I look up to the second floor of the mansion and take stock of the security guards among the couples admiring the view of the vast and, I have to admit, impressive gardens. Judging by my count, Constantine isn’t taking any chances.
We pass a group of women, and my brother gives them a sly grin. They’re attractive, I’ll give them that. Not my type though.
Not that it matters what my type is. My princess has been locked away in her tower for four years now. Just one more to go before I ride up and claim her.
Except that I’m not the white knight of her story.
I’m her monster.
“Maybe this party won’t prove to be such a bore after all,” Dominic says before we’ve even made it to the ballroom. He breaks off toward the women, choosing the most attractive one—obviously—and sweeping two flutes of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray on his way.
The inside of this place is a tribute to opulence and excess. It’s beautifully done, I have to say. It’s funny, when you grow up with money, you can always spot those who didn’t, no matter their status in life now. There’s a greediness about them. Something in their eyes as they ogle everything in sight. It’s about old money vs. new money and has nothing to do with how that money was acquired.
I don’t miss the eyes that follow me or the whispers in my wake as I head through the throngs of masked men and women toward the bar at the other end of the room where I hope to drink myself to oblivion before boredom kills me.
2
Lucia
I quietly slip into the bedroom and lock the door behind me, my heart beating fast at the excitement of it. Which, when I think about it, is a little pathetic. But I need a few minutes alone. After four years locked away at that nun’s school, I admit, tonight is a little overwhelming.
Not that anyone here knows who I am. I wonder even if they saw my face if they’d recognize me. Remember me. Most likely they’ve forgotten that I ever existed at all.
I was the story four years ago when the war between my family and the Benedetti family was won and not by us. The same year that twisted contract was signed, and my fate sealed.
Which is why I’m still pinching myself that I made it tonight. The nuns keep a close eye on me. They don’t want to take a chance that I’ll slip away because even they, in all their holy bullshit, know the Benedettis wouldn’t care one way or the other that they’re devoted servants of God if they lost me.
But what servant of God does the bidding of the freaking mafia, anyway?
I pick up the half-full bottle of champagne I snagged and drink straight from it. I try to remind myself of this when I feel divided about what I’m going to do tonight, because if I succeed, they will definitely face Franco Benedetti’s wrath. It’s not like the nuns are horrible to me; they’re not, but it doesn’t make me any less a prisoner.
And besides, I’m days away from turning twenty. I deserve to have a little fun.
I admit I’m a little jealous of Tinsley and her coming-out party the likes of which I’ve never seen. I won’t even have so much as a cupcake to celebrate my birthday with the nuns.
Abstinence.
They can have it.
I peel my mask off and switch on the light. I’m upstairs in one of the bedrooms. I’m going to guess it’s not one of the family’s rooms because it’s too neutral, and a quick glance in the large closet only shows empty hangers inside. A guest room.
My room at the all-girls Catholic school is not even as big as the closet. Or as nice.
It just makes me hate Salvatore Benedetti and the Benedetti family that much more.
The Constantine estate is amazing. Luxury like I’ve never seen before is center of mind everywhere I turn, even in this unused room with its rich curtains, carpets, and thick duvet on the canopy bed. And the people in attendance, it’s something to take in. Money to excess and the beauty and power that go with it.
I only got the invitation because Tinsley and I were friends before my life was turned upside down. She’s one of the few people I keep in touch with. I’m not talking to my family. They’re a bunch of traitors, all of them.
I drop onto the edge of the bed, bouncing once, remembering what comfort felt like. Some of the feathers on my dress float then fall to the carpeted floor, and I run my hands over my long skirt. It’s beautiful. I have Tinsley to thank for this too. I couldn’t afford to pay for a dress like this anymore.
My arms, chest and shoulders are covered in gold dust, and the mask hides most of my face. I wish I didn’t have to wear it, but it’s the only way I can be here. I can’t take a chance that someone recognizes me.
Forgetting about the wings at the back of my dress, I almost lie down. I just barely catch myself before crushing them and righting myself again. Even if I can’t lie down, at least it’s quiet in here. I wonder if all their bedrooms have been soundproofed, because I don’t even hear murmurs of the party outside.
A small ding startles me, and I turn to find the clock against the wall announcing the hour. Eleven-thirty.
My heart falls.
I expire in thirty minutes.
Well, I need to be at the front doors in thirty minutes ready to head back to the nunnery. It gives me a strange satisfaction to call the school that. At exactly midnight, a car will come for me, and I’ll be sent back to serve out the rest of my sentence.
One more year before the bastard comes for me.
Salvatore Benedetti.
The man who owns me.
I raise the bottle like a toast at the thought of him and drink what’s left in it because tonight feels like a victory, if a bittersweet one. If he only knew where I was. What I planned. Because fuck him. I’ve been humiliated, traded like cattle, poked and prodded and locked away since I was sixteen years old to await my fate.
Tonight, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get the goods he thinks he owns. The thing he stole.
Part of me is tempted to run away. To find some normal clothes in one of these rooms and change out of my swan costume and just walk off the property. It would be easy to do. But I made Tinsley a promise that I wouldn’t do that, and I’ll keep it because I don’t want to get her in trouble. If her mother knew I was here, that she helped to arrange my escape, well, I think she’d kill her and help the Benedetti bastards hunt me down.
The minute hand moves with a soft tick.
I get up, because I don’t have a moment to waste. I walk to the window to look outside over the grounds.
Guests have spilled out of the house and onto the manicured garden below. They drink champagne and talk in the soft glow of lanterns that I’d swear are little fairies lighting up the trees. Everyone is talking to someone. Two by two or little groups, some couples even kissing—and more—in dark corners.
I sigh. I desperately want to join them, but I don’t know a soul. And they can’t know I’m here or the Benedetti family will rain down its wrath.
And so, I pick up my mask, adjust it to cover my face and am about to walk back out into the hallway when I see another door, this one built into the wall so unless you look at exactly the right angle, you’d miss the cut-out altogether.
I go to it and study the wallpaper closely. It’s beautiful. I’ve seen a painting similar to the scene but can’t remember the name of the artist. The nuns would frown upon that. So would Franco Benedetti. He’s paying a fortune to educate me, I guess so I don’t bore his son. Not that conversation will be the sort of entertainment he’ll be expecting, I’m sure.