They immediately get to work and the four of us trail back inside, leaving the front door wide open while the catering company has the brains to drive right around back to the staff kitchen entrance. They let themselves in and get busy while I gape at the boys. “A ball?” I question. “What the hell am I supposed to wear to a ball?”
Marcus grins. “You’ve seen that massive collection Ariana has upstairs, right?” he says before pulling out a black AMEX card and handing it over. “But if none of them are doing it for you, buy one of your own and have it delivered.”
I stare at the gold card, never having seen one of these in the flesh. I gape up at him, knowing damn well that every dress in Ariana’s collection is more than my style, but the thought of getting something specifically for me is already making my dark heart brighten with excitement. Besides, Ariana’s collection is just that. They’re her dresses and I’ll never feel comfortable wearing them. “Do I … do I have a limit?” I ask, the excitement bubbling up in my stomach and making it impossible to stand still.
Marcus laughs and shakes his head. “You’ve seen the weapons collection we have, right?” he smirks. “Do we really look like the type of guys who worry about budgeting? Get what you want, babe. This ball is about showing off our new queen, not just getting intel. Make a fucking lasting impression.”
When Roman or Levi don’t bother to rein in Marcus’ wild suggestion, I grip onto the card just a little tighter and run for my fucking life before they have the brains to reel me in.
The soft, shimmering moonlight shines in through my bedroom window, hitting my back as I watch myself through the big floor-to-ceiling mirror. It creates a glow around me like some kind of halo that makes me feel even more incredible than I already do.
The boys agreed to let me hire a hair stylist and makeup artist for the day and even went as far as hiring a masseur to pamper me. It has literally been the best day of my life, but when my gown was hand delivered in a big white box with a big gold bow, my world imploded in the best possible way.
I’ve never been treated like this in my whole life. I feel like a princess, and a part of me still struggles to believe that this is my new reality. Fuck spending my day working behind a dirty bar for shitty tips. I don't ever want to go back to that old life.
My gaze travels down my gold, beaded Versace gown in awe. I spent two hours scouring every corner of the internet for the perfect dress when I finally came upon Kate Hudson’s 2003 red carpet Versace gown, and I had to have it … or at least something similar. It’s so simple and elegant, perfect for tonight. When I first started looking at gowns, I wanted something dark and edgy, something to draw from that dark corrupted part of my soul, but this gown ultimately won out. The second I laid my eyes on it, I knew it was right.
Naturally, apart from spilling out credit card numbers, I had no idea how to pull the type of strings to get the gown I wanted, but Levi stepped in and proved that he was so much more than just a devil between the sheets, and three hours later, it’s here.
The gown flows down into a small train, and I’m surprised to see just how heavy it is. I can’t say that I’ve ever worn a proper gown before. I had that silk gown the boys put me in when I arrived and another dress I wore here to a business meeting. They were gorgeous dresses, but this isn’t anything like those occasions. This shit here is the real deal.
My hair is up off my back in gorgeous curls that have been arranged into the most stunning up-do that had me in tears. My makeup has been crafted to perfection with smokey eyes and just a hint of gold, and God, the lashes. I’ve never worn false lashes but now they’re my obsession.
I kept a natural lip with just a hint of gloss, not wanting to go overboard with the makeup to keep the attention on the gown, and damn it, it’s everything I hoped it would be.
Nerves settle in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t eaten anything since my burger went splat on the marble floors, but now I’m thinking that I should have made time to eat … or maybe I just need a drink. There are going to be a lot of people here tonight, all of the boys’ extended family, all of whom I couldn’t care if they lived or died, but I still want to make a good impression. The boys are in the middle of claiming the DeAngelis Mafia Family as their own, and they need to make tonight count. A single hint of weakness and they’ll have the masses coming for them with pitchforks and fires.
A light rap sounds at the door before Marcus pushes his way into my room. “Babe, you ready?” he questions, raising his head and stopping dead in his tracks as his dark gaze trails over me. “Holy fuck,” he breathes as my gaze trails over the way he wears his suit, looking like he just stepped straight out of Serial Killers United Magazine. He’s in all black, but I didn’t expect anything different, and despite knowing exactly what he was going to wear, it still doesn’t fail to take my breath away. He’s absolutely perfect.
A soft blush creeps over my cheeks as I look up at him through my long, thick lashes. “Do you like it?” I question nervously, the moonlight shining through the window going a long way to making this moment feel even more magical.
“Do I like it?” he scoffs, offended by the question. He slinks through my room slowly, each step making my heart race just a little bit faster until he moves right in front of me and brushes the backs of his knuckles down the length of my arm, his tone softening to a light whisper. “You look like a fucking angel here to steal the hearts out of every man you come across. You’re a fucking goddess.”
I step into him, placing my hand against his chest as the moment wraps around me. Immediately getting lost in his dark eyes, I brush my glossy lips over his. “I love you, Marcus DeAngelis.”
His hand falls to my waist, holding me tighter. “Damn right, you do,” he murmurs against my lips. “Now let me show you off to the fucking world before I change my mind and keep you locked in here for myself.”
“Well then,” I murmur, a smile resting on my lips as my hand falls into his. “Who am I to deprive the masses of my beauty? Let’s go.”
22
My six-inch stiletto heels click against the expensive marble floors as Marcus leads me out of my room and through the mansion fit for a queen. Soft music fills the property and a wave of murmured chatter comes from the level below.
People started showing up half an hour ago, and while a good host would be there to welcome guests at the door, I couldn’t quite bring myself to be the first at the party. Besides, if I intend to do this right, then I need to make my grand entrance count, and what better way to do that than by walking in with Marcus DeAngelis on my arm.
It’s a perfect night as we walk toward the massive staircase. I glance out through the windows at the front of the house. The place is lit up like a damn Christmas tree and has butterflies emerging deep in my stomach. Cars litter the property, waiting in long lines and pulling up at the top of the circle drive. Guests pour out in dazzling suits and gowns that take my breath away. They make their way up the grand staircase and their cars are driven away by the valet service that I’m sure Giovanni paid handsomely for.
Marcus guides me to the top step, and as my heel touches down and I gaze over the lingering guests making their way through the foyer, already with champagne flutes in their hands, my brows begin to pinch together. “I thought this was the annual DeAngelis Family Ball,” I murmur, holding onto Marcus’ strong arm to keep from tumbling down the stairs. “Who are all these people?”
“Would you believe it if I told you they were all here because DeAngelis blood runs through their veins?” he questions, his gaze sweeping across to mine with a mischievous sparkle that has me doubting every last word that comes out of his mouth.
“That’s impossible,” I say, keeping my low tone. “There must be hundreds of people here.”
“Correct,” he says, his hand dropping to my lower back. “My guess would be this party is pushing four hundred guests, each one of them an integral member of this family. Cousins, their children, uncles, wives, grandparents—every version of extended family you can think of, and I can guarantee they are all here tonight. Apart from my father, of course. Though, he will hear all about whatever happens within these walls, I have no doubt.”
My gaze narrows and I slow my stride. “Your grandparents? Like the very people who raised your father? You’re lying.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says, pulling me along. “There are generations of DeAngelis men and women here tonight. Generations past, present, and future. It’s the FBI’s version of a wet dream.”