Cain ( Underworld Mafia Romance 1)

Endless chatter fills the air, too loud to be about anything important. The only thing louder is the laughter, too hollow to be real.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. What was I thinking coming to this party?

I draw a deep breath as I remind myself of my mission. Right. I’m not staying long. Soon, I’ll sneak into the house and snoop around. In the meantime, though, I have to act normal, blend in, try not to attract any attention or suspicion. Maybe pretend I’m enjoying the party.

So that’s what I do. I put on a smile, grab a glass of champagne and start browsing the exhibits. I start a few conversations, too. Just small talk. Just to avoid giving the impression that I don’t know anyone here, which is, in fact, true.

I try not to stand out, but I can feel some eyes straying in my direction. Is it because of my gown? I know it’s not revealing, so it can’t be that. Too simple? But then I don’t think the gazes I’m getting are scrutinizing my dress. They’re mostly male, after all.

Nope. They’re not looking at my dress. They’re looking at me. And not in the way I want to be looked at.

I try to ignore them as I take a sip of my champagne.

I should have brought a partner. Taylor, maybe? But he hates parties even more than I do. He hates crowds, actually. People in general. Kip? Nah. We’re not that close, and I know he’s seeing someone. Besides, if I brought Kip along, he’d insist on snooping around with me, which means we’d essentially be working together, which is what I’ve been avoiding. If I had to work with someone, I’d rather it be Cain. He’s more brilliant, more quiet. I bet he’d look better in a suit.

Before I can stop myself, I find myself imagining that. He’d be wearing a three-piece suit. Black, of course. Maybe Givenchy or Valentino. Black tie, too. Crisp white shirt. Perfect. Now, all he has to do is shave and do something with that hair and maybe…

“You must like that bag.” A voice from behind me causes my mental portrait to vanish into thin air. “You’ve been staring at it for ages.”

I turn my head and see the man in the pumpkin-colored suit. Great. The color looks even more hideous from up close.

“Not what you were expecting?” he asks.

Nope. Not the man I was imagining. Not even close.

“It’s… unique,” I tell him with a fake smile. “Refreshing. Who made it?”

“I did,” he says proudly.

Okay.

“I’m Finn.” He offers me his hand.

I shake it because I don’t want to seem rude. “Allie.”

“So, do you like that bag?” He glances at the one in front of me.

“Yes,” I lie even though I didn’t even realize I was staring at it. “I think I have one that looks just like it.”

“Really?” I hear the surprise in his voice. “You’re a big fan of Cerena’s, then?”

“She does come up with some beautiful creations,” I say.

Not a lie.

“Ah, but I bet I could make something even more beautiful for you.” He takes a step forward. “Something that would really show off your amazing figure.”

I feel his eyes rake over my gown and linger on my breasts. My gut coils.

Still, I fake a smile. “Excuse me. I think I see someone familiar.”

I try to take off before he says another word, his every breath now an insult to me, but he grabs my arm. The glass in my hand shakes and the champagne escapes, spilling on the front of his suit and splattering on my gown.

“Oh, shit,” he curses while I simply gape, speechless at the mess he’s made.

Heads turn. I feel more pairs of eyes turning towards us. I hear gasps. I see lips moving.

So much for trying not to attract attention.

I make my escape while Finn fusses over his suit. Unlike me, he seems to love the attention, so I let him have it. All of it.

Still, some people look at me. I can feel the judgment in their glances, but I ignore it. Why? What did I do? It’s not my fault that shitbag’s suit got ruined. He was the one who grabbed my hand. Besides, it’s not like his suit could get any more hideous.

I head to the bar. If this was a different party, I’d be going home just like I did when I was nine and I had drenched my dress. I still have unfinished business, though.

I set my champagne flute on the counter, ask for a stronger drink – tequila – and gulp that down.

“Are you alright?” I hear a woman’s concerned voice behind me.

I turn my head and nearly drop my empty glass as I find myself face to face with Cerena herself. Holy shit.

“I saw what happened and I was wondering if you might need a new dress,” she says as she eyes my gown. “I have a few.”