𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 ✓ [𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄]

✎chapter eighteen × a rich type of fun*

ɴᴀᴘʟᴇs, ɪᴛᴀʟʏ
ᴛᴇɴ ғᴏᴜʀᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴘᴍ
ʟᴀᴜʀᴇɴᴛ ᴇsᴛᴀᴛᴇ

━─━────༺༻────━─━

I can see the estate from a mile away. It glows in the distance bright enough to illuminate a small town. As the queue of cars inches closer, I can faintly hear music.

   Next to me, Angelo doesn't look nearly as chipper. He's got that look again, of mischief, but I can't quite place why. The 'Vanntillado' case sits between us like it did before.

   Finally, it's our turn in line. The car rolls to a stop and Angelo exits.

  "Stay in the car." He had instructed. "Wait until I open the door for you."

   I watch his figure, wrapped in the light from the estate, round the back of the car and pull open my door.

  He extends his hand and I take it, carefully stepping out of the car and on to the limestone gravel below. I'm blinded by the lights for a momemt before my eyes finally adjust and settle over the grounds.

   It might as well be the MET gala, the way everyone is dressed. Perfectly tailored suits and ballgowns with trains longer than stretch limos speckled the walkways. Laughter and music travelled down the velvet carpet lined staircase up to the massive mahogany doors.

   Angelo takes my arm in his and we walk up the stairs. As we do I notice those ahead of us handing over gold gilded envelopes to men in dark suits with earpieces.

   I tug gently on Angelo's sleeve. "How are we going to get past them?" I whisper.

  "Don't worry about it." He whsipers back.

  As we get closer, security move in to stop us.

  "Your invitation, sir?" One man asks.

   Angelo gives him a look and tilts his head. He pats down his pockets and as he does, his sleeves ride up revealing his tattooed wrists.

  "I seem to have misplaced it." He says, innocently.

   The men simply nod and move to the side. Angelo tugs me through the doorway. If I wasnt shocked by the exterior, the interior alone is heart-stopping.

  Its something out of a fairytale and I try not to gasp at the sight. Massive chandeliers hanging overhead paint the hall a range of pale yellows and oranges. The large mural on the arched ceiling dances in the light, looking down on the marbled floor.

A long, elaborately woven rug splits the entire room in half from the doors to the alcove that leads into the next room, while wine red banners with gilded tufts cover parts of the walls.

  Between each banner is a tall candleabra.  They've all been lit and in turn illuminate the gold-framed paintings below them.

  Narrow windows are concealed by curtains colored the same as the banners. The curtains have been adorned with emblazoned edges and impressive needlework.