Chapter Twenty
Nick
Pinstripe red and black Valentino is the attire for the night. I represent gothic power as I march my way to the event of the year. I feel devilish prestige flow through my veins as I soak in the pureness of the Vatican before walking down the secret chamber toward the bomb shelter. My sinful world is merging with the ancient heavens, and I know right then and there that I may never be able to top this Wonderland ever again.
Everything about Wonderland has been executed to perfection. White roses everywhere with droplets of blood splattered about. It’s not gory or even morbid, but rather quite beautiful. Almost whimsical in appearance. Glitter falls from the extra lighting we had installed to give off a more magical vibe. We have the aroma of a blend of ivy, violet leaf, rose, pink pepper, and ambrette pumped into the room to hide the smell of musk and dank.
It smells like Italy.
It reeks of entitled wealth.
It oozes of absolute decadence, and I fucking love it.
There’s something that screams wealth and prestige about partying in a structure that sits beneath the Pope. Guests have to walk through columns of Roman statues and Catholic antiquities to enter the bomb shelter that literally raises the hairs on my arms as I make my way to the room.
DJ Mikal flew in from Hungary to play the soundtrack for the evening, and people from around the world have entered Wonderland to take part in this wondrous event. I have to say, it may be my biggest masterpiece so far, and I’m saddened that Lyriope isn’t here to see it.
Especially since some of it was her idea.
But tonight isn’t about festivities, and I’m reminded of that fact when Harrison approaches me and tells me that the Morellis are down a hallway in a private chamber. I don’t waste any time, and I have no desire to upset the men by making them wait. My time is not more valuable than theirs, and I’m respectful of that fact.
As I enter the room, I paint my classic smile on my face. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” I say with as much enthusiasm and boisterous energy as I can muster. “Welcome to Wonderland.”
Bryant and Lucian watch my every move as I enter. Not a single man is offering even the slightest emotion. Blank canvases with black hair stare back at me. I should know better than to expect them to show their cards.
“Let’s get straight to the matter at hand,” Bryant says the minute I sit down at the head of the table. “I have business to attend to in Bishop’s Landing and the last place I want to be is at some nightclub.”
“I would say being in the Pope’s bomb shelter is far from just being in a nightclub,” I say, pouring myself some whiskey and then passing the bottle to Lucian who takes it and follows suit. “But yes, let’s get to the reason you called this little meeting.”
“You have forty-eight hours to return Lyriope to me,” Bryant says in an even tone, allowing Lucian to pour him some whiskey with a nod of his head. “Out of respect to our past friendship, we won’t hold this against you, but one minute beyond the forty-eight hours, and my family will no longer be so generous.”
“We’ll let bygones be bygones,” Lucian interjects.
I nod slowly, twisting my lips into a devious smile. “Yes, just as I’ll let the bombing of my boat fall into the category of bygones.”
“Clearly you got the message,” Bryant says, not the least bit apologetic or offering an ounce of denial.
“And why would you believe that Lyriope is with me? Everyone knows she escaped my house. She left during that little act of arson, in fact.”
Lucian narrows his eyes on me. “Let’s not fuck around. You know where she is. I know you. I know your determination. There is no way you simply came to Italy to lick your wounds and move on from her. You forget, my friend. We know you.”
“Yes, my friend. If you know me so well, then you also know that I wouldn’t just hand her over on a silver platter simply because you ask.”
“We aren’t asking,” Bryant states with darkness in his eyes. “Where in this conversation did you get that we are asking? She’s ours. We’re taking her.”
I steeple my fingers in front of my mouth and study each man individually before asking, “And why do you want this woman so badly? You’ve never cared about your bastards before. So why do you even care what happens to Lyriope?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Bryant snaps.
I smirk, because he does actually have to explain himself. “You’ve known of her existence from the beginning. So why now?”
It’s his son who answers. “We’ve heard the Sidorovs want her,” Lucian says. “She’s leverage over us, and we aren’t going to allow anyone to have that power over the Morelli family. We’re removing one of the game pieces from play. Simple as that. We win, they lose, and we all get to move on.”
“Bullshit. You’ve had years to give a shit. And you certainly weren’t around when the Siderov’s first started threatening her. Give me something better than that.”
Bryant stands up. Places his palms on the table and leans toward me. “It was a mistake not to acknowledge her. I don’t make mistakes often, but this… well, it was pride. Among other things. I’m trying to make amends. Doesn’t she want that?”
Fuck. I’m afraid she does want that. She might protest that she doesn’t give a fuck about the Morellis, but she protests too much. It’s clear she wants to be in the family fold. Anyone would want that. Any bastard would want to be acknowledged.