2. Ginevra

CHAPTER 2

Ginevra

“ G inevra,” Papa calls from his office on the main floor. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I roll my eyes at his brusk, annoyed tone and walk through his open door to, yet again, remind him that I’m going out tonight. I told him and Mama over dinner that I had plans this evening.

“I’m going to a party, remember? Blake Baron has opened up the Baron mansion for the first time in at least a decade. Everyone will be there.”

Papa sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I wish you wouldn’t get too close to people like Mr. Baron. He’s a dangerous man.”

Don’t I know it. He completely destroyed our close friends, the Marino family, seven years ago. They disappeared without a trace, including my childhood best friend Viviana. Some people say they’re in witness protection, others know they’re most likely dead. When Blake Baron sets out to ruin someone, he does a thorough job.

“I’m not going to see Mr. Baron,” I explain. “Arianna did the planning for this event and she asked me to come.” In fact, Mr. Baron never thought to invite me at all. The only reason I’ll get through the front doors is because Arianna, after I begged and pleaded, put me on the guest list. But Papa doesn’t need to know the details.

“Your sister should watch herself too. If I had any say in the matter, I’d have forbidden her from working for Mr. Baron.”

Ducking my head, I hide my smirk. Luckily for all of us, Papa has very little say in any matter these days. We’re grown women, and my two older sisters are married. We can all do whatever the hell we want. Well, sort of. I’m still living at home, so Papa thinks he can rule my life.

When I don’t respond, Papa continues, “I forbid you from going.”

“It’s a little late for that.” I sweep my fingers down my shimmery blue evening gown, as if he hadn’t already noticed my attire. “I’m all dressed up and ready to go.”

“Go upstairs and go to bed, Gin.” He focuses on the papers in front of him.

My teeth clench. For my two older sisters, Papa will bend over backwards to accommodate them—which I know comes from a deep-seated sense of guilt. But he’s never treated me the same as them. Even though he’s wronged me worse than he ever did either of my sisters.

I cross my arms. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m almost twenty-one years old.”

“You live under my roof, which means you’ll do as I say.” He doesn’t even bother to look at me.

“Fat chance of that,” I mutter.

Papa’s sharp gaze snaps to mine. “What did you just say? I won’t put up with your attitude tonight, girl.”

He calls me girl , like I’m some street urchin instead of his own flesh and blood. The feeling’s mutual—I’d rather not be related to him either.

I flip my perfectly styled, wavy blond hair over my shoulder. “Good night, Papa.” I pin him with a winning smile and head out the door. When I’m in the hallway, instead of going upstairs to bed, I stroll to the front entrance and meet my waiting Lyft driver. Papa will throw a fit about my disobedience when he finds out, but I don’t care. I also don’t care about the consequences. Nothing he can do is worse than what he’s already done to me—years ago.

As soon as I’m settled in the backseat, my phone chimes. Expecting it to be Papa, security already alerting him that I’ve left the estate, I ignore it.

I really need to find a way to move out of my parents’ house. But I’m not super talented at anything like Arianna is at event planning. I’m also not college material like our oldest sister, Sophia, who’s getting her degree in Art History. I’m the dud of the family. What does a dud do with her life?

Sighing, I reach for my phone. Negative thoughts won’t get me anywhere good.

I am worthy.

I will figure out what I want.

I deserve a happy life.

All of these affirmations fall flat, but that doesn’t stop me from speaking them in my mind anytime I feel negativity threatening to swallow me whole. Someday I’ll believe that I am worthy and happy. Until then, I’m all about faking it until I make it.

My phone chimes again, drawing my attention to the lit screen, and my breath seizes in my lungs. It’s not my father texting me, it’s worse… It's my ex-boyfriend. Oliver.

A shiver of disgust slithers across my skin.

I should ignore him and just delete his messages. My thumb hovers over the screen for several long seconds as I hesitate. I shouldn’t keep reading his texts, but… If I block him I won’t know what he’s up to or what he’s going to do next. I need to untangle myself from him without pissing him off.

I swipe and read the two messages he sent.

Oliver

Hey babe, what are you doing tonight? We should talk. I don’t understand why you aren’t returning my calls and texts.

Really? After what he did, I think it would be obvious.

Oliver

Why don’t you come over to my place? Or we could meet for drinks?

I stare at the thread of unanswered texts going back two weeks. Since I resolutely broke up with him–again. By that I mean I’ve ghosted him. Total silence. I don’t know how else to handle this situation. We’ve ended things in the past, but he has a way of manipulating me into giving him another chance. Not this time. It’s final.

