Page 7 of Gilded Princess

It’s a testament to our lifelong friendship that he can read me so well, even through the phone. I rake my hand through my hair and blow out a breath. “Yeah. They’re persistent fuckers, that’s for sure.”

“I bet,” he murmurs. “How long do you think you can hold them off for?”

“As long as I have to. Everyone knows I can’t move up until I pick a wife.”

“And our plan is contingent on the support from certain families,” Dante interjects.

The reminder just irritates me, so I change the subject to something less . . . hostile. “Any word on Mama Rosa’s?”

“Nah, the fire marshall maintains it was arson, not an accidental kitchen fire, but we’ll get his official report in a few days.”

“Who the fuck attempts to blow up a pizzeria joint in the middle of the day?” I grit out between clenched teeth. I fucking loved that restaurant. “Alright. Keep me posted. I’ll see you tonight.” I end the call and spin to look out into the city, letting my mind wander a bit.

I’m not sure if the explosion at Mama Rosa’s was a message aimed at me or something tied up with my friend from the Brotherhood, Sully, and his bullshit.

He’s one of the most genuine friends I’ve made in the last five years, but man, does he have some shit going on right now. He’s always been there for me, so I’m down to return the favor.

Most of my friends are my cousins or the kids of made men I’ve grown up with. And I can’t exactly talk shit about different family members—especially not with what I’m planning.

No, I’ve gotta put my mask on and perform for everyone in the family like a goddamn circus act.

But soon, I’ll be able to rip off that fucking fake piece of shit persona I’ve been wearing like a fifty-pound weight around my neck. Then they’ll all wish they took my ideas—and my threats—a little more seriously.

When I’m done cleaning house, this city will run red.

* * *

“Yeah,” he says after four rings.

I tip my head back to stare at the ceiling, looking for patience. Despite popular belief, I’m not a master of cool and unaffected like so many people think. I’m just better at controlling my impulses and keeping my face blank.

I’m still in my office, sorting through all the administrative stuff for my legal businesses—and my less than legal ones. I started a semi-underground fighting circuit six months ago, and I’m working on rolling out our unofficial street racing circuit.

It takes a lot of greased pockets and even a favor or two, but the return on this is going to be killer. Not only just the betting, but it’ll help wash cash from my less than pristine businesses.

“Just giving you a head’s up that I’ll be there tomorrow night.”

Even though we’re talking on burners, I still keep my words clipped and my meaning intentionally vague. No need to tip anyone off of our connection just yet. We’re not quite ready for that bomb to drop.

“Okay. That it?” The derision in his voice rings clear across the empty space of my office.

I soundproofed my office—my entire floor—when I bought the place. It gives me the freedom to put calls on speakerphone and walk around. Pacing always gives me perspective, something about the action shakes ideas loose and helps me focus.

“What? Too busy to chat with me?” My lip quirks up when I hear a feminine giggle through the line. “Ah, I get it now.”

“Nah, I don’t think you do. Later.” He ends the call before I can respond, and I stare at my phone on my desk for a moment.

Not for the millionth time, I wonder if I made the right decision in sending him into the lion’s den all those years ago.

Chapter Three

MADDIE

I adjust the silk bow attached to the black-plated gold filigree mask on my face. The detail work is absolutely stunning, and as soon as I saw it, I knew it’d be perfect for tonight.

My blue eyes stare back at me in the full-length mirror of the ladies’ room, the color bright and icy against the dark mask. I ducked inside as soon as I got here to give myself another once-over to make sure I don’t have lipstick on my teeth and my makeup didn’t completely melt off in this heat. Going solo to one of these events is bad enough. I don’t want to give Blaire or anyone else any more ammo.

I touch up my favorite deep-red lipstick, making sure the line is sharp and smudge-proof. I can’t believe Dolores forgot she had this masterpiece, or so she claimed. That woman is sneaky. I didn’t need a single alteration, so I really wouldn’t be surprised if she made it especially for me.

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