Page 4 of As Devils Love

Back in my car, I reach for the envelope in my pocket. I drop it into Mark’s lap, so he can have a look at it while I drive.

“Doesn’t this chick look familiar?” he asks as soon as he looks at the very first candid photograph. “I’m sure I’ve seen her before.”

I snatch the picture out of his hands and an uncomfortable sensation of hot blood coursing through my cold veins leaves a dizzying nausea in my guts.

Hehasseen her before. So have I. Less than an hour ago, to be exact, exiting Lorenzo’s Sanctuary Club.

Ah, fuck! Why does it have to be her?

Chapter Two

FIAMETTA

“Come on, get dressed. Let’s not be any later than we have to be,” Simone orders as I step into my bedroom. She’s in the en-suite bathroom, wearing only white lace lingerie, and she’s focusing intently on applying her eyeliner in the mirror.

“Yes, ma’am,” I give her a half-assed salute and grab the one-of-a-kind black dress I had laid out on the bed before she summoned me to the Sanctuary Club.

The dress is perfect for our night out. Low-hanging shoulder straps extend into a very deep V to show off my cleavage and are accompanied by a tight bodice that shrink-wraps my body down to my waist, highlighting my frame. The high hemline barely touches my knees to allow for high maneuverability, and it frillsout at the hem to give the overall look some depth. Finally come the glittering sequins that give the eye something to look at. That is, if anyone who looks at me cares about my dress, rather than all the skin I’ve left on display.

Without wanting to sound too egotistical, I love it the most because I’m the one who designed and made it.

“Where did you go?” Simone looks at me through the mirror’s reflection, moving away from the eyeliner and onto her lipstick.

I sigh before finding the strength to reply. It doesn’t relieve any of the weight my meeting presses on my shoulders. Everything is such a song and dance with my father and it’s starting to drive me nuts. Especially, now more than ever, with what’s going on among his ranks. You’d think he would want to be direct and avoid middlemen. Instead, I am being dragged across the city to listen to his message.

First, one of his men came to my front door, and he escorted me to the Sanctuary Club without as much as a hello. Then, I was left to wait for half an hour while another guy finished a meeting with some empty suit. Finally, our business was concluded in less than a minute, with his instructions:

Your father wants to see you for dinner tomorrow evening. He has organized it at his home and expects you to arrive before seven. Dress appropriately and make sure no one sees you coming.

Two hours of my night wasted, when I could’ve been getting ready for my wild night out with Simone. But this bullshit isn’t surprising anymore. It’s been happening since I was a child, and there won’t be an end to it until Father leaves his seat as head of the Napoli mafia, or one of us is dead.

If I were a betting person, I’d put my money on the latter.

“Family business,” I answer, starting to undress out of my less provocative jeans and crop top and into my dress.

“Almost got scared when I arrived, and you were nowhere to be seen. Thought something had happened to you.” Her eyes narrow like a mother’s would when trying to scold their child.

That is a missed pleasure when it comes to my own mother. Father said she died from unforeseen complicationswhen I was young. I did attend my mother’s funeral though. Her closed casket didn’t strike me as odd as a child, but the more I think about it now, the more I realize that it probably was to hide the sight of her remains from her grieving relatives.

In our world ‘unforeseen complications’ means someone got to her, to hurt my father. I’m not surprised. He’s made an enemy of everyone in New York. But that doesn’t stop the sharp sting of sadness when I think about how broken he looked on the day we laid mother to rest.

Still, I’m not going to cut him any more slack than I have to about his secrecy surrounding me. Although I understand that it’s for my safety, I still crave the love and family togetherness any daughter would. But you don’t get to choose your family. That’s a saying that has burdened me since birth.

“Nah, you don’t have to worry about me.” I slip my bra off and toss it onto a growing pile of clothes in the corner of my room. I’ll have to take care of it this weekend, if I don’t want my entire closet to become a messy decoration. Or worse, leave this mess for the cleaners to happen upon. They work hard enough as it is and don’t need me adding to their workload. “It’s just the way things go.”

Simone frowns and, after a brief silence where I can tell she wants to say something but can’t find the words – or chooses not to – she nods.

“Holy shit, you have a rocking bod,” she says instead, allowing her eyes to travel from my eyes to my toes.

“Jeez, you can’t say stuff like that to me while I’m naked.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I cover my bare chest with my dress.

I used to hate getting ready like this. Simone broke down those walls during our college years of clubbing.It’ll save time if we both get ready together. And what’s the worst that could happen? I see your cookie. Reality check, babe, I’ve got one, too.Those words convinced me to go ahead with it, but they didn’t do much in the way of stilling the bundle of nerves I felt under her leering blue-eyed gaze.

I’m not unattractive, at least I don’t think I am, but I’m also vastly inexperienced when it comes to compliments from someone who actually means them. Shrugging off drunks, who want to get in my pants at bars, is easy; they’ll say whatever you want to hear as long as it gets them laid. But real kindness? God, it makes me want to curl up and hide in my bed.

“You’re not naked. You’re wearing panties,” she grins wickedly, finishing the last of her makeup and joining me in the room, to get dressed.

Makeup and panties were as far as I got before father’s man appeared at my door. At least it cut down my to-do list.

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