Page 107 of Handsome Devil
I spotted Lila too. The mysterious baby sister of the Ferrante clan. Only seventeen.
She was delicate in her beauty. Ethereal and otherworldly. Like a Claudine painting by Marcel Dyf. Intellectually challenged, if rumors were to be believed.
She sat alone at a separate small table fitted for children, garbed in a glittery gold gown the same shade as her hair, her spine ramrod straight.
She appeared to be hosting a tea party with porcelain dolls. Sprawled on the table was a British tea set, floral and vintage with carved handles. She poured air into mugs and laughed haughtily at something a porcelain doll said. How this pale-haired elfin shared full DNA with her strong-featured, ginormous brothers was a case for the FBI. She looked nothing like them. Not in height, not in build, not in color, and not in features.
Her graceful pout and childlike innocence did nothing to yours truly, but I could see men clamoring for the chance to marry her. Knowing the Camorra and Vello Ferrante specifically, there was a good chance he’d marry her off despite her intellectual challenges.
He was the biggest prick I’d ever met. And I actually worked closely with Baron “Vicious” Spencer.
“Remove your eyes before I scoop them out, Blackthorn. Lila’s off the table.” Enzo tapped my shoulder, reminding me of his unfortunate existence.
I shot him a cool glare. “I’m a married man.”
“Start acting like it, bro.”
If that little shit bro-ed me one more time…
“Well, this one in front of you isn’t attracted to children.”
Even if she wasn’t so young, I found her to be nothing extraordinary. She didn’t have Gia’s courage, fire, and wit. My wife’s intelligence, firm values, and soft heart set me ablaze. Her beauty—while exquisite—was just a small fraction of her appeal to me.
“FYI, the exterior of the hotel is swarming with Callaghan’s men.” Enzo swirled his drink, giving it a sniff. “Since I’m off duty, I suggest you keep an eye on your wife.”
“You think Callaghan is brazen enough to attack her during Luca’s party?” I asked.
“I think he’s brazen enough to set the sitting president on fire in front of the entire Congress,” Enzo answered, unblinking. “Just because he’s not here today doesn’t mean he’s not going to try to pull some bad shit. He’s got a hard-on for your neck, and since you killed his proxies, he’ll likely target yours.”
The next hour included an endless amount of Italian food, badly crafted conversation paired with lovely crafted wine. A hedge fund dude bro, who was clearly a legacy hire, droned on about crypto to me while I pretended my full attention wasn’t on Gia. I didn’t let her out of my sight. Not a difficult task, considering watching her was hardly a punishment. She avoided my eyes, which got on my nerves.
Just when I thought the evening couldn’t get any more tedious, the live band began playing a waltz, and Achilles appeared like a summoned evil spirit in a séance gone wrong. The wicked grin on his face looked like it’d been carved with a knife. He offered my wife his open palm with a bow. “Mrs. Blackthorn, would you do me the honor of a dance?”
He was insane if he thought I’d let his filthy hands touch her.
“Hard to pull off a waltz with two broken legs.” I draped an arm over the back of her chair.
Gia’s icy glare turned into a warm smile once she realized I didn’t want her to dance with him.
“Mr. Ferrante, I’m pleased you asked.” She placed her hand in his and stood up.
I pushed up to my feet, getting into Achilles’s face. “What are you playing at?”
“Why, Blackthorn, can’t a man dance with a beautiful woman at his brother’s engagement party?”
“A man certainly can. But not this one.” I pointed at Gia.
I had no idea where this hissy fit came from. I wasn’t usually the jealous type.
“This one also has a mind of her own.” Gia wedged herself between us, pushing at my chest. “And she wants to dance. Bugger off, Tate.”
The smirk Achilles gave me as he led my wife to the dance floor was reason enough to break every bone in his body, stapes bone included.
Making a scene was not my style. Shocking and terrorizing people, however? Right up my alley. So instead of seething, I strolled straight over to Achilles’s heel.
To the Ferrantes’ unspoken weakness.
To their innocent, precious Lila.
