Page 86 of Shattered Chords

“Oh my God, I love this song!” Ally shrieked excitedly from her seat as we took another turn, and all my filthy thoughts evaporated instantly.

An old Bleeding Faith tune blared from the speakers and I was surprised how calm Camille remained throughout the entire drive with so much metalcore in the background. I wished my own mother had been that understanding of my creative endeavors when I was Ally’s age.

Finally, Frank’s villa emerged farther up the hill. The gate was wide open. Two security guards with walkie-talkies were scanning the cars slowly pulling into the long driveway.

Frank was a huge fan of clean, simple aesthetics and his house reflected that love of all things elegant.

The front yard seemed ablaze with lights. I could see people moving inside the house through the huge windows. Music played. Voices blended. Glasses clinked.

“I thought you said this was supposed to be an intimate event,” Camille whispered as we came to a stop. The driver climbed out of the car to open the doors for us, but Ally beat him to it. She was buzzing with energy today.

“It is intimate, darlin’,” I said, stepping out and offering her a hand. “It’s Frankie fucking Blade. What did you expect?”

“A smaller crowd,” Camille bristled, her face suddenly tense. She slid her palm against mine and got out of the car. The lights instantly streamed over to her, brushing across the fabric of her dress and illuminating her hair that she’d—to my dismay—put up in an elaborate do. A few strands fell loose down her neck and I had the urge to wrap them around my fingers.

“Dante,” a male voice called from off to the side. “Long time.”

I spun and saw Roman in all of his bold, suited glory. A crackling walkie-talkie strapped to his belt was sticking out from under his black jacket and he lowered the volume.

“My man.” I shook his hand and patted his rock-hard shoulder. “You’re looking good. Frankie-boy’s treating you right, huh?”

He wasn’t the smiley type—bodyguards never were—but there was a grin on his face. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but still, I appreciated it.

“You do too, Dante.” He nodded.

“I’m getting by.” Camille’s hand was still in mine and I realized that tonight would be very different for me. I’d never brought a woman I wasn’t fucking to any of Frank’s parties.

Sensing my sudden unease, Roman shifted his attention to Camille and offered his hand for a shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Roman, head of security here.”

“Camille.” She motioned at her daughter. “This is Ally.”

“She also goes by Hendrix,” I pointed out.

“You’re that good, huh?” Roman grinned again at the girl. It was unlike him. All this beaming and swooning.

Not only did Cassy Evans turn Frankie Blade into a mushy mess, but she also fucked up a perfectly mean bodyguard.

“I’d like to think so,” Ally said, looking for pockets to stick her hands into like she always did when she was nervous, but she had on a dress today. It was a simple black piece with layers of lace, and she’d paired it with military boots and a whole lot of accessories. I had to give it to her. The kid had style.

“She’s just being shy,” I cut in. “She’s amazingly talented.”

Behind us, another car pulled in, its headlights streaking across the yard, then disappearing into the darkness.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. You know the way, right?” Roman gestured at the front terrace and took off to greet another guest.

Typically, at this time of year—late October—the property was engulfed in thick fog at night, but temperatures only crawled up and up the entire month. Not a sliver of rain. Even clouds were rare. It had started to feel as if we were living in hell, which wasn’t far from the truth, at least for me. My hell, however, wasn’t dependent on the weather.

We walked up the path leading toward the house and entered the terrace. A small group of people lingered by the entrance. Recognition filtered through me at the sight of a familiar face. Cassy’s friend and partner. I couldn’t remember his name, only that he was a Jewish fella. The black hole in my memory was terribly upsetting.

I raised a hand by way of a greeting.

His eyes widened at that and he nodded but didn’t approach.

Inside, the house was alive with muted chatter, soft rock music, and the clinking of silverware. A uniformed waiter carried a huge tray loaded with dangerous-looking hors d'oeuvres past us.

Ally’s gaze fell on the food as the guy maneuvered through the downstairs area.

“Are you hungry?” I asked her.

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