Be With Me, page 5
part #1 of House of Ferraro Series
With another client gone, I was going to have to dip into my savings just to cover the studio's rent next month.
My throat itched.
Don’t. Cry.
I would not. Not in front of Kassandra, who’d probably feign pity and only make me feel worse, and definitely not in front of Romolo, who could hear every word of our conversation from behind the curtain.
“Thank you for the heads-up.” Despite my best efforts, my voice cracked.
Kassandra’s smile sharpened. “Of course, sweetheart. I know you’ve had a lot on your plate lately, but in our industry, clients expect excellence. If you can’t deliver… Well, you can’t blame them for going elsewhere.”
It stung because it was true.
I’d disappointed my clients by being flaky and unreliable. I was trying so, so hard, but it wasn’t enough. Whenever I tried to push back against Jenny dropping something on my calendar at the last minute, she’d lay on the guilt trip so thick it felt like I was suffocating.
I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, hoping the pain would distract me from the tears blurring my vision.
It didn’t.
“Oh, and—” Kassandra added with a triumphant glint in her eye “—if you’re ever looking for work after your father’s campaign, I’d be happy to bring you on as an assistant.”
Don’t. Cry.
“This fits well, Mia." A deep voice cut through the air. "But I think we’ll need something more dramatic for The Golden Circle party.”
I whirled around to see Romolo stepping out from behind the curtain.
What is he doing?
He slid his palms over the front of his suit, as if he’d just put it on and was straightening the folds.
“Did he just say The Golden Circle?” Kassandra asked, her voice hushed.
I thought so, but I must have been hearing things. The Golden Circle was the most exclusive social club in New York City, with a membership fee of a hundred grand a year, and a waitlist longer than Fifth Avenue. Their parties were legendary, filled with only the cream of the crop of this city’s high society.
Romolo was a member? I guess he had the connections and the money to find his way in, criminal reputation notwithstanding.
He strode toward me. “We still have two weeks to get it right. I gave you an unlimited budget for a reason. Get creative. Make me stand out.”
Kassandra swallowed. I watched the gears turn in her head while mine did the same.
He was helping me save face. Dressing someone for a Golden Circle event was something few stylists in the city got to do.
I didn’t have time to react before his gaze slid to Kassandra.
“The door was locked for a reason. We’re busy. Get out.” His voice was so cold that Kassandra visibly recoiled.
She sputtered. “I-I didn’t realize—”
He stepped forward, crowding her. “A word of advice? Look somewhere else for your assistant. Given the astronomical rate I’m paying Mia, I doubt you can afford her.”
She backed up. Fast.
I just stood there, stunned, as he forced her out of the studio.
He shut the door, locked it, and closed the blinds.
Then, he turned to me.
Something dangerous swarmed inside his eyes, something that sent a series of shivers racing down my spine.
He walked toward me with measured steps. I forced myself to stand my ground, even though my animal instincts screamed at me to run.
“Has she always been such a cunt, or is this a new thing?” His voice was a low rumble inside his chest.
He stood so close that my next inhale caught his scent. Rich, spicy, unmistakable, and so familiar.
Was that…?
Angel’s Share. My favorite cologne.
Why? Just why?
It was like someone had conspired to make this dangerous predator as physically attractive as possible.
“I’m pretty sure she was born that way,” I whispered.
In this light, his eyes were a pale, piercing gray—the color of dense morning fog. “And here I had the impression you were the kind of person who never had a bad word to say about anyone.”
I was that kind of person. But something about Romolo made me a little sharper around the edges. I didn’t think I could survive around him if I stayed all soft.
“Guess you don’t know me.”
“I’d like to change that.” He lifted his hand and took hold of one of the ends of the bow hanging over my shoulder. There was something sensual about the way he rubbed the gauzy fabric between his forefinger and thumb.
My stomach did a flip I refused to analyze too closely.
Fear. That’s all it was. The same fluttering, disorienting sensation I’d felt yesterday when he’d pinned me to the bed, his body overwhelming mine.
I tugged the fabric free from his grasp and took a step back, heat prickling my cheeks. “I’d like you to leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not when you just became my new stylist.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled up. “Look, I appreciate you saving me from further embarrassment just now, but we both know I’m not dressing you for anything.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You left your agenda open on a stool in the dressing area. Five cancelled appointments in the last week. Ten out of nineteen clients crossed out. I guess it’s eleven once you account for the one you just lost. Your business is crumbling.”
I clenched my hands at my sides. Shame clawed at me. I brushed past him and retreated behind the safety of my desk. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it was something. “My business is none of your business.”
He settled back into his chair, all relaxed confidence, while I busied myself with opening my laptop. The fact that he’d seen me in that moment of vulnerability—and knew just how screwed I was—was a bitter pill to swallow. I hadn’t even told my friends the full extent of my business problems. It was too embarrassing. Too raw.
“Dress me for this dinner, and I’ll get your name out there.”
“No.”
“The theme is Moon Signs and Merengues.”
