Page 104 of The Devil Can Be Kind

I turned to see Layton walking the length of the pool toward us, stopping as he reached the edge.

“Excuse me, Boss. We have to leave in the next thirty minutes to make the ceremony in time,” His gruff voice announced.

Marco nodded once in acknowledgment before Layton retreated, walking back the way he came. His eyes never once looked over at me—smart move.

“I have to go,” Marco muttered, seemingly annoyed.

He stood to his full height in the water and leaned forward, brushing his lips against my forehead before making his way to the side and lifting himself out. His clothes clung to his skin, dripping onto the warm stone beneath him as he stood.

He looked like a fucking Italian God even wet and disheveled.

“Now you see what I meant about wet clothes,” I said sarcastically, trying to diffuse the tension building inside me.

He turned around, meeting my gaze with an unexpectedly playful smile.

“Nonetheless, put your top back on,” he ordered, but I could hear humor in it. “I’ll see you at the reception later.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked slowly back to the house.

Regrettably, I did as he said and grabbed my bikini top, strapping it back on. Then I leaned back in the water. Allowing myself to float effortlessly on the surface while my head whirled.

What was he going to say just now?

I didn’t know.

I had been shocked laterthat afternoon when I’d found a hair stylist and makeup artist set up in my dressing room, but it quickly turned into appreciation. Marco had organized it all as a surprise for me, apparently.

I had been even more surprised when I wandered into the bathroom to find a black sequin ballgown hanging on a golden hook. The dress was absolutely stunning, and judging by the designer label I found when putting it on…was the most expensive dress I’d ever worn. It was backless except from the thin spaghetti straps that crossed once in the center of my shoulders. The material clung to my skin in a way that perfectly accentuated my hips before fanning out at the knee and pooling on the floor. It was sexy and stylish. The embodiment of midnight and sin.

I barely recognized the reflection as my own when I stood in front of the mirror some hours later. I was beautiful.

“Fucking hell, Bandit.” Jesse gave a low whistle as I walked down the monolithic stairs to the front doors.

“Nice dress, huh?” I asked, not missing how his eyes looked slightly more coal-like than usual.

He shot me a grin, “It’s alright.”

I rolled my eyes and passed him my overnight bag before following him to the car. He drove us across to the other side of Catania, not stopping until we pulled up in front of a breath-taking 18thcentury villa. When we stopped beside a set of tiered stone steps, beautiful orchestral music drifted through the open windows of the car as well as the distant chatter of hundreds of people.

Jesse came around the car and offered me his arm as he threw his keys to a nearby valet.

“Stay near me and Enzo tonight,” he said in a hushed voice, greeting people up ahead with a nod or a small smile. “And don’t talk to anyone you don’t know unless we are around.”

“Most people here hate my guts and want me dead.” Uneasiness settled in my stomach as I said the words. “I know that, Jesse. I’ll keep my head down.” I promised.

“No one here wants you dead. And even if they did, nothing will happen to you.” His voice was earnest as he looked at me, but it did little to stifle my anxiety.

I didn’t miss the curious gazes that looked our way as we crossed the threshold into the ornate hall. Hundreds of people were crowded inside, gathering around tables or splintered off into smaller groups standing about the hall. Drinks were being passed around on silver platters by butlers in black tailcoats with white gloves, as they moved effortlessly through the masses of lavishly dressed people. Large round tables littered the room, each overflowing with beautiful, white flowers and large pillar candles. Beyond them, the orchestra was situated on a golden filigree balcony and looked to consist of over twenty people.

It was extravagant.

It made the weddings I had attended growing up look like village festivals and I couldn’t help feeling deficient in some way.It’s no wonder they hate my father so much…I mused. To them, Manninos were the proletariat while they were the immutable bourgeoise.

Jesse and I wandered over to one of the tables near the back of the room. Enzo was already seated as we approached, wearing his usual flamboyant shirt and talking animatedly to another man I didn’t recognize. Jesse greeted them both with a smack on the back, while Enzo gave me a kiss on both cheeks and the other man nodded in my direction. The men immediately lapsedinto animated Italian and I internally sighed, knowing that I was unlikely to understand anything all night.

A butler approached with a flute of champagne and as the minutes ebbed away, more and more people began taking their seats.

I eagerly scanned the room looking for Marco, but I couldn’t see him amongst the hordes of ostentatious gowns and hand-stitched designer suits before the meal was served. Four courses were served, each seemingly dragging out longer than the last.

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