Page 6 of Vengeful Lies

My mother sighs and looks at me again. “I’m sorry, honey, but I agree with him. It’s tradition.”

Being born with mob ties on both sides of my family, I’m shackled by tradition and expectation. Sure, I can kill whoever I want with good cause, but make sure I pick a nice little delicate wife to have all their grandbabies. I snarl at the thought.

“You can go through the file later. We have a party to attend,” my mother says, trying to dissipate the tension. “And would someone like to explain to me why the Ivanov twins are dragging a body around my polished wooden floors?”

A noticeable cold shudder runs over both my father and me, and I roll my shoulders uncomfortably. I wonder if he’s about to snitch on me, so I clear my throat. “Would you believe me if I told you he slipped because of how well-polished the floors are?”

My mother shoots me a deadpan look, and I know I’m about to get an earful. I reluctantly sit down for my millionth lecture about the fucking floors.

CHAPTER 4

Jewel

For fuck’s sake. Of all the places my anonymous client summoned me to, I wasn’t expecting the masquerade ball to be for Eli Monti’s not-girlfriend, Michelle Bedore. She’s the type of wannabe mafia princess I’m sure his parents will happily welcome in. Long blonde hair, fake tits—that I’m genuinely impressed by—and long legs. The girl is handed everything she could ever imagine, and the flashy example of money and splendor in their home makes me want to throw back the champagne I was given when I first walked into the mansion.

With a pink princess-style dress, pink flamingo mask, and crown, it’s obvious whose birthday it is. She squeals with excitement as her father offers her keys to a brand-new Porsche.

Her birthday cake is as tall as me—and that’s an impressive five foot nine—with the number twenty-five on top. I don’t know why it irritates me that we’re the same age, but it does. Probably because we couldn’t come from more vastly different worlds. Last year, I celebrated my birthday with Craig with a can of Pepsi and a store-bought chocolate cake. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, he gave me a new set of throwing knives, which is my dream come true. I have plenty of money from my hits, but I’ve never had the desire to change my lifestyle.

I circle the room, doing my best to stick to the shadows. I’m wearing a long black dress with a slit up to my hip on the right side. It makes it easy to access the small garter on my left with said throwing knife because a girl can never be too cautious when circulating in a room full of men who have been raised to only take.

I notice Crue and Rya Monti congratulating Michelle’s father. The Monti and Bedore families have a long relationship from the information I’ve gathered. There’s no sign of their son yet. Although people wear masks for this stupid, themed ball, it’s easy to pick out the big fish. Especially considering Crue Monti outright refuses to wear a mask. I’m not surprised. I don’t even know the fucker personally, but I do know he’s not someone to be told what to do, even if on a gold-printed invitation.

He’s precisely where his arrogant son got it from. I find myself searching for Eli as I peer through the eyeholes of the lace mask I’m wearing. I haven’t figured out how I’ll fuck with Eli tonight, but I pride myself on being creative. I considered strapping a bomb to his car, but there was no way I was getting away with that with the amount of security here.

So maybe I’ll slip a healthy dose of crushed fast-acting laxatives into his drink. I try to hide the smile curving at my lips at the delicate bracelet I wear with a small hollow that opens to said powder. At the very least, I’ll spike his drink.

“You’re not from here,” a voice says over my shoulder, and my spine straightens. I push against my natural instinct to grab my knife as I turn. When I face the owner of the voice, I find a beautiful man with striking blue eyes staring down at me. Much like with the Monti family, it doesn’t take me long to place the man hidden behind the white mask—Dutton Taylor.

“And how would you know that?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. The well-known womanizer and cousin to Eli is definitely not someone I wanted to cross paths with. He has a cold andcalculating reputation. It’s not surprising considering he’s the son of Dawson Taylor, who’s known worldwide to run escorting services and virginity auctions, and Honey Taylor, who is the younger sister of my target’s mother.

“Because I know all the pretty things that move among this circle,” Dutton says. But I’m not fooled by the charm. He might not outright be a part of the Italian mafia like his cousin, but it’s obvious he’s just as dangerous.

I switch my own charm on with a smile. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Don’t be mistaken. I also say it to all the boys, especially when I want something.”

I keep my smile flirtatious. “And what do you want?”

I’d give anything to have a knife to his throat right now. Men like this are always used to getting what they want.

“To know how you got an invite to this party.”

Most likely, his cousin disclosed that someone was after him. In their line of business, that isn’t so surprising.

Before I can respond, his gaze drifts past me, and I see a deadly glint appear in his eyes. When I follow where he’s looking, I see his younger sister, Billie, smiling at a masked man.

“Excuse me,” he says curtly before beelining in their direction. I watch the scene unfold as Dutton grips the man by his hand and forces him onto his knees to apologize for even looking twice at his sister.

“Dutton! Stop acting crazy!” Billie screams as people circle around them.

“Apologize,” Dutton grits out again.

This is when the sea of people splits and Eli strides in like a devil-masked God. Coming in at six foot four, there’s no doubt in my mind he would’ve seen the unfolding of events and he just wanted to get closer.

Hawke throws an arm over Billie’s shoulder. “Come on, Dutton. It’s not that bad. Don’t make the poor guy piss himself at his own sister’s birthday party.”

I try not to smirk as I take my first sip of champagne. The more I immerse myself in the madness of this family as a quiet bystander, the more amused I am. That’s when every hair on my arms rises, and I’m acutely aware I’m being watched. The feeling is so heavy that I’m slow to lift my gaze from the groveling and apologizing man to a set of otherworldly eyes. Where he might take after his father with his strong jaw and perfect nose, he has his mother’s almost silver eyes. And they’re locked on me.

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