1
ANTONIO
As the kids say, this shit islit.
Barbie shakes her ass in my face, and all I see is a dazzling cascade of glitter sparkling in the dim light. The faint, sweet scent of ripe peaches fills the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that wraps around us like a warm embrace. I bring my hand down on her backside with a stinging slap that resonates like a playful challenge. When I say it jiggles like an earthquake, I mean that her ass has its own Richter scale, sending shockwaves of exhilaration through the room.
In the midst of this wild celebration, I hear a phone ringing somewhere in the distance. It’s probably the Bellagio staff calling to ask us to turn down the music again; honestly, I’ll let Enzo take care of that. I take a long, satisfying puff on my cigar, feeling the smoke swirl around me like a lazy ghost before I blow it out in a thick cloud. Life is fuckinggood.
“You can’t just hog the stripper because it’s your bachelor party,” Costantino complains with a playful grin that lights up his face. “Come on over here, baby. Papa’s got a package for you.” He rubs and pats his lap, winking at Barbie with that mischievoustwinkle in his eye, as if she can’t see the way his pants are tightening in anticipation.
She blows him a teasing kiss while rocking her hips against my crotch, her laughter bubbling like champagne. “Wait your turn, handsome. It’s notyourlast night of freedom.”
Technically, it’s not mine either. I get married next weekend, but only an idiot has a bachelor party the night before his wedding day, especially with so much at stake. I slap Barbie’s ass again, eliciting a playful squeal, and groan when I feel her gyrate harder against me, the heat and rhythm igniting something primal within. It’s been six long months since I had a woman, all at my father’s behest. The second he arranged for me to marry the widowed Gabriella Scott, he made me swear off other women, as if the promise was a sacred bond. While he isn’t a monogamist himself, he thought that it would be a show of good faith to her family, an attempt to erase any doubt about my intentions. In the interim, I’ve been staring at her photo every day, tracing the outline of her smile with my eyes and jerking myself until I couldn’t see straight, each release a bittersweet reminder of what I’ve been missing. But that all changes next week. In seven days, I’m going to bury myself so far into my bride that she’s gonna see heaven, and I’ll finally reclaim the pieces of my life that have been put on hold.
“Head over to Costantino, honey.” I help Barbie off my lap, reluctantly letting her go, and direct her toward the dashing son of a bitch I call my cousin. He’s been waiting for his turn, and I know he’ll make her laugh like no one else can. Swiping my drink off the side table, I head for the balcony, needing a moment to breathe and clear my head.
Rafael is leaning against the railing with a drink in each hand, the epitome of casual confidence. The Bellagio fountains aregoing nuts, dancing to a nostalgic Frank Sinatra song, the water shooting up in mesmerizing patterns that shimmer under the night sky. Dozens of people look like ants on the ground, their voices a distant murmur as they stand as close as they can to watch the show, their faces lit up with wonder. It’s a chaotic yet beautiful scene, a perfect backdrop to the wild night unfolding around us.
“You tired of the festivities, brother?” I ask as I sidle up beside him, the warmth of the evening wrapping around us like a soft blanket. Just inside the door, our bodyguards hover, vigilant and watchful. Rafael has one, I have three. The perks of being the older brother, I guess, come with a certain level of scrutiny, especially in a place like this.
“It’s loud in there,” Rafael replies, flashing me a half-hearted smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s never enjoyed the party scene quite like the rest of us, always more comfortable in quieter settings, where the chaos of the world doesn’t intrude on his thoughts.
“It’s Vegas; it’s loud everywhere. You tryna tell me that your ER rooms are quieter than this?” I tease, knowing full well that as a doctor, Rafael is accustomed to the cacophony of life-and-death situations. I’ve watched enough medical dramas to know that it’s not dead silence when a gunshot victim pulls into the emergency room. That means there’s got to be something weighing on Rafael’s mind. Why else would he be standing here, looking so contemplative amidst all the revelry? “Talk to me, Rafe. What’s up?”
He sighs, and for a fleeting moment, I think he’s actually going to open up and share whatever’s bothering him. But instead, he shifts the focus, casually asking me if I’m ready to get married,a question that hangs in the air like the shimmering lights of the fountains behind us.
At thirty-seven, I’ve been ready to settle down for quite some time now. Every passing year only solidifies that desire, yet my father has insisted, with his usual resoluteness, that I wait for the right match—one that not only aligns with my heart but also strengthens our family ties to another prominent lineage. I still remember the whirlwind of emotions from my past engagement to a Deluca, which, as fate would have it, unraveled before it could truly begin. The whispers among the families were relentless; they claimed she had heard about me and fled the country to escape the pressure of our union. What a shame, really, because I would have taken such good care of her, showering her with affection and loyalty. That was half a dozen years ago, and it feels like an eternity, as it’s taken most of that time for my father to find a suitable woman who meets his rigorous standards. He’s a critical man, shrewd in business matters, and he wouldn’t dare marry me off to the sister of some lesser man when he could hold out for the boss’s daughter, a woman who would elevate our family’s status.
“I’m ready to start a family if that’s what you’re asking,” I say, joining Rafael at the railing, my gaze drifting over the expanse below. The ground feels like an eternity away, a stark reminder of the heights we’ve yet to reach. “Gabriella’s family hasn’t backed out, and so far, she hasn’t fled the country either. I’d say that’s a good sign, don’t you think?”
