Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I slip into the crowd. Nobody looks twice at me. I drift along the outer walls and spot Angelo and Claudia talking to Elena and Mom. Neither of them glances in my direction, even though Angelo’s checking his watch and looking annoyed. Right, he wants me to play nice for the patrons. He wants me to preen and strut. Act like a prize cow. Well, screw it, let the rich people write their checks without getting a chance to look the artist up and down.
Wearing a mask is incredible. Without it, I’d feel crushed right now. But all I had to do was cover my face, and suddenly I’m free. There’s no voice in the back of my head telling me that people know I’m broken, that they know I’m a victim, that they’re judging me and hating me. That voice is silenced, and I can just be a person in a crowd without a thousand competing worries assailing me the whole time.
Nobody bothers me. I even get bold enough to snatch a drink from a tray. I tilt up my mask to take a sip, and the champagne’s nice and cold. The bubbles feel good on my tongue. Across the room, at the bar, I spot Jackal talking to a pretty woman in a snake’s mask. It looks serious, and I’m tempted to walk over and find out what it’s all about, but we made a deal. Keep our distance until this is done.
Stick to the plan. Then we can be together.
Snake girl heads off and I can tell Jackal’s pissed about something by the shape of his shoulders. He watches her go, and if that’s a little bit of jealousy, well, so what? I’m human, he’s mine, and she’s got a hot body. He better not be looking too closely at her.
I finish my champagne and keep moving. He told me to go slow and steady, and not to draw attention to myself, which is why I haven’t darted away yet. Instead, I inch toward the back hall, opposite the staircase. There’s an emergency door that leads out the back of the building, and that’s my target. Get out and find his car parked nearby. He’ll be out very soon.
Simple, so freaking simple. But there’s a sword hanging over my head. Well, two of them: one’s the attack, and the other’s how my family will react.
Simon won’t be happy when I run away with a Santoro. Angelo will speak up for me, and I think Mom and Elena will too, but Simon’s the Don and what he says counts for more than all their voices combined. If he’s too angry and stubborn, if his pride gets in the way, he might try to hunt us down. If that happens—
I’ll deal with it. So long as I’m with him.
A few more feet. The sculptures in this room are a series of tongues. They’re old ones too, weathered and pitted from sitting in my back yard. One’s even got a few bullet wounds, though I doubt anyone realizes that’s why they’re all chipped up. Another few feet. I’m already planning what we’ll do: a short car ride to his place, steamy, sweaty, intense sex, then anything we want. We’ll probably have to go into hiding for a little while, at least until Simon cools off. Marco will rent us a hotel room using a fake identity, and we’ll fill our days sitting at the pool and playing raunchy fuck games at night. Jackal in the evening, Marco in the morning. I’m smiling to myself like an idiot just picturing it.
The hall’s right there. Nobody’s looking at it. All I have to do is walk down, find the door, and I’m gone. I glance at Angelo and he’s craning his neck toward the staircase I came down a little while ago. Claudia’s gone, along with Mom and Elena. I don’t know where they went. Simon and Davide are standing together and talking, but Stefania and Emily are also missing. I bet the girls are all together right now, and I feel a little pang of regret. If I were a better sister and a better daughter, I would’ve spent more time with them. I would’ve been invited to their gatherings.
Always an outsider. But I can change all that. Just a few more feet.
As I reach the hallway, a man steps forward and blocks my way.
He’s not looking at me. There’s no reason why he would: I’m just another anonymous person in the crowd.
The man’s big. Really, really big, like Davide’s size but even wider, built like a refrigerator, with thick muscular arms and a pair of sunglasses that are arguably close to mask-like, but not close enough. I’m tempted to say something, to tell him to find a better face covering or to beat it, but two things happen.