My pulse pounds in my temple as I consider replying. I should put it into words that we’re over, through, totally done. Except every time I decide on that course of action, anxiety ripples through me. My heartbeat stutters and my skin flushes. I wipe a clammy palm against my thigh.

Before I can talk myself out of this again, I muster my courage and type out a text.

Ginevra

We won’t be seeing each other ever again. I hoped it was obvious, but we’re done. Don’t message me again.

Oliver

I don’t understand, babe. What happened?

I scoff. Is he serious right now?

Ginevra

You know what happened. Leave me alone.

Oliver

What? Are you angry about the movie we made together? That was hot, babe.

My stomach heaves. I feel like I’m going to be sick. He makes it all sound so innocent, but I...

Flashes of memory threaten to rise to the surface and I instantly shut them down. I can’t deal with that shit right now. Or ever. I’m trying to shove that incident into a box in my mind and store it deep, deep down where it will never see the light of day again.

Oliver

We’re not over. There’s no such thing as over between us. You’re my forever girl and if you think you can break this off, you’re wrong. I’d rather kill you myself than let you go. Do you hear me, you fucking whore? You’re a worthless little slut, you know you are, and I’m the only one who cares about you. Who loves you.

Tears well in my eyes. I flip my phone over so I don’t have to read whatever he sends next. Two more pings sound, telling me that he’s not done ranting. I swallow past the lump in my throat, put my cell on silent and toss it into my clutch.

I can’t fucking deal with this right now. I’m going to a party.

The driver pulls up in front of Blake Baron’s enormous brownstone and lets me out. I’m late, so everyone is already inside and the party’s well underway. Standing on the sidewalk, I give myself a short pep talk, inhale a couple of deep breaths, plaster a smile on my face, then climb the stairs to the mansion.

In the foyer, I give my name to the attendant and he checks it off the list. From here I’m free to roam. I should find Arianna and her husband, but I’m still too frazzled to immediately seek her out. Instead, I head for the second floor in hopes of finding a quiet bathroom where I can fully regroup in private. I’m going to have fun tonight, damn it, just as soon as I pull myself together.

I come across a candle-lit, unoccupied bathroom about halfway down the hallway. Slipping inside, I turn the lock and press my back to the cool wooden door.

I’m okay. Or at least, I will be okay.

I repeat that mantra in my head for a solid minute.

I will be okay. I will be okay. I will be okay. Everything is fine.

The words—or perhaps it’s the repetition—soothes my racing heart and fidgety fingers. Once I’ve regained some semblance of calm, I fix my already perfect makeup in the mirror and straighten my dress. Then I take in my surroundings.

The marble floor and walls gleam in the candle light. A crystal chandelier hangs above, suspended from the high ceiling. This humble space is no more than a powder room, yet it screams old money, wealth, and splendor. A promise of what the rest of the mansion has to offer.

I’m in Blake Baron’s house, at his party, and I’m going to have fun tonight— fun, fun, fun. My sister might be a stuck up prude, or at least she was before she married, but Arianna sure knows how to organize a party. Only the best catering and booze will be here tonight. And damn, do I need a drink.

I smile at myself in the bathroom mirror. My expression almost appears genuine.

Ready to make the most of the evening, I stroll into the hallway. Further in the house are sounds of the party, but here it’s quiet. There’s not a soul around.

Which is why, when a sparkly figurine on a side table catches my eye, I pick it up. It’s some kind of bird cast in clear crystal with black jewels decorating its head. Black and blue-green gems adorn the wings and tail feathers. The piece is breath-taking. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Immediately, my palms itch. That familiar, exhilarating rush swoops through me as I reach out and stash the figurine in my clutch. It’s now my little secret. A crime I got away with. The high is the best part.

A real smile strains my cheeks for the first time tonight. Warmth whirls in my chest.

Whenever I’m feeling down and depressed, taking something that isn’t mine wipes away all of that negativity. A light airiness overtakes my body, my insides swell as if filled with helium. I very well might float away on this bubble of happiness.

The fact that I just stole from none other than The Black Baron himself, the most feared man in all of New York City, adds a layer of danger to my excitement. It’s heady. Addictive.

More to the point, that fucker deserves it for murdering my childhood best friend. Viviana’s gone because of him.

On bouncy toes, I spin around and collide with a wall of muscle.