CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: WINTER
If I thought what Luanna did to my vagina was bad, what she did to my hair is even worse.
I hadn’t realized what was happening until it was too late. Luanna had already waxed the rest of my body, arms, lots, legs. And she’d slathered a cool mint gel that had taken away the pain and left me feeling good. The moisturizer she’d gone in with as well had my skin uber soft and shiny.
It’d made me lower my guard.
Until the whir of the blow dryer invaded my ears. I’d pulled away and asked what she was doing. Only my eyes had landed on the flat iron on her station and the answer had come slamming into me. When I’d objected, she’d told me that she could have Enzo call Giovanni. The way she said it hadn’t been cruel but it was enough to make me shut up.
So I’d let her press the life out of my curls with heat.
It’s not that I’m completely opposed to straightening my hair, but Luanna clearly wasn’t used to working with my hair texture. Her iron had been turned up extremely high and she’d done multiple passes over every section. And the heat protectant she used definitely wasn’t for curly hair.
The only satisfaction I got was when Giovanni’s eyes landed on my black hair falling halfway down my back.
“What the fuck did Luanna do to your hair?” He’d asked, followed by a string of Italian that I didn’t need to understand to interpret.
"Are you expecting trouble tonight?" Vito asks, pulling me from my thoughts. He glanced across me at Giovanni.
Giovanni looks up from his phone and for the briefest moment, I think I see a smile graze his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less," he says, and there isn't an ounce of worry in his voice. Actually, he's as relaxed as I've ever seen him. His hair is slicked back slightly, revealing the sharp structure of his face. For a fleeting moment, I'm surprised by how much he and Maximo actually look alike. Usually, with his hair styled a little looser, it's hard to tell. But with it pulled back, it's painstakingly clear.
The thought has me wondering where Maximo is as well. It's not that I want him here, but I've been paying attention and this party we're attending is supposed to be for the most powerful mobsters and gangsters. So shouldn't Maximo be here as Giovanni's second? Vito ranks lower than him and he's attending.
Even Enzo is attending as security.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I keep my lips shut instead. If Giovanni wanted the information shared with me, he would have already said so. Asking will only result in him glaring at me or getting irritated and I'd rather he stay in the somewhat peaceful attitude for the rest of the day.
Inhaling a deep breath, I look out the window as the car pulls to a stop. I squint, slightly surprised by the hotel we've stopped at. There's a couple of men standing outside of the car, valets, I realize after a moment. They don't approach the car though. Frowning, I watch as Enzo gets out and he says something to the valets, nodding his head before opening Giovanni's door. He climbs out and Enzo offers a hand to help me out next. I take it, only letting our fingers touch for the brief moment before quickly pulling away.
I take in the hotel. There are so many stories that the building appears as if it's vanishing into the night sky. The glass doors give a glimpse into the well lit lobby and I can see workers rushing around. "I'll be inside after I park the car," Enzo tells Giovanni who gives him a nod.
We move inside the hotel, Giovanni beside me and Vito walking behind us. The glass doors slide open and the heating from the lobby replaces the coolness of winter. A woman appears in front of us, a wide smile on her face. She's wearing a black dress that wraps around her waist tightly, accenting the dip of her hips. "Mr. Costa and Bianchi," she says, looking between Vito and Giovanni. Her gaze pauses on me for a moment and a frown tilts her lips. Finally, she turns her gaze away from me, dismissive. "This way." She turns on her black pumps, leading us to the elevator.
It's big and roomy, soft music coming from above us. I try to get a glimpse of the number of floors the hotel has, but the woman is standing in the way and the ride is over quickly. Stepping out of the elevator, we end up in an empty hallway. The woman continues to guide us until we come to a pair of double doors which she pulls open.
And for the first time in my life, I enter a mafia party.
I don't know what I expected, especially after entering the fancy hotel, but the extravagant, almost ball like party definitely isn't it. Round tables are spread out across the room, white tablecloths with gold trimming lining them. A soft tempo song is moving through the room but it isn't overpowering the conversations going on at the tables. In the back of the room, a long table holds an assortment of desserts. A handful of people are standing instead of sitting, chatting amongst themselves.
Everyone is dressed in suits and dresses.
You'd never know that the body count between them all is greater than the death toll of the titanic, multiplied by ten.
My skin grows warm, but Vito's firm hand on the small of my back pulls me away from my building anxiety. "Head high," he mutters into my ear. His hand guides me to follow Giovanni who is already moving across the room as if he owns the place. And from the way the rest of the room looks at him, they seem to think the same thing.
He pulls to a stop at an unoccupied table toward the center of the room, pulling a chair out and plopping down. A woman holding a tray of wine instantly rushes toward him. I hear Vito let out a soft laugh. We make it to the table where the woman is listening to Giovanni as he barks out orders. Vito pulls out my seat and my face flushes at the gesture before I sit, crossing my legs at the ankle.
Giovanni spares me a glance, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Any orange beverage you have for the lady," he says after a moment, looking back at the waitress.
There's never been any doubt in my mind that he knows what he's doing when he forced me to drink orange juice over breakfast, but the way he does it so openly as if he's trying to purposely piss me off... I don't understand it. I glance at Vito, hoping he'll interject, but his gaze is surveying the room.
"And a glass of champagne for Mr. Bianchi," Gio finishes.
Vito finally drags his gaze back to him, "Classy," he draws the word out before gesturing at the waitress. She scurries over to him. "Replace the orange beverage with a strawberry Smirnoff and the champagne with scotch."
Her eyes widen and she looks at Giovanni. He's reclined back in his seat, his gaze lazy yet... intense. It's off putting and yet intoxicating. This is the most emotion I’ve ever seen on his face. He's hard to look away from and I know I'm not the only one who thinks so as the waitress shifts from foot to foot.
Giovanni continues to stare at her.