Page 5 of Big Bad Wolf

In our last year of prep school, we applied to the prestigious Fashion Institute and got in by the skin of our teeth. They’re highly selective, and the admissions process was grueling. When we received our award letters, we celebrated for days.

Unfortunately, my father had other plans. He said fashion was an inappropriate profession that might lead to possible scandals. I never understood what he meant since he’s spent his career living on the fringe of the New York mob, but he put his foot down and sent me to Columbia University. He wanted me to study politics, but I chose business instead.

After graduation, Tasha snagged a coveted position as a design assistant for John-Paul Armitage, a menswear designer who recently branched into women’s fashion. He's a horrible pain in the ass, but she reminds herself daily that she’s learning the ropes.

Sybil landed a modeling job to pay the bills and stop taking money from her parents. Currently, I work for my father, but all that will change when I turn twenty-three and come into my mother’s inheritance. I’ll have enough money to pursue my dreams and stop living in fear of disappointing my father.

“That crazy driver picked us up on 78th Street, schlepped us into Harlem, then dragged us to Brooklyn. I tried to speak up, but no one listened, and Tasha was so engrossed with something on her phone she didn’t notice we’d crossed the bridge until we were in Bensonhurst!” Sybil bristles with anger as she grabs the menu and quickly scans it. “Please, I’m begging you. Choose what you want before the waiter returns. I starved myself all week for this meal, and I wasn’t expecting to eat so late. Now that the shows are over, I can stop subsisting on water and steamed veggies.”

“Paris was horrible, Scarlett. The city is breathtaking; the locals were tolerable, but the industry people drove me up the wall. Maybe I need to rethink my career choices. I can’t stand the bullshit pretension.” Tasha dips her bread into a bowl of fresh marinara and sighs.

“I hope you didn’t feel abandoned, lady. We both sent you messages and tried to call, but nothing went through. It was the strangest thing.” Sybil removes her phone from her evening clutch and shows me the proof. There are eight messages with red exclamation marks—error messages—beside them.

“She was too busy getting it on with a Russian gangster,” Sybil scolds, then flashes her phone screen, pointing to the four missed calls that apparently never went through.

My brows crease with confusion as I reach for my phone and check my settings. There are no missed calls or text messages. “I’ve got nothing! I wonder who else tried to call me?”

“Do you have other friends?” Sybil jokes, happier now that the server has replenished the bread basket. But there’s truth in jest. They’re pretty much my only true friends.

“You know how my stepmother gets when she can’t reach me. She and my dad are always on pins and needles, waiting for me to disgrace the family and ruin the next election,” I murmur, then reboot my phone, hoping this is only a fluke. I pay too much for my plan to have glitches that leave me vulnerable. What if I need to call 911? What if I were stranded at night?

“We really need to live a little. We’re missing out on our best years. This is the time when we sow our oats and send nudes to men who share them on social media after we dump them for their best friends,” Sybil rants, sipping wine between sentences.

“Boy, that is really specific.” I lean back to make room for the server to set my plate of lasagna.

“Don’t listen to her, Scarlett. We’re not missing out on much,” Tasha buzzes in, waving her hand to silence Sybil. “We’re not dull. We work our asses off. This is the wildest night we’ve had in ages. But we’re due for a good time. Just wait and see. Soon, our social lives will catch up with our professional lives.”

“Okay, enough chit-chat,” Sybil exclaims, wiggling gleefully as she inhales the aromatic steam from her large plate of lasagna.

“Yes, Sybil’s right. Dig in. We need to eat so we can walk some of this off before the ballet. I want to enjoy the evening. You know how much it means to me.” I cut into my lasagna, still plagued by thoughts of Vasily and desperate to tell the girls more.

It's better not to read too much into it. I’ll probably never see him again.

ChapterFour

“We have a deal, La Morte. You can complain all you want, but I see through your bullshit. Don’t pretend spending a few hours with a beautiful woman is a huge inconvenience.” The words poison my insides and make my blood pressure escalate to dangerous levels. I don’t want this asshole anywhere near my Scarlett, but Davide La Morte is smart enough not to cross me. I can’t say the same for any of the pretty boys her parents choose.

Davide exhales slowly, showing obvious disdain for the mundane task of courting a woman he’ll never touch. At least not if I have anything to do with it. “Don’t bust my balls. The only reason I’m going along with your stupid plan is because I owe you. But I’m telling you now, it won’t work. And don’t say I didn’t warn you if she falls in love with me.” He rolls his eyes and bends forward, lining up the pool stick with the six ball in the corner pocket. He’s not joking. The arrogant prick really believes he’s God’s gift to women.

“Settle the fuck down,Romeo.You may be pretty on the outside, but once any woman spends an hour with that inflated head, they run for the fucking hills. Scarlett is too smart to fall for you. Just be yourself, and I’m sure she’ll despise you.” I focus on the ten ball, strike it against the cushion, and watch it fly into the side pocket. It will be a cold day in hell when I lose a game to La Morte.

Davide and I are not friends. We have a purely transactional relationship based on mutual distrust and loathing. We’ve tolerated one another because I saved his younger sister’s life five years ago. He repaid the favor when his father’s connections got one of my men out of a jam. After that, I helped him, and then he helped me. We’re so stubborn. This quid pro quo will probably continue until one of us dies. Neither wants to be indebted to the other.

The La Morte family comes from another world. It's not supernatural, but no less unreal. They’re one of the wealthiest families in the world but prefer to fly under the radar. The fewer people who know about them, the more they can do as they please. They’re Italian, but not mafia. Despite their close connections to the five families, they pay fealty to anyone. They’re ruthless behind closed doors and the most notorious assassins on speed dial. I know not to cross them, but that doesn’t mean I won’t use their position and resources to my advantage.

“You'd be surprised how charming I can be when properly motivated,” he says, his perfectly white teeth appearing through a sinister grin.

I know I'll regret it, and there’s no way I’d resort to these measures if my father hadn’t appeared at my doorstep early this morning to offer bagels, coffee, and unpleasant news.

According to my father's sources, Senator Rossi has spent the last few days touring the who’s who of the New York Social Registry in hopes of finding a suitable husband for his daughter. Ever since someone spotted him leaving Dante Serpico’s palatial home, he’s taken extra care to reform his image. Anyone with political aspirations will want to take him up on his offer and try to pawn off one of their pampered sons on my gorgeous girl. They would have to be blind to pass up the chance to make her their wife. Of course, they'll never find out. I'd never allow it.

My father’s visit lit a fire under my ass. He doesn’t typically involve himself in my love life but thought it best to warn me before I develop stronger feelings for her and screw up his delicate truce. Perhaps he thought his announcement would deter me and force me to abandon my obsession. There’s no chance of that. He’s a year too late to stage such a pathetic intervention. What little heart I carry in my chest no longer belongs to me.

“Let’s be serious for a moment,” I murmur through tight lips as I align my stick with the white cue ball, ready to shoot the eight ball into the corner pocket. “The only thing you need to do is suck up to her father and pretend you’re interested. Don’t spend time alone with her. And don’t fucking propose. Just string her parents along and distract them from what she’s doing with me.”

Davide cocks an eyebrow and waits for me to sink the ball. “Propose? I don’t believe in marriage or monogamy. It’s unnatural and only leads to suffering on both sides. I don’t think I could utter the words as a joke.”

I scoff. “People always say that until they meet someone who changes their mind. But that won’t happen to you because Scarlett Rossi is not an option.” I deepen the tone of my voice and stare at him coldly. “I’m fucking serious. One false move and I’ll pull your heart out of your ass.”

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