Say You Hate Me

mafia ball

The fucking mansion this ball was held in was divine. The definition of having shit tons of money and showing it off. 

Grayson and I walked in together, my arm wrapped around his bicep gingerly. The overwhelming scent of expensive perfume and musky cologne enveloped me, the intricate mouldings and art painting the high ceilings inviting my eyes upwards and the tall windows capturing the night sky in all its glory. Stars splashed across the indigo canvas, the huge orb of silvery light basking in the centre, giving the whole room an ethereal glow. The chandelier in the centre, a celestial constellation suspended high in the air, cascading crystals dripping down from the grandiose frame, casting a mesmerising dance of light. The walls were adorned with beautiful portraits and vast mirrors, and the floor was polished marble, shiny enough to see your own reflection. Gentle melodies of a live orchestra drifted through the room as elegant tuxedos and gowns crowd my sight, the buzz of laughter and conversation in the air. I paused slowly, almost star struck, revelling in the pure splendour of the ballroom from my view up on the balcony in front of the grand staircase. Grayson watched my reaction, his hazel eyes devouring my features, his gaze full of so many emotions I couldn't pinpoint, my heat throbbed desperately and butterflies tickled my stomach. 

This man and his goddamn eyes. 

I swallow, fear trickling through me and goosebumps racing across my skin. Was i really doing this? Maybe it wasn't too late to back out now - when I said I owed him a favour, being his date to a ball full of mass murderers was not exactly what I was considering. I spot the bar in the far corner, glinting mischievously at me. 

Bingo. 

That's where I'm spending tonight, with a glass of champagne and one of those expensive truffles these waiters are walking around with.

 If they all start killing each other, I plan on being the spectator who's too drunk to participate.

"Remember, you're pretending to be my date. And do not, talk to my father unless you're with me, sweetheart," Grayson rasped in my ear, his warm breath fanning my skin.

"Yeah, I understand, asswipe." i mutter snarkily, turning to face him. His eyes are swimming with amusement and a smirk tugging at his lips.

We begin our descent down the stairs, as I try to ignore the fact that I have fantasised doing this since I watched Cinderella. This was my moment.

"If any of these rich assholes bore you, come find me, okay?" Gio grins at me as we reach the bottom before turning on his heel and disappearing in the sea of people. 

I might just take him up on that offer. 

"There you are, Grayson. I was starting to think you pussied out," a large, burly man approached us, his face splotchy and red and his lips were stretched into a perpetual conniving smirk, a glass of alcohol was gripped lazily in his chubby hands, the liquid sloshing from side to side.

 My shoulders went rigid and a chill ran down my spine. From his tone and the way Grayson's eyes immediately lost any hint of life, I knew this man was trouble.

I scowl at the man uncomfortably, I may not like Grayson after his words in the car, but I don't know who this asshole is talking to him like that. Grayson wraps a muscled arm around my waist protectively, pushing his body in front and concealing me from the man. 

"Well, I'm here now."  Grayson growled, his voice icy. "I guess you thought wrong."

This was his dad. I noticed how their eyes were the same pools of honey, yet Grayson's seemed tired and his father's looked like they hid nefarious intentions.