Rafael snorts in response, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You’re not worried about marrying her? I heard she killed her last husband.” His words hang in the air, laced with the kind of dark humour that often accompanies the unfiltered honesty found in rumors. There’s always a handfulof truth buried within those tales, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of uncertainty.
Gabriella Scott was formerly known as Gabriella Andretti, a name that still echoes with the weight of her past. After her father arranged her marriage to Johnston Scott, a wealthy man reputed to own half of Reno, it seemed like a fairy tale for a moment. But that illusion shattered just a year later when Johnston was found dead in his bed, his life snuffed out under mysterious circumstances. While Gabriella had an airtight alibi, the whispers of suspicion clung to her like a shadow; after all, the spouse is always the primary suspect in such tragedies. “I’m sure that prick deserved it,” I tell my brother coolly, a wry smirk tugging at my lips. “Gabriella won’t try that shit with me. Believe me, Rafe. I’m not easy to kill.” Just ask the four people who’ve attempted it; three are dead and one is holed up in the mountains, cowering from the family.
Rafael simply nods his head, his expression one of quiet resignation. As the younger brother, he tends to steer clear of the murky waters of family politics. He makes a decent living as a doctor, a respectable career that allows him to distance himself from the special meetings that father and I dread. Rafael often says he’ll never inherit the family business anyway, so he feigns indifference to our legacy. “You should go back inside and enjoy the party. It’s all for you, after all,” he suggests, a hint of encouragement in his tone.
I could certainly retreat back inside and indulge in more time with Barbie’s voluptuous hindquarters, a tantalizing distraction that pulls at my thoughts. She’s the last piece of free ass I’m ever going to get, a fleeting opportunity in a world where commitment looms large. I’m aware that some men in the family choose to look the other way when it comes to theirmarital vows, but I refuse to be one of them. Father spent years disrespecting Mom, both in private and in public, and I witnessed the deep shame it brought her. I made a vow when I was fifteen that I would never inflict that kind of pain on a woman. If I want a free tit grab or an ass squeeze, I suppose now is the time to seize that moment before the weight of responsibility pulls me under.
But I stand outside with Rafael, allowing the vibrant sights and sounds of Vegas to envelop me instead. The bustling streets are alive with thousands of tourists, each one eagerly traversing the sidewalks, their phones and cameras raised high as they capture every extravagant hotel and striking piece of architecture they encounter. They document our city with a flurry of flash photography, hastily posting poorly lit images to Facebook in a desperate bid for likes and validation. If only they knew the deeper truth about this place, the stories hidden behind the glitz and glamour. If only they would open their eyes to see beyond the surface.
After a few minutes of contemplative silence, I turn to Rafael, curiosity piquing my interest. “You got any advice?”
Rafael snorts again, his expression shifting as he turns his head to look at me, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock seriousness. “Keep her in line, Antonio. No matter how great you think this girl is, no matter how invincible you thinkyouare, make sure she knows from the very first night that you’re the one in charge.”
He might not attend the meetings with Father, but when he speaks, his words echo those of our father with unsettling precision. Mom always emphasized the importance of treating Gabriella with respect and being sweet to her, nurturing her spirit. In stark contrast, Father suggested that a few slaps acrossthe face on the wedding night would help her understand who truly holds the reins in this relationship. I might have hurt a few men over the years, carving my way through life with a certain ferocity, but I’ve always drawn the line when it comes to women. That’s simply not who I am; I believe in strength, not cruelty.
“Thanks, Rafe.” I take a generous slug of bourbon, the warmth spreading through me, momentarily dulling the edges of my thoughts. I guess it’s a good thing Gabriella is marrying me and not Rafael; if she were to set her sights on him, he might very well become the next victim of the Black Widow’s deadly charm. My brother, for all his outward charisma, harbors a dark side that often leaves me unsettled. As much as I love him, I can’t shake the worry that lingers in my mind about his future. Will he ever find a wife who can see past the shadows? Or will he wither away in sterile fluorescent rooms, his only companions the scalpel in his hand and the surgical mask that obscures his true self?
2
GABRIELLA
“You can’t do this!” Carina nervously titters from the bed, her voice laced with anxiety as I scrutinize my reflection in the mirror. “You’re going to get caught. Antonio will probably beat you.” She shoves a thumbnail between her lips and begins to gnaw on it, her expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “This is abadidea!”
But they won’t recognize me. With the wig of vibrant red hair cascading down my shoulders and the array of temporary tattoos meticulously applied to my skin, I merely resemble an edgy stripper ready for a wild night out. My outfit consists of a stunning black lace ensemble—my bra, thigh-high stockings, and garter belt all exuding a daring allure. “Calm down,” I say, rolling my eyes while I catch her anxious gaze in the mirror. “They won’t know it’s me.”
All I want is a fleeting glimpse of my future husband. I’ve seen his photo, a striking image that captures his strong features, but I’ve never met him face to face. Whispers of his ruthless dealings and heavy hand with his enemies circulate like wildfire, igniting a spark of fear in my chest. I need to ascertain that he doesn’twield that same brutality against women. If Antonio Bianchi lays a hand on a woman, he might just find himself facing the same fate as Johnston.