As soon as I was inside, I pulled up the hood on my jacket and tried my best to blend in to the people around me. I knew I wasn’t doing a great job—after all, most of the crowd was made up of men—but I hoped at least that no one was staring too hard at the flushed girl in the dark clothes, hiding in the corner of the room.

 

The place was enormous but sparse—a hundred-foot square room with low ceilings, exposed wooden walls and a plain cement floor. Tables and chairs were peppered about and the place had the atmosphere of a party; convivial, jovial, a little drunk. Beers and glasses of wine were sitting about everywhere, and I wondered if that was why I had gotten in so easily—because everyone was just tipsy enough not to notice my arrival.

 

“Excuse me,” a voice came from behind me, and I practically launched myself out my skin in response; I turned and a man I didn’t recognize was raising his eyebrows at me. I stepped aside quickly, keeping my head down, and praying that he hadn’t realized that I wasn’t one of them—and doubly praying he hadn’t realized I was Lucca D’Orazio’s daughter.

 

I hadn’t considered it before, but it could look as though my father was trying to infiltrate the group if anyone spotted me hanging about—and that would mean trouble for the both of us. I kept my eyes on the floor and began to make my way through the crowd, praying that Jasper would recognize me and get me out of here before something worse happened.

 

As I made my way through the crowd, I found myself tuning in to the conversations around me; it was a habit I’d picked up from spending so much time around my father and his associates. Nobody would pay much attention to me, so I would wander amongst them and make my own entertainment, grabbing on little snippets of conversation and filling in the rest of the story as I saw fit.

 

I wanted to concentrate on finding Jasper, but my brain was determined to stay focused on the people around me. Shit, it probably wasn’t the worst idea; keeping an ear out for what was being said just to make sure that no one had noticed me or was planning to expose my appearance here. Everyone seemed pretty well tucked up in their own conversations, unwilling to pay much attention to me beyond a glance. It was refreshing, to be so unimportant to someone for a change, but when I started tuning in to what they were saying, my blood ran cold. This wasn’t what I had expected.

 

“…yeah, but I told him that I would need more to make that deal—I’m not putting my guys on the line for a job I don’t even know is going to pay out,” I heard an older, rotund man comment to his younger companion before taking a sip of his drink.

 

“I don’t mind losing a few guys, but I mind even less if it’s a few of their guys, you know what I mean?” I dipped into another conversation, and found this comment met with a roar of laughter than bounced off the walls around me. I looked up, eyes wide, and then remembered where I was and returned my gaze to the floor.

 

“That’s what I always ask anyone who comes here: is it drugs or a girl?” Another guy, this time around my age, announced with glee. “Because when it comes to money, it’s one or the other. I prefer it when it’s the drugs, because you know they’re not going anywhere—but a girl they can lose anytime with no notice.”

 

I felt a pulse of déjà vu move through my brain, disorientating me slightly as I moved through the crowd. It took me a second to place it, but when I did, a chill ran down my spine. I recognized what these people were saying because they sounded strikingly like the things those men at my father’s parties would say. And back then, I’d been able to promise myself that I would get out, that none of those things would ever apply to me—but now that I had gotten out, I’d walked straight towards a man who was no different from my father.

 

Clouds began to form at the edge of my vision, and I struggled for a moment to keep myself upright. I had never felt anything like the feeling that was currently pulsing through my veins before—how could I have? It was fear, pure fear, unbridled and aggressive and sickening. All this time, I had promised myself that I was different from my father, that I was better than him. And, while I might not have killed someone, I just fell for the first man I met who reminded me a sufficient amount of him. Talk about Daddy issues.

 

I managed to make it to one of the corners of the room, leaning up against a wall behind a table. No one seemed to be paying any attention to me, much to my relief, and I pressed my back up against the wood and took deep, shuddering breaths. I began to feel constricted, so I pushed my hood back and gulped in giant breaths of air, trying to set myself right again. I felt insane. Was this how all men were? Or at least, was this how all the men that I would ever spend time around were going to be? Was I just a magnet built to attract gangsters and villains and bad guys?

 

What had I expected, though? When I met Jasper, it was because my father had approved of him—and you could be sure that if my father approved of someone then it was hardly because they were just such a stand-up dude. I wondered if Dad had known all along that this was how things would play out, if he pushed Jasper on me specifically because he would flake and leave me with nowhere to go and my Dad could hold his hands up and say, “Well, I gave you the chance, it must have been something you did to fuck it up.” Maybe Jasper was even in on it. The more I looked at our relationship—well, what I had thought of as our relationship, at least—the more it seemed cast in a gauzy, cynical light that rendered the whole thing…unsavory.

 

I scanned the room for Jasper again, but I couldn’t see him anywhere; maybe he was out having another cigarette or maybe he’d seen me and made a run for it. Neither would particularly surprise me.

 

I couldn’t tune out of the conversations around me—all them seeming to contain something about disparaging women or shooting rivals or picking up disposable, vulnerable men to fight for them. These men were no different than my father’s mafia, and I don’t know why I thought they might have been. These people disgusted me, viscerally and seriously, and I wanted nothing more to do with any of them. I didn’t know whether Jasper was the vulnerable man picked off the street to do grunt work for the higher-ups in this fucking place, or if he was one of the ones doing the picking up; the only thing I was sure of was that I didn’t want to stick around to find out either way.

 

I pushed myself up from where I’d been slumped against the wall, and pulled the hood back over my head; the last thing I needed now was for someone to recognize me and bring this whole plan crashing down around my ears. I made my way through the crowd, shooting for the door I had entered through—and then I saw him.

 

It was just the back of his head, that was all, but it was enough for me to tell who it was. I knew him well enough to know every part of him, to recognize him from every and any angle, and I could be sure that it was Jasper. I froze for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away from him, as I heard his voice drift through the crowd and towards me. I couldn’t really register what he was saying, nor did I want to, but seeing him threw me completely off track. I could…I could just go up to him, touch his shoulder, look at him with pleading eyes and hope he got the message. It was tempting, considering I had no idea what was waiting for me on the outside.

 

I looked down at the floor again, angry with myself. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone. I could do this all by myself if I had to, and I would. I pushed through the crowd, making my way back towards the door, glad he hadn’t seen me. I had no clue what my plan was now that I didn’t have anyone to go to, but I would find a way. My mind was already racing; any effects the wine might have had were firmly gone after this little sojourn. I was sobered up, truly and totally, and I didn’t intend to stay here a moment longer when I could find some bar, get ridiculously drunk, and figure out where I was going from there.

 

I reached the door at last, and wrapped my fingers around the handle. Last chance. Did I really want to go? My father’s men could be waiting out on the street outside for me, ready to take me home and put me in lockdown for the rest of my life—well, at least until he could marry me off to Alfonso Condotierri. I shuddered at the thought. But if I had the choice—which I might well not—I would rather get out of this cramped, ugly hell-hole than stay here for even a second longer.

 

I pulled on the handle, and found it stuck—shit. How was I meant to get out now? As I tugged, my hood fell down, but I didn’t notice—I just wanted out. I pulled harder, focusing on my energy on getting that damn door open—until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, slowly, and came face-to-face with someone I’d half-hoped I would never see again.