“Let’s drink to freedom!” Ivy yelled over the pounding music of the dance club.
“I hear ya, sista.”
We clinked our glasses and sipped our fruity martinis. Three days ago, Tony and Rocco were recalled to Chicago because Luca’s power play with Moscow was over and the new management he was banking on gained control. Though I was fond of my bodyguards, they cramped my movements and tattled on me to my uncle.
I loved dancing and we’d been dancing for an hour when I noticed my friend was favoring her right foot. Poor woman didn’t wear shoes suitable for clubbing. They were killing her feet, but she didn’t want to rain down on my night of freedom and, in true best friend style, suffered for it instead.
Without making it obvious that I’d noted her discomfort, I told her I was tired and dragged her to the bar. We both bopped to the music in the comfort of our barstools while saving our feet from blistering.
“Is Daniel joining us?” I inquired in a casual tone, trying to keep hopefulness out of it.
“He’s wrapping up a deal with a shipping line,” Ivy said.
“It’s midnight,” I said. “Your brother is a such workaholic.” It had been a week since I’d heard from Matteo. I guess he finally got the message. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed that he gave up easily.
But the little time we spent together seemed to work. Daniel paid me more attention. Nothing too obvious, or maybe it was my imagination. He rarely joined us when we went clubbing. Normally he left it to Ivy to entertain overseas clients, but since the group of Japanese businessmen were an expensive contract, Daniel tagged along the night before. But tonight was purely for fun. We were at a popular club in a shadier side of Manhattan. Not Daniel’s scene at all and I was surprised when he asked us where we were going. He asked the question while looking at me in a way that made my stomach clench with excitement, and I thought I would pass out when he said he would join us. Plus, he prolonged our locked gazes before he smiled his signature half grin and turned away.
No, that definitely wasn’t my imagination.
“Midnight is nothing.” Ivy sipped her grapefruit martini. “He usually works until Saturday morning, even through the weekend.”
“He should slow down.”
Ivy angled her eyes at me and her expression said she’d tried doing that ad nauseam.
“Keep trying.” I laughed and picked up the olive from my drink and sucked it off the stick. “I’ve been around you so long, and by osmosis, I know your brother’s schedule.” I counted off starting with my index finger. “Alarm at five a.m. Half an hour on the treadmill. Half an hour on weights. Half an hour for shower and grooming and other stuff. And by seven he’s in front of his laptop checking the stock market and emails.”
My friend rolled her eyes. “Don’t forget coffee.”
“How could I? That’s one of his few indulgences. Fancy java.” Her brother had the whole barista dream machine in all his residences, and every office he had from New York to Hong Kong.
“I don’t mind being his assistant for the last quarter. That’s usually your busiest time anyway,” I said. “Maybe he needs someone who has his health interests at heart and not because of the paycheck. And not family because stubborn people rarely listen to family.”
“You could.” Ivy regarded me thoughtfully over the rim of her drink. “Although Daniel said he’s relinquishing control of that huge real estate deal to the De Luccis.”
I tried to keep my smile nonchalant and took a sip of my drink. It would be easier for Daniel to make his move on me too with the proximity. Over the last few days since Matteo teased me with a possibility of abandoning my duty to the family, the thought of a future with Daniel played over and over in my head. Why not?
Matteo got the reaction he needed which was why he immediately backed off.
And Daniel stepped up his game. I should be more patient…and more accessible.
“There he is!” Ivy raised her arm and waved.
“Where?” I craned my neck, my heart leaping with a giddiness I hadn’t felt since my high school crush smiled at me.
The bar was packed two people deep. Sadly, my skirt was too tight, and it was an effort not to move without a good chance of ripping it. I was too comfortable in my seat to perch on the foot rung to look anyway. Besides, I didn’t want to look desperate. A little demureness might help. Maybe that was what Daniel wanted. He needed a wife who was…no…he didn’t want a meek wife, did he?
I took special attention with my appearance tonight, making sure my makeup and hair were on point, but by the second hour and no Daniel, I stopped caring. Maybe it was the alcohol and the sheer energy of the club.
“What is he doing with him?” Irritation suffused Ivy’s words.
I was in the process of taking another sip of my drink when I saw the him Ivy was referring to.
The alcohol went down the wrong pipe. Good thing I grabbed the drink napkin before I embarrassed myself. I turned toward my friend, coughing and trying not to choke, but my eyes teared up.
Ivy fell silent. She was annoyed with Daniel. But the bulk of her displeasure was directed at her brother’s company.
“Ladies,” Daniel said. A hand clasped my shoulder and I raised my arm to gesture I needed a second. Ugh, what if my makeup smeared and gave me raccoon eyes? Dammit, I didn’t care.
I turned toward Daniel, beamed at him, and gave him a hug. “Sorry, wrong pipe,” I said by his ear, glancing past his shoulder into the eyes of Matteo De Lucci.
The corners of Matteo’s mouth tipped up in a mocking slant, and my hackles rose. Was I forever a source of his derisive amusement? Not that I cared. I pulled away and asked Daniel, “Did my mascara smear?”
I batted my eyes for good measure. I could feel Ivy’s eye roll without looking at her.
“Looks fine to me,” Daniel said with a puzzled-male expression. Surely he wasn’t this clueless with all the models he dated.
Maybe the cluelessness was a front.
Maybe because it was me.
Maybe our dynamics were changing because he was finally, finally seeing me more than his sister’s best friend.
Flustered with the slew of “maybes” coursing through my head, I turned to Ivy for a mascara-check and to regain my composure before I embarrassed her and myself by doing something stupid.
Like, I don’t know…kiss Daniel.
She gave me a thumbs up. “Waterproof. Aren’t you glad I convinced you to try it?” Waterproof mascara irritated my eyes, and I hated spending money on makeup I’d throw out regularly, but apparently expensive ones had their merits.
