Page 1 of Lie to Me

Prologue

Marco

Past – February 2014

Mindless chatter echoes around me as I make my way through the room. I hate these things. Why people like to get all dressed up just to stand in a room and boast about their wealth to equally obnoxious and wealthy assholes is beyond me. But apparently—and according to my father—we have to attend these things to keep the peace, to keep up the illusion of being upstanding citizens, and to keep the city officials in our pockets by showing up to this shit and donating a fuck-ton of money.

I’ve only been here for thirty minutes, and I’m ready to pull the gun from my waistband and blow my fucking brains out if it’ll get me out of this.

Only I don’t think my family would be too pleased with that because A) I’d be dead and B) it’d be a nightmare to cover up in aplace like this. So I guess my only option is to do what I normally do in these situations: make myself as invisible as possible.

I skirt around the edges of the room, careful to avoid eye-contact with anyone, because apparently if you catch someone’s eye, that means you’re open to conversation. I slip out of the room and onto the terrace. It’s dark out since it’s only mid-February, and there’s a bite in the air, but still not too cold for me to endure the torture of being inside that room.

I rest my elbows on the wall as I look out over the gardens. They’re lit up with fairy lights incase people decided to brave the cold, but I guess when you’re at a gala for whatever charity they’re promoting in order to swindle money off the rich and into their own pockets, they’ll go all out on the decorations.

The door opening behind me threatens to startle me, though I don’t react. I find that if I act like a disinterested asshole, people tend to leave me alone.

“Romano.” An angelic voice sounds behind me and I turn to see Sloane O’Brien, daughter of Cormac O’Brien, also known as the head of the Irish Mob and my family’s rival.

“O’Brien,” I murmur, even though I’d have normally made my escape by now, since my father will throttle me if he finds me out here talking to his enemy’s daughter. I may be nineteen and an adult in my own right, but he’s the Don of the New York Mafia, so it’s best not to piss him off. Though I can’t find it in myself to move, which probably has something to do with the gorgeous girl standing in front of me.

Sloane and I have ran in the same circles for years with us being the same age, and even though I’ve always noticed her, we’ve never actually spoken. We went to different schools growing up; her and her twin brother, Finn, went to a private school in Manhattan while I attended school in Queens.

I take her in, since this will likely be the closest I’ll ever get to her. Her blonde hair is wrapped up in an intricate bun onthe top of her head, her minimal makeup only making her sharp features seem more prominent. She’s smaller than me, standing at around 5’11 to my 6’4, and is wearing a pale pink gown that accentuates her curves. My gaze travels down her body before it flicks back up to meet her piercing blue eyes. She raises a brow, clearly calling me out on checking her out, but I don’t take the bait. I just wait to see what she’ll do—if she’ll do or say anything at all.

“I always see you hiding at these things, figured I’d try it for once rather than listen to my father drone on about shit no one gives a fuck about,” she says, and I stifle a laugh with my fist.

She always came across as—for lack of a better word—docile, always at her father’s side, playing the perfect Mob daughter.

“I don’t like peopling,” I say dryly.

I expect her to call me out on being an asshole or turn around and walk away. But she once again surprises me by tipping her head back and laughing. The sound is almost melodic, and I find myself wanting to hear it again.

“Tell me something, Marco. If you could be anyone else, and I wasn’t who I am, what would you do? Would you ask me to dance? Would you ask me to leave here and go somewhere else? Would you ask for my number?” I open my mouth to reply, but she cuts me off. “Wait! You probably shouldn’t answer that since… well, since I’m me and you’re you, so how about a hypothetical? Oooh, I know! How about you lie to me?”

She wants me to lie to her? I don’t know if I could, but when her gaze meets mine once again and she sends me a pointed look, I realize what she’s wanting.

“Lie to me, Marco,” she whispers.

“Iwouldn’tdo any of that, and Iwouldn’tdo so much more.”

Sloane

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Seriously. I’m not usually this bold, and if my father finds out… that’s not something I want to think about. Yet I can’t stop myself as I stare up into Marco Romano’s vibrant green eyes; all thoughts of rationality and what Ishoulddo fly out the window.

“Iwouldn’tdo any of that, and Iwouldn’tdo so much more,” he murmurs. My pulse races as stares at me with that heated gaze that trapped me the moment we locked eyes.

“My turn,” I say with a smirk. “Ihaven’tnoticed you for years. And you may not come across as another one of these entitled asshats,” I tilt my head towards the door behind me, “but what I really think is that you’re exactly like them. Idon’tthink there’s so much more to you than what meets the eye.”

He leans back against the wall behind him and puts his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Another lie… I don’t wish we lived in a world where you could find out for sure.”

So do I.

I don’t know what it is about him, but I want to unravel all of his secrets and bathe in the aftermath. I want to know who he really is beneath the mask he wears in public.

I’m about to tell him as much, in the form of alie,of course, when his phone chimes. He pulls it from his pocket and reads the text on the screen. A frown takes over his handsome face and he huffs out a breath before waving it in front of me. “Duty calls.”

---