Page 27 of Veil of Obsession
“And where’s the fun in that?” I play along with her coyness.
I hate it, but I don’t have the time to piss off even more people. Dana has one role, and one role only. To see if my littlemouse is out to play today, or if she’ll hide. She just doesn’t know it.
She offers her hand to me, and I take it, grazing my lips over the tops of her knuckles.
Her mother comes down the stairs in a style I can only compare to Jackie Kennedy’s. Elegant, poised. She’s definitely a MILF.
Her brows raise just a hair’s breadth before she says, “Don’t keep our daughter out too late. Have her home by twelve.”
“Mama.” Dana turns to her, and something silent passes between them.
“I’ll have Cinderella home by eleven,” I joke.
Ernie and Dana both crack a smile. Her ma, on the other hand, keeps a straight, stern face.
Dana puts on a light shawl around her shoulders and we head out to my car. I play the gentleman, opening the passenger door for her before sliding into the driver’s seat. The car engine purrs alive, and the drive to the ball is smooth, but we both remain silent. She knows the reason I asked her to be my date wasn’t because I’m interested in her, and I know she didn’t agree because she’s interested in me. We both have an agenda; I know hers, but she doesn’t know mine.
We pull up to the entrance of the venue, a masterpiece of elegance bathed in golden light. The grand hotel stands tall, its facade illuminated like a beacon against the night, each window glowing with quiet opulence, every hedge perfectly trimmed.
The moment is shattered as soon as the car comes to halt. Flashes explode like gunfire. A crush of photographers surges forward, calling my name, shouting questions and provocations, hungry for another headline.
Lucio Folonari smashes another photographer’s nose.
The valet barely gets the door open before they descend, lenses clicking, voices overlapping. I step first, adjusting my suitjacket with a slow, deliberate ease—trying to appear unbothered, but the tic in my jaw has picked up and won’t settle till I’ve smashed one of these fuckers’ faces in.
But the attention shifts. Dana steps out, and the cameras roar anew, their attention splitting between us as they try to capture every angle, every glance. She laces her fingers through mine, a graceful smile touching her lips as she maintains eye contact with me. She’s a natural. She was made for this, and she knows it.
We move through the chaos, past the fountain where water glows a soft, ethereal blue, through the garden path lined with perfectly pruned hedges. The hotel looms ahead, a sanctuary behind its towering doors. But I know better—there’s no escape. Not tonight. I’m going to have to deal with people’s bullshit all night, with one of the least interesting women on my arm.
Inside, the ball is a sea of wealth: assholes in black tuxedos, women in floor-length gowns dripping in diamonds. The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey clings to the air.
And then I see them: Emiliano, Romiro, Matteo, and Dominico.
They stand near the bar, each with a drink in hand, and their attention shifts to me and my date the second we step inside. The weight of Emiliano’s stare is a silent command, dragging me across the room before I even have a chance to take a drink. Dana and I move toward them, avoiding conversations with familiar faces, giving them tight-lipped smiles and head nods. Dana lingers nearby, greeting friends, unaware of the tension between my brother and me.
“You’re late,” he mutters, swirling his drink.
I grab a glass of my own from the bartender. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”
He exhales through his nose, his patience wearing thin. Romiro, Matteo, and Dom avoid my gaze as they mutter between each other.
“You thought it was a good idea to bring the Hoffman girl after the bloodbath that took place the other day?” His gaze flicks toward Dana.
I shrug, taking a slow sip. “I don’t really care. Besides, it’s not like whoever did what they did will strike again.”
Dominico speaks up this time. “Quit fucking around, Lucio. Try not to piss off everyone in the room. We’re all tired of cleaning up after you.”
I smirk. “I see the irony is lost on you, cugino.”
He lifts a brow as if challenging me to carry on.
“You’re the one who’s been drinking like you’re trying to resurrect your dead wife in the bottom of a bottle. Hate to break it to you, but she’s not there.”
Dom lunges for me, his glass shattering on the floor. He grabs me by the collars, his ugly mug twisting in rage.
“You talk about my fucking wife again and I won’t hesitate to kill you myself,cugino.”
“Get a grip,” Emiliano hisses. “The both of you. Dom, let him go.”
