Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
I hurry to where Elena is and shoot her a silent look of apology. So, so sorry! I discreetly motion for her to leave, and she nods gratefully before slipping away.
I take her place just as the inebriated gentleman from Hartford, Connecticut finishes with his phone call, and he is visibly confused when he turns my way and finds Elena gone.
"Who...you?"
"I work for the Marchettis, signore." I cup his elbow when he starts swaying, and I gently lead him towards one of the seating areas.
He starts rambling the way drunk men generally do, and I nod as if I understand what he's saying.
Not once does he try hitting on me in any way, and that's how it always is. It used to make me feel terribly insecure when I was in my early teens. Made me think I was the ugliest and least attractive person in the world.
And I kept believing that until I stumbled upon an investigation report that looked into my parents' death.
I was too young to remember how they died. All I knew growing up was that I was there when a group of men forced their way into our home. They tortured and killed my parents because they didn't want to betray the Marchettis. But for some inexplicable reason, they left me completely unharmed.
I used to think it was because my parents had found me a really good hiding spot, and it was only because of trauma that I couldn't remember the exact details of how I survived.
It was only after coming across the investigation report on La Strega's desk that I realized the truth.
And remembered what I had actually forgotten, and it was nothing like I imagined.
Two
SSSSH, SSSH, SSSH.
Stop crying, baby.
Just stay under the bed, and don't make a sound.
No matter what you see.
Promise me.
You won't make a sound.
Close your eyes if you have to.
But just don't make a sound.
And they will never know you're here.
Promise me, baby.
And remember.
We always keep our promises.
My father's last words play in my mind like a haunting melody, and it takes everything just to push them away.
It's all in the past, Cat.
All in the past.
And you have to live for the present.
Or at least that's what I keep telling myself, and continue telling myself now, when the present doesn't feel real. It's as if I'm living someone's life, and I'm only doing things that people expect me to do.
Like now.
Mr. Intoxicated is already half-asleep when we make it to the nearest couch, and I have another item ticked off in my mental to-do list.
Possible drunken antics, averted.
He's already started snoring even before I've taken my CB radio out of my purse to call for backup, and a pair of security arrives in mere moments.
"What do you need us to do, boss?"
I can only roll my eyes. "Be serious, please? And just our usual SOP. Undisturbed rest for as long as possible, and absolutely no photographs." The inability to hold one's liquor is a sign of weakness in the eyes of famiglia, but it won't do the Marchettis any good to have this man's reputation suffer while attending one of our events.
"Aye, aye, Captain."
I shake my head at them before walking away and looking for other things I can help with. It's already been months, but those guys still get a kick out of treating me as their team captain. And fine, I was that, but in Counterstrike!
The rest of the evening plays out like it usually does, and I spend most of it putting out fires before trouble can start rearing its horns.
I'm that person who's always where the action is, but no one really sees, and so I get away with doing things without anyone getting offended. A female guest loses her temper, but I've already swiped the glass out of her hand before she can throw its contents on the other guest. A former capo has had enough with a reckless up-and-comer who has more braggadocio than sense, and I'm there to soothe the understandably ruffled feathers of a seasoned mafioso while at the same time motioning for security to lead our young offender away before he ends up getting whacked.
To be invisible is neither good nor bad.
It's just what I am.
It's just what I'm used to.
And it's always worked in my favor—-until now.
From the pool deck above, a world-famous DJ spins a new track. "Let's get wild," he yells.
And everyone actually does what he says.
Our younger guests jump to their feet and start dancing and throwing their hands up in the air like they just don't care.
It's pure chaos.
Which is good for the Marchettis, except...
Someone accidentally shoves me in his energetic desire to move to the beat, and because I'm the kind of person that no one sees—-
Nothing changes even if I'm the one who now needs help.