Page 14 of Veiled Vows

I wander until a flurry of light music reaches my ears. Nearby, someone is playing the piano, or at the very least pressing a few keys. With the party long forgotten, curiosity leads me through a nearby door into a small room shrouded in darkness with one light flickering in the far corner. When my curiosity spikes, my heart falls.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Roman Gatti’s head snaps up and he pulls his hand away from the piano keys, seemingly alarmed at having been caught. Then he smiles, and that smirk irritates me at a single glance.

“Shouldn’t you be at the party?”

“Shouldn’t you?” I roll my eyes. “After all, it’s only the men who can voice their opinion and make decent conversation, so really you should be there more than me.”

“I hate these events,” Roman replies, closing the lid on the piano. “Everyone has only one agenda.”

“Betrayal?”

“Ass-kissing.” He steps away from the piano, and his almond-shaped eyes narrow faintly as he glances down at me. “We’re all here putting on a show for the Mancinis, although given the utter catastrophes your father likes to orchestrate, I’m sure he’s in his element.”

“Excuse me?” Heat rushes up to my cheeks at his cloaked insult, and I stiffen my neck. “Maybe you should take a page out of his book. He knows his strength unlike your own father who can’t see beyond his own arrogant—hey!”

My insult dies on my lips as a sudden rush of voices rises from outside the room. In the same breath, Roman grabs me by the wrist and drags me swiftly toward him with one jerk of his arm. His other hand closes over my mouth, sending my heart skyrocketing so rapidly that my head aches. A second later, he shoves me backward into the nearby closet and shoves me hard against the wall, closing the door just as several people file into the room.

“This has gone on for long enough,” says a gruff voice. “The Falzones or the Gattis, I don’t care which. But one of them has to go.”

6

ROMAN

She’s beautiful.

I’d be disowned for admitting such a thing, and likely killed for saying it out loud, but she is.

Jasmine Falzone is beautiful. Possibly one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life.

Her eyes are deep blue and sparkle like the alluring depths of the deep ocean. Her skin, golden brown and warm to the touch, sends jolts of excitement through me as I press her body as firmly as I can to the back of the closet. Her brown hair drifts down across the back of my hand as she shakes her head, the strands like silk kissing my knuckles.

And her lips. Even hidden behind my palm, I can feel how plump and thick they are. Never mind the gorgeous curves of her body accentuated by the tight lines of her stunning dress. I suspect such a move was intentional, given how shrewd her father can be. Bringing his only daughter to a party like this and making sure she’s dressedagainstthe color scheme. He wants to be noticed, and given the voices filling the room outside, it’s working.

I can’t see them.

My entire attention is on Jasmine and how I can see every single dark lash resting against her cheek when she closes her eyes. Her floral perfume invades my lungs with each breath, and her fingers are like claws digging into my waist as she holds on to me. I was a second away from a knee to the balls if those people hadn’t entered the room.

But the last thing either of us needs is to be caught somewhere we shouldn’t be. Many have died for much less.

Her hot breath rushes over my pinky as she opens her eyes, glaring daggers at me, but I don’t remove my hand. There’s no space to risk any kind of movement, so Jasmine’s body is pressed firmly against mine, and my bulk takes up any other available space. It would beincrediblyerotic if not for the fact that the people outside are talking about us.

“I choose the Gattis,” says one voice. “I have an ongoing deal with them.”

“I have a deal with the Falzones,” comes another voice. “Don’t try and stand there and tell me yours is more important.”

“I’m not saying that,” says the first voice. “But mine is older.”

“It hardly counts,” says a third voice. “And it hardly matters. I have had too many phone calls about their feud spilling onto territories and into families that want nothing to do with them. And frankly, I’m tired of it.”

“It never should have been allowed to go on this long,” speaks a fourth voice. “We’ve given them too much freedom. A war like this is only good when the victor actually comes out on top. They are two underdogs snapping at each other like rabid animals. We kill one, uplift the other, and send a message at the same time. Disputes cannot be allowed this much attention.”

“Especially not when they attract constant unwanted eyes from the cops,” says the first voice.

“Even the Russians are making comments,” says the third.

“Enough.” A sultry, feminine voice brings an abrupt end to the discussion. “The feud between the Falzones and the Gattis has been given too much space. I will not allow it for a second longer. I want thembothgone. Take them out quickly and divide their assets between more prominent, deserving families. I want this sorted by the end of the month.”

---