Devotion

twenty two ﾒ ball gowns

LUCA

It is the annual ball that the De Santis family holds every year. Might I add how messy this family is? They purposely wait until this time of year to invite every organized crime bloodline, enemy or not. And I appreciate the thought process behind it.

One thing to know about the New York City Mobs is that we like to lounge and gossip, even if it means in the face of the enemy. Yes, it's a dirty game. But I love dirty games.

I've grown up with these events, and I hate and love them all the same. First off, I can't believe it will be 23 years since I came to this stupid party. It's like hatred radiates throughout my penthouse because my father scowls at me for getting ready.

"Last time I checked, it does not take one this long, as a man, to get ready. Who are you trying to look well and healthy for?" His eyebrows raise as he fixes his tie in the mirror.

The same mirror I happen to be using. It's like this old man couldn't find one of the other mirrors. I own more than enough to go elsewhere. But no, he wants to be critical here. "Why do I have to look good for someone? Why can't a man show a little self-love?" I asked back.

"Because," he turns to face me, standing an inch shorter than I am. "You're a walking STD. Every time I see you at one of these social events, you have a woman hooked around you."

I sigh, smoothing out my Giorgio Armani suit. "I am not looking for a woman tonight."

"Please," he practically scoffs. "If you're going to lie, at least have depth to it." Goddamn, it's like I can't win. What does a son even say to that?

At this point, I should take the diss and call it a day. I'd rather be somewhere else than criticized by my balding Italian father. "Unless you like someone, which is rare in this bloodline, we Bertarellis are not known to be faithful."

"Dad, what? Are you talking out of your ass?" I genuinely asked him. Who the fuck even says something like that anyways?

"No, I was unfaithful, and also your grandfather as well. So, I'd hope my son at least gets that trait from me, unless you're just young and a whore. But I respect you for being amazing and not being me. Being unfaithful is more work than staying loyal. Don't be me," he says, patting my shoulder.

And I feel like I have a father for once, guiding me to a path that isn't an unfaithful trick. "Thanks? What the hell do I say to that?"

Marco sighs and laughs. "Nothing, son. I'm just proud."

Uh, okay. Let's head to this ball so I can come back and not be in this predicament right now. Thirty minutes later, we ended up at the De Santis residence. Do I want to be here on a Saturday night? No. I'm exhausted, and I'd rather just be in my bedroom, collecting stocks and drinking whiskey. Normal stuff like any 23-year-old college senior.

As Marco and I walk inside, heads turn, drinks are raised, and smiles are wiped. Out of all of the families, we're one of the most hated, and it's not because of me. It's because of my argumentative and whore-ish father.

Old women stare at me as if I've caught some sort of plague, and I'm offended. Mason Monroe, one of Columbia's best football players, claps the back of my shoulder excitedly. "Hey, dude," he says, smiling. "So, guess what? I've been here for fucking an hour, Leilani, and I have already"

"I don't care; where's her friend?" I ask, cutting off Mason.

As much as I would love to hear about his dirty shenanigans with Angelica's best friends, I don't care enough, and I also need to talk to Angelica about our project. Mason frowns and points far across the foyer to Angelica.

She stands there at the bar with a glass in her hand, indulging herself in her anger—or something of the sort. I walk over there with my hands in my pockets, kind of nervous out of my ass, and I'm so in my head that I don't even notice that I'm in front of her. "Hey," I say in a low voice.

"Can we talk?" She asks. Her eyes are lit up; they look greener than usual. So pretty, oh? That's new.

I clear my throat and nod. "Sure, want to go upstairs to, um, talk?" Fuck, do I look nervous? A smile rises on her lips.

"You nervous, B?" I stare at her, trying to manage a clear, stoic face, but fuck, something about her demeanor, her face, not only turns me on, but I want her.

Double oh? "Fuck no, let's go," I say as I lift an arm for her to grab onto. Her manicured hand wraps around my bicep, and she lifts her dress up to avoid stepping on it before following me up the spiral staircase and into the nearest room.

Which happens to be the most unromantic place I've been with a girl—the fucking cleaning closet. "Why do you have a cleaning closet in your house? Are you a janitor?"

Angelica laughs. "As fun as that sounds, no. But I'm so excited! And for some reason, I only wanted to tell you about it because—fuck, who the hell cares? I wanted to tell you."

Under all of the nervous and cold emotions seeping through my skin sits a glowing smile I want to flash. "What is it?"

Angelica stares at me and my lips, then clears her throat, immediately getting nervous. "Well, as you may have noticed, since you began to randomly hold study sessions, I have improved since the last Health Economics exam."

"Oh? Tell me more." I lick my lips before staring at hers. "So, I went in today to take the exam, and I knew all of the answers. I ended up getting 100% on mine; what about you? Please tell me you failed."

"I did not. Sorry to ruin your fun. I got a 99%, but—" She wastes no time to loudly laugh in my face.

I mean, doubled over, hand on the knee, type of laugh, and damn, I don't feel one ounce of anger coursing through my veins as she laughs. Usually, I'd get pissed off and hope to send her off, but the feeling I'm feeling is unholy and needs to be whacked from my head.

Why am I proud of my academic enemy?

We have been at each other's throats since God knows when, and for the first time, I feel like I don't need to be superior in academics. This isn't my thing; it is hers, so I'll let her have this moment.

But only one time.

Angelica quickly straightens up and looks at me dead in the eyes. "Okay, but now, Mia. We need to do something about her. It's getting a little redundant to have her in my face like we're best friends forever. So, what are we doing?"

"Let's fuck."

Her face crumples into a grimace. "Ew! As if I'd fuck a walking STD."

"For your information, Ms. De Santis, I'm clean and currently abstinent," I say before walking up to her, making space very uncomfortable for the both of us. "But I can make an exception tonight."

She looks at me. "The joke is funny, but no one is laughing. Um, instead of compromising, let's pretend we fucked or made out." Angelica runs her hands through my hair multiple times to mess it up; I do the same for her, but in a delicate manner. She applies lipstick, kisses my cheeks, and gives me a slight peck on the lips.

It caught me off guard. A grin slides on my face. She covers my mouth and pushes me to the wall. "Shush," she whispers. Her hand slowly unravels my tie, and she shifts my dress shirt before letting go. "Now, you look adorable."

We finally walk out after what seems like forever and head down the stairs, where all attention is on us. Leilani glares at Angel with a smile and a thumbs up. Mason smirks at me. My father looks like he may smoke me in front of everyone. Angelica ignores the whispers and gossip and holds my hand before stepping down in the foyer.

She pulls me onto the floor, and we start dancing. My hands make way for her waist, and her arms are around my neck. "Make a statement. Be quiet," she says. My mouth lowers to her ear. "I never knew you were the aggressive type."

"I can be," she says through clenched teeth, "if you want me to."