“What are you ladies having?” Daniel asked.
“Martinis.”
“Sounds good to me.” He glanced behind him. “De Lucci?”
“Scotch.”
The guys ordered their drinks.
“Where’s your partner in crime?” Ivy asked Matteo.
“He’s got business tonight,” he said. “What’s the matter? You miss him?”
“Pu-lease.” Ivy turned in her seat to ask the bartender for water. Her low tolerance for alcohol made her cheeks flush after one drink, and sometimes that was enough to make her break out in hives if she didn’t preempt it with an allergy pill. “I just want to know if my evening is going to be ruined.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“One of you is the bad brother,” Ivy replied. “It’s just the odds.”
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Daniel needs a wingman.” Matteo winked at his friend.
“What?” Confusion rattled my brain. Did he mean with me? Wasn’t Matteo supposed to pay attention to me and make Daniel jealous? How could he be his wingman?
“Oh, don’t tell me she’s here,” Ivy groused.
A sludge of tacks and distress congealed in my throat. “Who?”
Ivy pointed to the dance floor. “There she is.”
My eyes followed the direction of their gazes to Korean pop princess KC-Yee. She wasn’t as well known in the U.S. as she was in Asia and that was why she hadn’t been mobbed. Daniel and Ivy brought her name up frequently in relation to their marketing efforts in Asia for their luxury department stores and boutiques.
I sensed Matteo watching my reaction. I angled my head his way and met his gaze straight on, even when the tacks dug deeper, turning distress into despair, making it bleed into my chest.
His eyes were inscrutable, his jaw hard. I would even say, he was pissed. Wait, why was he pissed?
The air around the bar became suffocating. I drained the rest of my martini.
“Watch my seat.” I slid off my stool and grabbed Daniel, planting him in it, trying to act natural, talk natural, and not like my emotions had plunged to my toes after reaching an initial high.
“Where are you going?” Ivy asked. “I’ll come with you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I couldn’t face my friend at that moment. I was barely managing a neutral face. I felt exposed under Matteo’s regard and that exacerbated the reality of the moment. Because he knew. Those damned piercing eyes of his were telling me he knew I had hoped. That in the past week, I’d fixated on a future with Daniel. “You’ve been complaining about your feet hurting. I just need fresh air.”
“I’ll go with her,” Matteo said. He was the last person I wanted with me, but I didn’t have the composure to argue and inserted myself into the thickening crowd. I cursed my tight skirt and my short legs and my high heels from preventing a fast escape from heartache, at the betrayal nipping at my heels.
Ivy never encouraged my crush on her brother. At that time, I had chosen my path that would lead to an arranged marriage.
But in the last week, I had taken a detour. Daniel had shown signs of romantic interest, but he hadn’t declared any feelings which was making me question if I’d imagined his increased affection.
It was Matteo I felt betrayed by the most. He had to know that Daniel was interested in the pop princess. Didn’t he mention he was privy to Daniel’s extra-curricular activities?
I passed the ladies’ room and strutted straight for the exit that led to the balcony. Huddles of clubgoers dotted the expansive outdoor area, but it wasn’t crowded enough to prevent me from seeking a level of isolation. The cool September breeze was just what I needed to clear my head and hopefully regain my pride.
“Sera…”
Without looking at Matteo, I demanded, “Why are you here?”
“I’m sorry.”
I faced him. “For what?”
“For misreading Daniel.” He nodded in the direction of the club. “Look, he might still be in denial.”
The thread holding my composure snapped. “Stop! You’re trying to make me feel better. And you know how lame that sounds? It’s embarrassing.” The pain in my chest migrated into a throb in my head, and my cheeks were burning like I’d walked into a furnace. I wished none of the past week had happened. Mortified by what I allowed myself to hope, I acted like a teenager whose crush finally noticed her. I forgot who I was.
Luca’s voice from long ago echoed in my head.
“You’re a Moretti. You do not cry over a boy.”
“Leave me alone. I hear you got what you wanted.”
Matteo shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the balcony railings. “I’m fine right here.”
I huffed a bitter laugh. “So you can witness my humiliation?”
“That was never my intent.”
“So what? Are you going to knock some sense into Daniel so he can forget his pop princess?”
He raised a brow. “You want me to?”
Oh God, Sera, this is what your daydreaming has reduced you to. I directed my ire at the man in front of me. His scheme landed me in this emotional quicksand. “You used me for your end, it’s only fair that you help me with mine.”
“I used you?” His brow arched. “You left me holding a three-thousand-dollar check, and to get closer to you, I had to make a donation to the Merciful Sisters.”
“Consider it penance for your sins.”
He barked a laugh. “You probably have more sins that need penance than I do.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He invaded my space, the heady aftershave I was trying to ignore assaulted my senses. This man smelled so damn fine. After the time we shared at the soup kitchen, I found it hard to hate him.
“Tell me why you were at St. Catherine’s last Friday,” he asked.
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“You feel guilty about helping your uncle and Chicago.”
My chin jutted up at him. “I don’t know what you’re smoking, but back the hell off.”
Our lips were millimeters apart, and my breathing hitched, but I refused to be the first one to back away.
His head lowered.
“Don’t you dare,” I whispered.
“Aren’t you a little curious?” His mouth ghosted over mine.
“No, thanks.”
He inhaled sharply, and before I knew what was happening, he was shielding me from someone.
A group of someones.
I peered around him.
The newcomer looked familiar. Like Matteo, he was in a close-fitting suit. Unlike Matteo, he was surrounded by a group of men that screamed mafia soldiers.
“Matteo De Lucci,” the man sneered. “Might I have my fiancée back?”
I realized who this was.
Santino Conte.