My pulse skipped.
If there was one thing New York loved, it was a ridiculous theme. I’d styled at least ten absurdly themed parties every year for the past three years.
And I loved it. Okay? I loved it. It allowed me to get creative. It allowed me to take risks.
“Normally, I don’t bother dressing up for these things. But this year, I feel like giving it a try.”
Slowly, my gaze slid back to him. He’d look good in midnight-blue with his lightly tanned complexion. Maybe if—
Stop. Just stop.
I slammed my laptop closed. It was out of the question. A disaster waiting to happen. “My answer is still no.”
Romolo’s brow arched. “Do you know what a feature in The Golden Circle monthly newsletter could do for you?”
A lot.
The Golden Circle’s members were some of the most fashionable people in the city—socialites, artists, cultural icons… They graced the pages of glossy magazines, got photographed every time they stepped outside, and were watched by everyone else who wished to be like them.
A roster full of them would be a dream.
“Are you the owner of The Golden Circle?” I asked.
His brow furrowed. “No.”
“Then why should I believe you have the kind of sway needed to get someone of your choosing into their heavily curated newsletter?” I clipped out, annoyed at myself for even engaging with this delusion.
“Heavily curated by my cousin, Caterina Ferraro. A glowing recommendation from me would be all it takes.”
Anger was starting to bubble up inside of me. He was dangling a shiny, golden ticket in front of me—the answer to my problems.
But it didn’t matter.
I couldn’t do it.
As he said, I was the enemy. He was my enemy too.
“What would you get out of this, Romolo?” I demanded.
He didn’t answer. He just smiled. Of course, he wasn’t going to tell me his real motives, but I knew they wouldn’t spell anything good for me.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “There are plenty of other stylists in this city who could do exactly what you’re asking for.”
“I don’t want them. I want you.”
The way he said it—low, firm—made the air in my lungs feel thin.
I shook my head. “It’s not going to happen.” Yes, I wanted to save my business. But not like this.
If anyone saw us together, it’d be a headline. If anyone found out I was working for him, it’d be a full-blown scandal. Knowing the damage that could do to my dad’s campaign, I wouldn’t risk it.
No, I would fix my business problems on my own. I didn’t need Romolo Ferraro’s help.
I tipped my chin up. “We’re done here.”
He didn't seem disappointed. He simply reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a card. "Call me if you change your mind."
There was no name, only a number. I flipped it over to see the initials R.F.
“I won't change my mind.” When I glanced up, he was already halfway out the door, and if he heard me, he didn't reply.
He stepped outside, his tall frame moving past my window before he disappeared out of sight.
I had no intention of calling him.
But something told me he wasn’t done with me yet.
CHAPTER 8
MIA
That evening, I stepped through the doors of the speakeasy, ready to demand answers.
Potions and Co was an old pharmacy turned apothecary-themed drinking haunt. A wall of shelves lined with antique pill bottles and glass apothecary jars doubled as a hidden entrance. I rang the bell and waited until an attendant appeared and invited me inside.
The space beneath the shop felt more like an alchemist’s lab than a bar. A narrow staircase led down to a dimly lit room where candlelight flickered against stone walls. Behind the counter, flasks of green liquid bubbled over burners, while jars filled with dried herbs, mouse tails, and pickled eyeballs sat among the usual liquor bottles. I made a point not to look too closely at those. They made me queasy.
Sitting in the corner booth—the one Nina and I always got whenever we came here—were my friends.
“You made it,” Fabi said, sounding relieved, like she’d been worried I wouldn’t show.
“Of course I made it.” I slid in beside Zo, who’d dyed her hair purple since the last time I’d seen her, and handed Nina my tote so she could put it on the shelf behind her. “But the three of you better start talking.”
Zo reached for the cocktail menu. “Let’s get a round first—”
I snatched it out of her hands. “No. Answers first. Alcohol later.”
She raised her palms. “Okay, okay. For the record, I told Fabi she needed to fess up to you a while back.”
“Oh yeah? Why’d you go along with it then?” I was coming in hotter than usual, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t remember the last time I was this angry with them.
Fabi reached across the table, fingers curling around my hand. “Mia, it’s not Zo’s fault. It wasn’t her secret to tell. I feel awful about how I’ve treated you these last few weeks.”
I pulled my hand away and crossed my arms over my chest.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Fabi pleaded. “Your dad was on TV talking about how he was going to take down the Ferraros and put them behind bars, and in the meantime, I was picking out the flower arrangements for my wedding to Cosimo. I was scared, Mia. Scared you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me after you found out.”
“So instead, you made it seem like you didn’t want anything to do with me?” My voice rose, incredulous. “Make it make sense, Fabi.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t. I know. I was paralyzed, and I kept kicking the can down the road. I kept thinking, ‘I’ll talk to her next week. No, next week. No, next week.’ And then—“
“I showed up and forced the conversation.”
Fabi nodded, her eyes glassy. “I’m glad you did. It killed me keeping this from you. I’m so sorry, Mia.”
