

“It’s my religion.” Jaime clasps their chest.

“Let’s spend Tamayo’s money, eh?” Gemma waggles her brows.

Mais’s eyes bounce between me and Gemma, reading far too well that something is amiss. He searches the room, finally finding Alonso headed our way, and mirroring the man’s disgust on his own face. Mais threads his hand around Jaime’s arm and pushes them to follow Gemma as they both call goodbye.

“What about the—” Sally starts.

I shoot her a laden look. “Maybe later.”

“Miss Gallo.” Alonso stops too close, not an inch of him offering a greeting in the shape of an inclined chin or handshake or warm smile. His spine is rigid, his shoulders high, his jaw grinding, and he doesn’t spare a glance for anyone besides me.

Sally looks him up and down with a harsh, judgmental eye. “Find a new tailor, dear, your pants could fit an elephant.”

Alonso tries to appear unflappable, but his mouth tightens into a thin line.

She smirks, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Find me later.”

I squeeze her shoulder. “I will.” I turn to face Alonso, returning his same energy, holding myself straight and still without a single twitch of greeting. “Mr. Accardi.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

I guess we’re skipping formalities and jumping straight into fuckery.

“This entire party is a fucking masquerade.” His voice is quiet enough to stay out of the ears of passersby but still harsh. “There’s no way the Families will accept this.”

I affect boredom. “It’s already happening, Alonso.”

“Not if you don’t want to leave your family in ruin.”

My mask stays in place. I search the room like anyone else would be more welcome and more interesting than this man before me. But inside, my whole being stills with focus. I know this basic truth—my family is in trouble—but I have no idea of the details. Does Alonso?

Unfortunately, spelling it out for me is not his goal.

“You threw your fit, had your tantrum.” His collar casts shadows over his jowls, twisting his face into a sinister portrait of distaste. “Want to be treated as heir to the South and not just a spoiled princess? Do your duty. Save your family and marry my son.”

I cock my head. “How does that save my family rather than ruin it?”

Alonso adjusts his jacket, and the movement makes the collar catch on his chin. Sally was right—his suit is too big. “You want to be treated as a queen, yet you know nothing of the state of your kingdom.”

I peer at him, eyes traveling up and down his frame in my best impersonation of Sally’s most razing glare. Alonso Accardi has no idea what I know and don’t know. He assumes, like most men, that I’m a spoiled girl given everything she’s ever wanted. Ironic, really.

Only men assume women do nothing and get everything.

“And you”—I don’t lower my voice, don’t pull the punch—“hope to be an emperor, yet know nothing of what it means to rule.”

“I only need to know what it means to conquer,” he sneers.

“Alonso!” Mother calls across the crowd like she’s greeting an old friend rather than clawing her nails over a metaphorical blackboard. “How lovely to see you two chatting.” Her hand grips Alonso’s arm the same way it always does mine. The ghost of its pressure digs under my skin, the memory of her nails pressing half-moon marks into my muscles.

Alonso offers Mother the tiniest twitch of a nod in greeting. Bastard. “Alessandra, you look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you.” Mother affects a blush that is absolutely put-on. “Your son said the same.”

Here we go.

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