Page 13 of Veiled Vows

The party is as extravagant as one would expect from the Mancini Family. Gigantic ice sculptures fill the hotel courtyard and line the entryway, each with a guard standing in front of them as if they’re the most precious thing about the event. Crisp, white drapes hang from the ceiling and wrap around doorways, white lace clings to the dark marble pillars, glistening diamonds and crystals decorate every tabletop, while white and peach roses fill exquisite vases along the walls. Even the flooris covered in white and peach rose petals, but a coating of something on top of the floor prevents them from moving as people walk around.

I suddenly feel extremely out of place in a black and pink dress.

“Well, well, well,” comes a slightly scratchy, deep voice that makes the back of my neck prickle, and a shiver of anticipation warms my shoulders. “Of course the Falzones are incapable of adhering to a dress code.”

I know that voice.

My heart drops to my stomach as I turn on my heel to face the one and only Roman Gatti, the second son of Santino Gatti, my father’s enemy. And mine, since he’s the man who had me snatched from my school grounds.

“There was no dress code,” I reply shortly, glancing down his white suit accented by a light blue shirt that’s open at the collar. A sliver of honey-olive skin peeks out as he moves and places one hand in his pocket. His full lips pull into an easy smirk while he glances down the length of my body, then his other hand briefly combs through his sleek, black hair.

“Are you sure?” He glances around as his smirk widens. “You’re the only one in black.”

Despite my annoyance at his presence, his tone—basically everything—he’s right. Every other guest is wearing either color or white. I’m the only one who stands out in my black dress covered in glittering pink sparkles. Suddenly, my mother’s dress choice feels like a setup, and my heart begins to race.

“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand anything about class,” I reply stiffly. “So if you don’t mind, kindly keep walking.”

Roman’s dark butterscotch eyes sparkle in the candlelight waving from a nearby candelabra, and he steps closer, but in a second, his entire demeanor changes. The relaxed smirkvanishes, and his infuriatingly handsome face loses all of its charm, becoming stony and calm.

“Is there a problem here?” Enzo appears at my elbow, clutching the invitations in one hand. My mother joins on the other side of me and immediately takes my hand, pulling on me to take a step back, but I refuse. I’m not stepping down from Roman Gatti of all people.

“You tell me,” Roman replies tightly. “Are you capable of following the rules?”

“The rules?” Enzo spits out between clenched teeth. “You want to speak tomeabout rules? You wouldn’t know etiquette if it jumped down your throat, you little?—”

“Now, now.” From behind Roman materializes his slightly shorter but equally dangerous father, Santino Gatti. His voice is smooth like silk, and something about the way he narrows his eyes reminds me of a hawk seconds away from piercing its talons into some unsuspecting prey. “The great Enzo Falzone surely knows better than to say things he can’t act on during a party likethis.”

My father straightens up like a board, as if all the segments of his spine suddenly snapped together. “Santino.”

“Enzo. And Bianca, such a vision as always,” Santino says.

My mother laughs softly and a warm blush spreads across her cheeks. It’s a little infuriating. One complement and she’s almost forgetting how dangerous this man is. How our families have been at war for six years with no end in sight.

Not long after I was kidnapped, my father gave up a large portion of his business as thanks to Santino for rescuing me. Five years later, he learned from a dying Yakuza general that Santino was actually the one behind my kidnapping and since then, it’s been hell.

“And this must be yourdelightfuldaughter,” Santino continues smoothly. “You look different from the last time I saw you. But I suppose you’re no longer in high school, are you?”

“Don’t look at her,” Enzo growls, stepping between me and Santino. “Don’t even think about her.”

“It’s just an observation. You were always so quick to anger, Enzo.”

The only thing keeping my father in line was the overwhelming understanding that grudges of all kinds are left at the door as soon as you enter a Mancini event. Feuds are to be ignored, arguments are to be prevented, and even bounties on people’s heads are to be avoided at a night like this. Families have been wiped out for much less, so I reach for my father’s arm to try and calm him. As I make contact with his arm, my eyes lock with Roman’s over my father’s shoulder. He’s watching me intently, and as soon as I look at him, his lips twitch.

Disgust rolls through my stomach and I glare, then look away. “Dad, come on,” I say in a low voice. “Let’s get a drink.”

It takes that and a comment from my mother to finally get my father moving. Neither he nor Santino take their eyes off one another until they’re far enough away for the crowd to fill the space between them.

And then there’s Roman. He remains in place even as his father leaves, and just as I step away to follow my father, he catches the crook of my elbow. “You look beautiful. For a Falzone, at least.”

“Fuck off,” I hiss in a low voice, earning his amused laughter that follows me all the way through the crowd.

My mother spends a good twenty minutes trying to calm my father down, so I wander the party and perform my expected duties required of me, such as greeting those familiar to me and my family, accepting a drink when offered and ensuring that our table is exactly to our requirements. My mother never drinks atan event like this, but my father does. Thankfully, the waiter is understanding when I request that no more than two drinks be given to my father. The last thing we need is for alcohol to make him forget the rules.

When I return to my parents, conversation turns to introducing me to my fiancé, and that’s when I make myself scarce. In the limo, the prospect wasn’t that scary, but now that I’m here in the swell of the party with a sea of unrecognizable faces, I don’t want to meet him. I don’t want to meet the man who thinks he can just buy me with a well-written letter.

I make myself vanish so I can enjoy my last few hours of freedom without being tied down to a stranger.

The hotel hired out by the Mancini family isexquisite, and I lose myself in the grand staircases with their smooth, marbled steps and gold railing. Each floor is a different theme and color. The third floor is the quietest, so after reaching it, I settle on wandering down the hallway, admiring the extravagant art hanging from the walls. People I don’t recognize, who could be anyone from family members to royalty, line each painting dressed in stuffy, tight, aristocratic clothing. A few paintings show buildings in different cities, and one shows a deer standing on top of a mountain while a fire blazes in the forest below. It’s beautiful and oddly fitting.

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