I shook my head. She sounded genuinely remorseful, but I wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. “I don’t understand why you never told me who you were. We’ve known each other for over a decade. Far longer than my dad’s campaign.”
She grimaced. “It was supposed to be a secret. My brother gave Elena and I a different last name so that no one could trace us back to him. It was about safety, especially while we were living abroad.”
I picked at a cuticle. Okay, that kind of tracked, but it still hurt. Fabi should have known she could trust me.
I gestured at Nina and Zo. “You told them.”
Fabi shook her head. “I didn’t.”
“Then how did they find out?”
Zo shrugged. “You know me, I like to poke around.”
“Poke around where exactly?”
“The FBI database,” Zo said so casually you’d think she was talking about checking the weather. “I hacked into it about two years ago.”
“Zo! Jesus Christ. That’s the kind of thing that gets people arrested,” I said.
She waved a hand. “I was careful.”
I wasn’t comforted by that.
“Naturally,” she continued, “the first thing I did was look up all my friends. Imagine my surprise when I found out Fabi Castellano wasn’t a real person. I got curious. And you know how I get when I get curious.”
“You dig,” Nina said.
Zo flipped over a coaster. “I sure do. Found her and her sis’s birth certificates eventually.”
Unbelievable. “Wow. Easy.”
She cocked a brow. “Oh, it wasn't easy. Took forever to hack into the FBI in the first place. Don't downplay my brilliance.”
“God forbid,” I muttered. “So you knew all this time and told Nina, but not me?“
“It was her secret,” Zo said, nodding toward Fabi. “And Nina figured it out before me.”
“How?” I turned to Nina. She didn’t have Zo’s hacking skills. She must have pieced it together another way.
Nina fiddled with the small pendant she always wore around her neck. “I’m related to Cosimo Ferraro.”
My jaw hit the floor. “What? But your last name’s Liu. Your dad’s Chinese.”
“Yes, but my mom’s Italian-Albanian. And her sister is Vita Ferraro.”
The Ferraro matriarch was Nina’s aunt? According to my father, Vita was an important player in the criminal organization.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Nina was even more by the book than me. She was the last person I’d ever imagine having extended family involved in organized crime.
I sank back into my seat, trying to wrap my head around all of this. “So Cosimo is your—”
“He’s my cousin.”
And so was Romolo.
Oh God.
“You must’ve known all along, then,” I said. She was part of the same world as Fabi.
“No.” Nina shook her head. “I put it together during the winter break just before we graduated Valais Academy. My parents have nothing to do with the Ferraro business, but we still get together now and then. The subject of the Messeros came up at a big family dinner, and when someone said Rafaele Messero’s sisters went to a private school in Switzerland, I had a feeling. When I got back to school, I asked Fabi straight up, and—”
“She turned red,” I guessed.
“So red. Like, horrifically red.”
My head fell back against the booth. “Okay. I’m ready for a drink.”
Zo flagged a server down. As soon as he'd taken our orders and left, Fabi reached for my hand again. This time, I didn’t pull away.
“Will you forgive me?”
I wanted to. But I was still hurt. “You hid a big part of your life from me. For a long time.”
“It wasn’t really my life until the engagement,” she insisted. “My brother doesn’t talk to me about his business. I’m not involved in his companies. I was happy to live in Geneva, doing my own thing. Same with Elena.”
“Is she back in New York now too?” I asked.
Fabi shook her head. “She’s on a mission in Botswana. It’ll be over just in time for the wedding.”
“So what happened exactly? You fell for Cosimo and decided he's worth leaving Switzerland for?”
Fabi’s hand clenched around mine, and her expression fell. “I…” Her voice wavered. “I didn’t fall for him. It’s an arranged marriage.”
My heart stopped. I felt the blood drain out of my face. “Come again?”
Fabi smiled, but it looked forced. “It’s okay. I always knew it would be this way. My brother picked Cosimo for me. It’s for the good of the family.”
That text she’d sent yesterday. I hadn’t thought much of her saying she needed emotional support—who didn’t at an event with your entire family present?—but now I suspected there was more to it.
“Fabi, do you like him?” I asked.
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
That was the least convincing answer I’d ever heard. All the secrecy about him—God, it was all starting to click.
I squinted at her. “Do you even know him?”
She nibbled on the corner of her mouth. “A bit. Yeah.”
The server returned with our drinks, but I barely registered him rattling off our order. My ears rang.
This wasn’t right. Fabi deserved better than having to marry some guy she hardly knew.
Correction—not just some guy. A dangerous, ruthless criminal like Cosimo Ferraro. How could her brother do this to her?
The anger I’d felt at her earlier was gone. Now I was just worried.
“Do you want to marry him?” I asked as soon as the server walked away.
She let out a breath. “I don’t have a choice. But honestly, it’s fine. That was the deal my brother made with Elena and I. We could live our lives in Switzerland, far from all of this, as long as when the time came, we’d return home and do our duty.”
Fine. It wasn’t fine.
