Page 30 of Till Death Do Us Part

“Yes, and he said you’re free as a bird. Sooo . . .” She stares at me eagerly.

I sigh dramatically, blowing into my mug before taking a large sip of tea. It isn’t that I don’t want to go out and have a good time, but the only friends I’ve ever had have been my sisters, and I’m not sure how well my brand ofmetranslates to other people.

“Okay,” I tell her, shrinking back in my seat when she squeals loudly and throws her arms around me. I give her a tentative squeeze in return before pulling away. A night on the town with a group of people I know little about. . .what could possibly go wrong?

Later that day, my bed is a mess of strewn clothes and shoes I can’t choose between. My hair is half done, with loose curls on one side of my head and the other a tangle of my natural waves. I blow out a breath, shoving the strands out of my face as I stare at the mess.

The only information Felicity has given me about where we’re going is that it’s an upscale nightclub and jeans and t-shirts are not an option—which rules out my usual go-to outfit for the pub with my sisters.

A black dress catches my eyes, the material a tight leather. Rosa bought me the dress as a wedding gift, telling me that every Mafia wife needs at least one leather outfit in their wardrobe. It’s so far from anything I would ever wear or have ever worn. For once, I want to be daring, step out of my comfort zone and let myself be someone else, just for one night.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the hanger and place it on the back of the door before cleaning away the clothes and leaving only a handful of shoes to pick from. I get to work finishing my hair, and when I’m halfway through my make-up—courtesy of Felicity dropping me bags of it off earlier—the door opens with a creak and a loud hello.

Dressed in only a dressing gown and her hair tied up in pin curls, I can’t help but look at Felicity questioningly as she moves into my closet.

“You have better clothes than me,” she tells me when she comes out with a red mini dress. “And since I doubt you’ll ever even wear half of them, I’m just helping you out.”

“By borrowing my clothes?” I laugh when she shrugs, sending a cheeky grin my way. Truthfully, I have no issues with her helping herself to my wardrobe. She’s not wrong with her assumption that I’ll probably never wear them all. There are only a few pieces I’ve brought from home, and the rest were already here and bought for me before I arrived in New York.

“Now, what is your drink of choice?”

“What kind of night are we having here?” I ask her, turning back to finish swiping dark powder over my eyelids. “A casual girls’ night?”

“Absolutely fucking not. If we aren’t white-girl wasted by the end of the night and dancing on a table, then I don’t want it.”

“Felicity, I think you just became my new best friend,” I tell her, smiling widely at her through the mirror. “Vodka.”

“A girl after my own heart. Pippa, I think we’re going to have a beautiful friendship. I’m going to browse the kitchen and see what fancy shit we’ve got. Be right back.”

“Welcome to Amnesia,” Felicity says, pushing past a velvet rope barrier and pulling me onto a balcony that overlooks the nightclub. My two guards for the evening—Gio and Luca—remain stoic behind us. They haven’t uttered a single word since we met them at the mansion, nothing to tell me who they are or why I should feel safe in their presence.

That hardly matters, I suppose, since I have no doubts that Leonardo will be snooping around a corner watching anyway. With that thought, I do feel safe.

Felicity hands me a glass filled to the brim with bubbling clear liquid, I tip it down my throat, swallowing a generous amount while I get a good glance around the VIP section. Two large leather sofas fill the space, adorned with plush velvet pillows with glass-top tables before them lined with bottles of champagne and spirits ready to be consumed.

A few bar stools with round wooden tables fill in the empty spaces, and wall sconces cast the space in a dim golden glow, making it welcoming and quiet—away from the busyness of the main floor below.

The club is nice, though a different experience from anything I’ve had before. Back home, I only ever went out with my sisters, and it would be a pub crawl before ending up in the kitchen, dancing on the island in our pyjamas with a bottle of whatever spirit we entertained that night—much to Papá’s dismay.

“Come on, girly,” Felicity shouts, grabbing my hand and tugging me down the stairs with her. “We’re dancing.”

Gio follows us, keeping a short distance but never letting me out of his sight while we writhe around on the dancefloor, moving our bodies in beat with the music flowing through the speakers.

The club is packed to the brim, with bodies swaying around the floor with drinks in their hands. Sweat drips down my neck as the crowd closes in, clinging to the lines of the leather dress as the skirt slides up my thighs until it’s sitting right under the curve of my arsecheeks.

Felicity seems to have the same problem with the red mini she stole from my wardrobe. The satin material clings to her, and with her ample cleavage and curvy hourglass figure, she makes it look much better than I ever could. Paired with her light blonde hair and blue eyes, she could easily be mistaken as Margot Robbie’s sister—and I’m only slightly jealous of that fact.

For the next hour, we alternate between drinking and dancing, and before long my vision is blurred and my speech slurred. A couple of Felicity’s friends have joined us, each one as beautiful as the last. Georgina, a friend she knows from school, threads our arms together and tugs me to the outside smoking area.

“Do you smoke?” she asks, sliding a small metal tin from her handbag and opening the contents onto the table. I shake my head, but when she pulls a cigarette out, my curious nature gets the best of me, and I take it off her with a small smile.

My gaze locks on her, noting the way she lights the tip before pulling a generous breath in with the smoke. Mirroring her actions, I place the stick between my lips, inhaling a large amount as she lights the tip for me.

My lungs burn as it goes down, a large cough bursting from me. The taste is bitter, though not horrible but oddly familiar. Not something I’ve tasted before, but I’ve definitely smelt it—coming from Rosa’s bedroom.

“This isn’t just a cigarette, is it?” I turn to Georgina, raising a brow. At least I think I do, with the alcohol running through my veins, I’m not sure what I’m actually doing. Felicity answers, dropping down onto the bench beside me and pulling the cigarette from my hand.

“Nope. You’re getting your first taste of weed.”

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