Page 1 of Mafia Doctor's Secret Baby

PROLOGUE

KATIE

As I stepinto the crowded hall, my breath catches in my throat.

This is…this isnothinglike any of the other fundraisers I have attended over the last six months. And ever since I began interning at Councilor Stern’s office—a great supplement to my final year of studies as a political science major—I’ve attended plenty of these things. It’s one of the most important parts of the game, keeping money coming in, keeping people engaged with the message, keeping them passionate about everything we’re doing.

But those other events…

They were formal, staid…normal. Tonight, the hall—which used to be a cathedral before it was turned into one of the most famous and exclusive venues in the city—is packed with people hiding behind masks, wearing daring outfits, their faces obscured, their eyes dark in the dim light. The low buzz of conversation fills the air, but I can’t make out exactly what anyone is saying, as though they want to make certain that they keep all of their secrets to themselves.

I take a deep breath and steady my peacock-feather mask on my face. When I told one of the other interns, Cara, about my outfit for the evening, she rolled her eyes at me and laughed.

“Peacock feathers are bad luck,” she said, digging an elbow into my side.

“Maybe in journalism,” I countered, a reference to her own major. “But in politics, they’re all good news.”

And that’s what I’m trying to remind myself right now, as I stand here in this room, feeling as though the eyes of everyone in the entire place are on me. When Councilor Stern told me about this event, he mentioned that it might be a little different to what I’m used to—but he promised me it would be a good time, a chance to meet with some of the most rich and powerful people in this city.

“Like who?” I had asked him, with great interest. I know the only way I’m going to get ahead in this business is by making connections, and every chance I get to pounce on a new one, I will take it. But he just grinned, shaking his head.

“Why do you think they wear the masks? They don’t want people to know who they are. Not tonight, anyway.”

And that was all the warning I got for what I’m walking into right now. I scan around, searching for Cara—she said she was going to be here tonight, but she’s chronically late in almost everything she does, so it shouldn’t surprise me that she’s already flaked. And besides, I’m not even sure I could pick her out in this crowd…

I move toward the bar, thanking God that at least I’m old enough to drink now—it might not make me entirely comfortable, but it’s a small mercy to help take the edge off. I wonder briefly if I’llget asked for identification, but my boss’s words echo in my ears. Nobody wants to be known here. Because what happens here…

It isn’t part of the face they present to the rest of the world.

I order a glass of champagne, figuring something celebratory is the best thing for an occasion like this, and sip on it slowly while I lean on the bar. I’m not sure if I want someone to talk to me or not. Besides the feather mask, I’m wearing a matching emerald-green dress that’s a little more daring than what I might normally go for in the workplace, but it feels almost conservative given what everyone else around me is wearing…

There are women with slits so high it looks like one wrong move might expose it all—or with necklines so low that all it would take is a toss of their hair to slip loose. The men are immaculately dressed too, the suits fitted, the scents of their expensive aftershaves mingling in the air around me. A few pass by and catch my eye, and I swiftly look away, not wanting to invite a conversation that I know I won’t be able to handle.

But then, much to my shock, a voice sounds from beside me—low and amused, as though he’s clocked on to my game already.

“You can’t hide out here by the bar all night, you know.”

I glance around to find a man looking back at me. He’s wearing almost a full-face mask, apart from a curve that takes a chunk out of the white ceramic over his eye and cheekbone. His eyes flash with something I can’t quite read, sending a shiver down my spine. They’re the most piercing shade of gray, but it’s not just the color that has thrown me for a loop—no, it’s the way he’s staring at me, as though he longs to take a bite out of me right then and there.

“I’m not hiding out,” I shoot back. “I’m waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, right,” he replies, demonstratively looking around the room. “And where’s this friend now?”

I press my lips together. “I don’t know,” I admit, and I can see his eyebrow cock slightly out of the corner of my eye.

“You really came here to meet someone?” He chuckles. “What is this, your first time?”

“It is, as a matter of fact,” I reply. “I’m here because I work for?—”

He lifts a finger to silence me. Normally, I wouldn’t let some random man tell me what to do, but there’s something about the movement of his hand that makes it impossible for me to think straight. My lips part, half in shock, half in protest, but I stay quiet.

“I don’t want to know who you work for,” he replies. “And neither does anyone else here. They want to blow off some steam. Leave the real world behind for a while. And I suggest you do the same.”

He looks behind me to where the bartender is standing.

“Two more of whatever she’s having.”

And with that, he settles next to me once more, gazing out over the crowd with an impassive expression that I can’t help but stare at.

---