Page 228 of Poor Little Rich Girl

“If you have a problem, I suggest you talk to Nero,” I shoot back. “He’s the one who suggested our arrangement.”

“Please, Darlene, hush.” Nero sets a bottle of Dom Perignon in front of her. “Drink and be merry, for tomorrow we bathe in blood. Hello, Eli. I see you’ve chosen to declare your allegiance to the August family. It’s a pity, but I hope you’re still going to work for me.”

I don’t like the glint in Nero’s eye. I don’t like it at all. Now that he knows Eli and I are an item, he might assume I sent Eli to spy on him. Which is true, but not for the reasons he thinks.

Eli stares at his plate.

Instead of sitting down, Nero comes over to our table and drops to his knee between us. I see he’s holding a perfect blood-red rose in his chubby fingers. Eli fists the tablecloth.

“My dear future wife.” Nero pins the rose to my dress. His fingers dive under the fabric, stroking the curve of my breast.

I wrap my fingers around his wrist and apply pressure – not enough to hurt, but enough to twist his wrist away and make it clear I won’t hesitate to break bones if required. “Touch me without permission again, and you’ll learn what I’m capable of.”

Nero tosses his head back and laughs. Why does he find everything so funny? It’s disarming. I want him to get pissed off and punch someone or throw stuff, like a normal hot-blooded dude.

“You’ll be my wife soon enough,” he whispers. “And then you’ll find out just how I bite.”

“Gross. I agreed to marry you, but I’m not sleeping with you.”

It’s my last hope, that maybe they’ll both agree to a marriage in name only. But then how will Nero wield power over me?

“That’s what marriage means, my dear. I plan to plant a baby in that beautiful belly of yours. Imagine, a gorgeous wee boy with your blue eyes and my olive skin, tying our two families together for the next generation.”

Over my dead fucking body.

Actually, over your dead body. But you don’t realize it yet.

I don’t say what I’m thinking, because I need to play his game until it’s my time to strike. Instead, I drag my finger along Nero’s arm. Darlene Hart’s eyes stab daggers in my back, but it’ll take more than desperate housewives to make me bleed. I lean in close, breathing hot and heavy against Nero’s ear. “You and I need to set up a meeting. We have business to discuss.”

“But of course.” He licks his lips. I suppress a shudder. “Have Eli arrange it with my daughter. She knows my schedule.”

I allow my hand to linger on his arm before the crawling in my skin gets too intense to ignore. As I draw back, I catch Constantine watching us. He doesn’t let his emotions show on his face, but I can see the cogs turning in his head. He and Daddy always had a good relationship. His fortunes have slid backward with the alliance between Brutus and Nero, and I wonder what he makes of Nero’s display tonight.

Constantine’s gaze drops to the rose. For a moment, a flare of anger burns in his eyes.

Good. I want to see what Constantine Dio will do when he feels his back’s against the wall. Let them fight over me like boys throwing their toys out of the playpen. Unlike my princes, my future husbands don’t know how to share. Perhaps they’ll take each other out and all my problems will magically vanish.

A horn sounds from the arena – I recognise the harsh sound of the metal instrument my father sourced from a black-market dealer in Italy. The lights fade to black, and the noise dims as spotlights encircle the arena. Glittering fairy lights flicker to life around our balcony. A lone figure strides out onto the gangway, raising his hands to raucous applause.

It’s Antony. He tosses his head back, drinking in their heathen adoration. He leans over and blows a kiss to someone in the crowd. Antony looks hot as fuck in his elegant suit, that bloodstained grin spreading across his lips. He’ll be beating the ladies off with a stick, but I think of the woman’s voice on the phone and wonder if there’s a certain someone who’s stolen his heart.

“Welcome, villains and reprobes, rogues and malefactors, degenerates and libertines, my Lords and Ladies of Chaos. Tonight, we honor the bountiful gods in our annual Saturnalia feast. This is a particularly special event for the August family – my beloved cousin, who we all believed dead, has returned to claim what’s rightfully hers. In honor of her return, and of the bounty gifted to us by the Triumvirate, I offer up this sacrifice.”

Antony snaps his fingers. The lights go up on the arena, where a man is shoved into the sand. He spins around and hammers his fists on the door, but there’s no escape now. The trapdoor creaks open, and even though I know what’s coming, I still feel that familiar rush of awe and horror when the lion rips his throat out and decorates the arena with his guts. Beside me, Eli’s fingers grip my knee like a vise.

A parade of fighters enter the ring, hacking and slashing at each other over the man’s ruined body. Platters of meats and cheese and all kinds of sweet delicacies make their way through the surging crowd. I peer over the edge, watching my people leap onto the waiters, stuffing food into their mouths, licking their fingers, smearing sauces and jellies on their skin.

Other platters circle, too. Naked women chained to large silver trays are carried between the tables. Men crowd around as the trays are set down, pawing at tits and biting at flesh. Holes in the dishes allow them to fuck every orifice. I notice smaller silver dishes holding rocks of Grey Death.

Naked men with oiled chests and horned headdresses roam amongst the debauchery. A woman lifts her skirts and commands one of them to take her. He spreads her legs and pounds his cock inside her, right there in the middle of the crowd.

It’s wicked, wild, Bacchanalian in all its pagan filth.

It’s mine.

I rub my legs together as my clit hums with need. I’ve half a mind to grab my three princes and join the fun. I bite my lip until I taste blood, thinking of Noah in his horned mask bending me over a table and making me hurt in all the best ways. But I’m a Queen now. I need to show restraint before my subjects. Later tonight, when we’re back at Malloy Manor, I can unleash my inner pagan.

Our meals are served. Waiters fill our glasses to the brim and offer trays containing a plethora of drugs. Below, the arena is flooded with water and two teams of fighters stage a pirate battle, complete with real wooden ships. When it’s all over they have to fish the bodies out of the crimson water with a long-handled net. The tang of fresh-spilled blood scents the air, and I breathe in deep lungfuls.

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