I see deceptive white accents and enough fucking roses to choke someone to death on the stench. But beneath that? I see power. The massive hall alone is large enough to fit the entire floor of the hotel Vin and I booked, with room to spare—and it’s just a fraction of the manor itself. Well known for his swagger, Mischa spared no expense to celebrate his daughter’s exploits. Decadence oozes from every corner of the space, from the ivory tablecloths to even more sprawling floral centerpieces.
I figure it’ll take months of showers before I stop smelling like fucking flowers.
But roses aren’t enough to sway the men gathered here. No, this gesture of fatherly love serves another purpose entirely. Even someone as disconnected from our world as Vincenzo can instantly pick up on it.
“He must have more money than God,” he mutters in awe, and I’m reminded of the boy I used to be who’d craved to own just that. “And a lot of sway to get you to even enter the same mile radius as Antonio Salvatore.”
“And then some,” I grudgingly admit. “He’s only been active in this territory for about six years, but he now controls the entire mafiya, which—their exploits combined—gives him a hefty sum of dark money to draw on. Not to mention that his allies outnumber everyone else two to one. Only a fool would dare to challenge him.”
And under his control, this city has transformed, forgetting all about the legacy of the famiglia and its once feared ex-leader. Or so I’d hoped.
Maybe I’d been the naïve one, thinking that I could quietly return and just meld into the business sector, newly focused on legitimate enterprise. I’d tried that—only to be thwarted at nearly every fucking turn. Someone doesn’t want me back, and if I were a betting man, I’d place my money on Antonio Salvatore.
The funny part is that we came up together, both pupils under Giovanni’s tutelage. There were three of us once—Antonio, myself, and another man I considered to be my brother, Gino Mangenello. While I went on to lead in the old man’s place, Antonio was too busy lusting after everything I had to achieve anything on his own. Some might say he still won in the end. Now he rules over the fragments of the famiglia, but it’s a shadow of its former glory. Case and point—he’s here sniffing after Mischa just like I am.
I’m sure he’s done everything he could to scuttle my latest deal, but I managed it regardless, and now I own legitimate shares in the city’s port. It isn’t much, but it’s something, more than enough revenue to fund Vin’s education. With a new advertisement campaign, I hope to extend that holding.
And with Mischa Stepanov on my side? No one could stand in my way, and I technically wouldn’t be breaking any of the vows I swore to myself all those years ago. Perhaps, just bending them a little.
“A fool would challenge someone like that,” Vin agrees, a note of seriousness in his voice. “Which is why we just snuck into his party even though Fabio told you we couldn’t come?”
“We didn’t sneak in,” I counter gruffly. Spying a man dressed in black lurking on the outskirts of the room, I point him out with a grim warning, “Do you really think we’d make it past the front door if we had? Besides, Fabio always says no to everything. He worries worse than you do.”
“Fine, we didn’t sneak in,” he admits. “We just kindly hijacked Uncle Fabio’s invitation and spent five grand on a silver mirror to impress some crime lord’s daughter.”
“It’s a nice gift,” I say grudgingly, eyeing the pale blue wrapping paper and its nice white bow. The saleslady was right—it looks fitting for any princess, be her legitimate royalty or not. Meeting Vin’s disapproving stare, I shrug. “Here is another lesson for you—in this world, my boy? You’ve got to pay to play.”
“What would you call it? A down payment on my future?” His sneer reveals his true thoughts on that statement, but I smirk, satisfied. At least he’s thinking like me for once.
“Exactly. And you might like this girl. I hear she studies in Vienna, at a school just as fucking pretentious as yours.” He purses his lips at that, but I know him well enough to sense he’s intrigued. Vinny admires smarts the way most men do tits. “She’s a musician too. Blond. Beautiful, and—”
“And she’s the kind of girl who has her father throw her some stuffy ass party for clout.”
I bark out a laugh. Every now and again, he reminds me that beneath the book smarts, he’s one hundred percent Vanici. “Like that makes a difference? Now, look sharp!” Ruffling his hair again, I shove him forward.
Speaking of his future, the time for jokes is over. Switching to a sterner tone, I tell him, “No heiress will pick you out of the crowd if you stick to me like a baby up his mother’s skirt. Take this gift and go mingle—” I hand him the box. “And stop slouching. Remember who you are. Vanicis cower before no one.”
“Except Mischa Stepanov.”
“Hey!” I smack him on the back so hard he coughs. “No one. You got that?”
“Whatever you say, Don,” he mutters under his breath. Nonetheless, he strolls off with his head held high, the way I taught him.
The same way my father taught me—Vanicis always keep our fucking chins up. You make eye contact with only those who matter. Shove your way past anyone bold enough or dumb enough to stand in your way.
Bow to no one.
We may not have much, but we are Vanici.
Daughter of a Stepanov or not, this mafiya princess will be lucky to have him. Willow is her name, and the things I told Vin weren’t all bullshit. They say she’s blond like her father. Thin. A swan, apart from the family of raptors she sprung from. For what it’s worth, they’ve kept her out of the public eye, limiting the information known about her. I hear she’s beautiful, at least. Like Vin, she runs in better social circles than the criminals her family controls, attending the best schools in the world.
Even if he won’t admit it, Vincenzo deserves a woman like that. With his pretty pianist wife, he can play doctor all he wants, and an alliance with the Stepanovs will give him a hand up in the world I would have killed to possess at his age. Nestled in their powerful orbit, he’ll be untouchable.
More importantly, he won’t have to scrape like me.
He won’t be like me.
The only problem?
As Vincenzo stated, we weren’t exactly invited.
Why? I’d be a fool not to consider the most obvious of reasons—my reputation has preceded me, even after all these years. It would certainly explain why the man has rebuffed all my attempts to meet and why Fabio balked when I even suggested attending this little party.
Perhaps Mischa doesn’t want to associate with such a monster, though from the rumors, he’s no saint either. The same man who singlehandedly fought a bloody war for over a decade doesn’t seem like the type to shy away from an old phantom from the past. Besides, if the man saw me as a real threat, I doubt we would have made it past security at all.
They’re professional, the kind of men it costs good money to keep. Loyal. Subtle. Intimidating. A least twenty men cover this room alone. Dressed in black, they stand guard at strategic positions throughout as a constant reminder of the vigilance a man like Mischa lives under—and for a good reason. In our world, even a girl’s debutante party could invite danger.