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"I feel like every time I tell you to do something, you do the exact opposite," I groan into the phone as I struggle to zip up the outfit that would undoubtedly attract more attention than I needed today.
"Your welcome, I made you look hot and you're still complaining, you know what, just send me a picture," Vera shouts loudly over the phone. She hangs up the phone before I can even respond.
At least it has pockets.
I smooth the creases in my dress as I glance in the mirror. The gown was a basic black gown with a high slit that caressed my body like a second skin. I sighed and snapped a brief photo before getting my black YSL heels. After giving myself one final look in the mirror, I leave my apartment and drive to the masquerade.
Every year, a mafia family hosted a gathering to bring all the families together. There were some ground rules to observe, such as no weapons or disputes. This year's event was hosted by the Koslovs.
When the Romanian Mafia hosted it many years ago, the party was raided by the police, and several people were detained. Since then, the mafia families have decided to pass it off as a professional ball. Every year, a new theme was chosen, and this year's theme was masquerade.
Since I never wanted to be associated with the mafia, I hadn't gone to many of these events, but today I would have to play dumb. The Koslovs, particularly Ares, had no idea who I was, and it would have to stay that way.
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Before I know it I was in front of the mansion. The mansion was similar to the kind of place you might read about in a book or dream about as a little child. The white ones are supported by pillars and hundreds of windows. The mansion was nearly three times the size of a shopping center. What the hell did these guys do? Do our tax dollars go to them, the fuck?
As I enter the mansion, a man who obviously hated his job looks at me. He looked like he had 4 wives and 20 children.
"Name." He grumbles. Dude was depression.
"Malik." He turned back to his iPad and swiped down what I'm assuming was the guest list.
He said, "I'll let Mr. Koslov know you're here," before moving to the side and motioning for me to enter the ballroom.
The room is packed with wealthy mafia people. Over generations, their reach and wealth have grown hand in hand. Each man here oozes wealth, dressed in Italian suits and wearing Jacob & Co watches. They are, however, far from gentlemen, and the women there are either the dons' partners or their sidepieces.
I look around the ballroom and notice that the lights have been turned down. Even though it was nearly dark, you could see the guys speaking and the women becoming intoxicated. I didn't belong here. All I wanted to do was go to Broadway, a diner close to my penthouse, and order a burger. But I need to get some work done.
