“Well, shit.”

We hit the bottom step and a waiter immediately offers us a drink off a silver platter and Marcus scoops it up without hesitation and throws back every last drop. “Too fucking right,” he says, his actions speaking much louder than his words. He places the empty glass back down and replaces it with two new ones, handing me one before taking a sip of his own.

Marcus leads me through the massive property, and as we get closer to the wide entrance, the chatter from within seems to get louder. The music drowns out most of it, but as more and more guests begin arriving, I can only imagine just how loud and eventful tonight will be.

We reach the main doors as a giddy nervousness settles into my veins, forcing me to grip Marcus just a little tighter. The impulsive need to kick off these ridiculous shoes and sprint back to my room slams through me, and as if reading me like a fucking book, Marcus drags me through the doors and I’m immediately overcome with awe.

The room dazzles me with a crystal chandelier framed by gorgeous silk drapes, becoming the masterpiece of the night. I’ve only been in this room once or twice and only because I was lost, but I could have sworn that the chandelier wasn’t here before. I can only imagine how much that big bastard must have cost, but apparently, money isn’t an issue when you’re the most feared man in the country.

Tall pillars surround the room and are frosted with the most delicate lights that make the room glow. Hell, it looks freaking heavenly in here, but the men that fill the room are anything but.

Stealing my gaze from the impressive decorations and forcing myself not to ask how the hell this was all pulled together so quickly, I focus on the guests, unnerved by the way each and every eye seems to flicker my way. Before I get a chance to question Marcus, he finishes what’s left in his glass, making it two in a matter of minutes. Placing the glass down on the waiter’s tray by the door, he drops his hand over mine at his elbow and pulls me along. I lower my gaze from all the guests who watch me like a hawk, wondering how the hell a nobody like me could be so special to gain the attention of all three of the famous DeAngelis brothers.

My gaze sweeps lower, needing to have drunk a little more to brave meeting their eyes. So instead, I take in their gowns, and it takes me only a second to realize that every last gown in this ballroom is as black as Marcus’ soul.

My eyes widen and I pull back on his arm, a soft gasp pulling from between my lips. “They’re all in black,” I shriek quietly. “What the fuck, Marc? Is there a dress code?”

“Damn fucking straight there is,” he tells me, his gaze dropping down the gorgeous gold gown perfectly draped over my body, hugging it like a second skin. “You wanted to make an impression, didn’t you?”

A wicked grin tears across my lips and I realize that I’m going to need a shit load more than just a glass of champagne to get me through the night. Taking a page out of Marcus’ book, I bring the champagne flute to my glossy lips and tip it back, downing every last drop before handing off the glass. “That was a risky move,” I warn him. “Each one of the women in this room are currently painting a target on my back, and I can guarantee you that every last one of them thinks I’m an arrogant bitch with an ego too big for my own good.”

“And I hope they do,” he tells me. “These women are the ones keeping their husbands’ beds warm, and they’re going to be the ones whispering in their ears telling their sorry husbands exactly what they think of you, and even though their words will be spiteful and full of hate, their husbands will come away with one thing.”

Marcus pauses and gives me a hard stare, making me want to wring his neck for stopping there. “Seriously?” I grumble. “Is this supposed to be some kind of dramatic pause?”

Marc grins, his eyes lighting with excitement. “They’ll come away knowing that you’re dangerous. Any woman who can ruffle the feathers of a Mafia wife, is a woman to watch out for.”

I’m just about to tell him how stupid a move like that was when a dark gaze meets mine across the room and the breath is knocked right out of my chest. Levi stands with his big frame directly in front of one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft glow from the moonlight casting a halo around him. He talks with a man in a suit that looks like it cost more than I made in a year, but Levi completely zones out, watching me as though I’m every single one of his dreams.

A flush spreads over my cheeks, and as his gaze sweeps over my body, I’m hit with the overwhelming need to run to him. My thighs clench and I want to hate myself for being so obvious. He has such a profound effect on me, it’s too much. I hate it, but at the same time, I absolutely love it.

The man beside him continues to speak animatedly about who the fuck knows what, and it’s clear from the way I hold every ounce of Levi’s attention that he has absolutely no idea either.

A smile tugs at my lips and a shyness comes over me, one that I shouldn’t have considering the filthy things that man has watched me do. His intensity becomes too much, and I drop my gaze away, only to find Marcus’ heated stare. “He’s right, you know. You look like a fucking wet dream.”

Pressing into Marcus, I drop my hand to his wide chest and glance over my shoulder at Levi, knowing he’s watching my lips and reading every last word that comes spilling from them. “Then the second this party is over, the two of you better show me how much you appreciate this dress.”

Levi’s eyes flash with desire as a soft growl vibrates through Marcus’ chest, rumbling against my fingers. “Consider it done.”

A thrill fires through me, but it’s short-lived as guests stop to greet Marcus, each one of them approaching cautiously. His reputation in this world goes far and wide. I don’t miss the way he positions me slightly ahead of him, forcing me to take the brunt of the attention, which inadvertently means the kind of leering I don’t want. I meet great uncles, cousins that I never knew existed, cousins of those cousins, and aunties. Hell, I’m almost positive that Marcus doesn’t know who most of these people are, but there’s no doubt that they’re all family. The DeAngelis genes are strong here. Dark hair and dark eyes, except all the wives who seem to be at least twenty years younger with fake tits, manicured nails, and hair so full of bleach, it could start a fire.

Fights break out and everyone goes on about their night as though they don’t even see it. The music subtly gets louder as Marcus presses another drink into my hand before he swooshes me around the room to show me off like a fucking star.

At least an hour passes before we’ve done the rounds, and I’m positive that after meeting at least a hundred different people, I don’t remember a single name.

Roman breaks away from an older gentleman who looks an awful lot like an older version of Giovanni, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s Grandpa DeAngelis. Roman’s eyes are hard and cautious, watching every last person in the room with suspicion, and I can’t help but wonder what they all think of us. Are we some kind of sideshow, thinking we can slip straight into Giovanni’s position without consequences?

Grandpa DeAngelis keeps his back to us as he swirls the brown liquid in the middle of his glass and finishes it before slamming it down on a nearby table. He holds his head up and hightails it straight for the exit. “What the fuck was that about?” Marcus questions as we all meet in the middle, hovering over a table.

Roman clenches his jaw, glancing at the exit to make sure he’s going. “He had a few things to say and let it be known that he didn’t appreciate us running Father out like that. So I told him he can either get on board or fuck off. I’d be more than happy to put his body in the ground.”

“Shit,” Levi says, making me jump as he moves in from behind me with a drink in hand. He places it down on the table and a ring of condensation instantly forms around it. “He’s not going to appreciate that.”

“He can suck my dick,” Roman mutters. “He’s been in Father’s ear for far too long, pulling his strings like a goddamn puppeteer, but not anymore. Both of them can go to hell.”

I pick up Levi’s drink and take a sip before putting it straight back down, the foul taste practically burning a hole through my tongue. “You guys aren’t a big fan of your grandfather?”

“Hell no,” Marcus says, his tone darkening and sending a wave of unease over me. “The old fuck was the one to give me my first black eye. I was only five.”

Tags: Sheridan Anne Depraved Sinners Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net