Crossing Stars

  As much as I wanted to toss the dress into my fireplace and dive into the shower to wash off the entire aerosol can of hairspray shellacking my hair into place, I didn’t. Defying my father in secret was one thing, but defying him openly was something else. I didn’t need a glass ball to know what would happen if I came down to dinner in my usual skirt-and-sweater combo, paired with my standard headband and flats. I didn’t need a fortune teller to tell me whatever fortune I might have had would be extinguished with one moment of defiance. So I wore the dress. And the heels and the makeup and everything else. I didn’t need to embrace it, but I accepted it.

  The theme for the night was much the same as the theme of my life.

  After shuffling out of my room—thanks to the suctioned-on dress and ceiling-high heels, shuffling was the only way to move—Luca dutifully followed me down to the dining room. When I glanced back, I caught him staring at my legs.

  “What are you looking at?” I teased as I hobbled along.

  “Nothing I should be if I want to make it to my next birthday,” he answered, having to shake his head before his eyes readjusted.

  Smiling, my mind drifted to Rylan. It was Friday night, the same night I’d promised to meet him again. Everything inside of me wanted to sneak out and make my way back to him, but everything inside of me also reminded me of why I shouldn’t. The faces of the men who guarded me came to mind. Then came the faceless figures of all the people who would die if I took this any further—because it wasn’t a question of if my father found out about Rylan and me, it was a question of when. How could I sacrifice people’s lives for my feelings for one man? How was I any better than my father if I did that?

  I didn’t know how long I’d been standing at the top of the stairs, my hand on the handrail as my mind traveled down a dark road, but Luca’s gentle nudge brought me back to the present.

  “Can I help you down, Miss Costa? I never thought to be on guard for stairs, but those heels are making them look more and more treacherous.”

  I worked a smile into place as I took his elbow. “Well I wouldn’t want you out of a job, would I?”

  Luca descended the staircase slowly, patient and alert as always. He quickly removed his arm from mine once I was safe on solid flat ground.

  “You made it,” he announced, taking his usual position just behind and to the side of me.

  Something occurred to me then that I’d never let hit me before—Luca would give up his life if mine was in danger. He’d throw himself in front of a bullet if one was blasting my way. Without a second thought. Yes, that was what he’d been trained for and it was part of his job, but that didn’t change that he would give his life so I could keep mine.

  Guilt and appreciation crashed over me like a wave. “Thank you.” I looked at him, struggling to find words to express what I was feeling.

  He glanced back at the stairs. “Glad I could see you safely down the staircase.”

  “Not just for that.” I squeezed his arm. “For everything.”

  Luca shifted, looking as uncomfortable as if I was in front of him buck naked and bouncing on a trampoline. “You’re welcome.” The words seemed to take a great deal of effort to get out.

  “Josette!” My father’s sharp voice rumbled into the foyer. “I pay Luca to protect you, not to be your friend you whisper secrets to while we all wait for you.”

  I don’t know whose face flattened faster—Luca’s or mine. “Coming.” I tried to hurry toward the dining room, but really, in that dress, I could have walked on my hands faster.

  Luca shadowed me into the dining room. Even though I could tell someone was situated next to my seat, I didn’t look up to see who. I felt more like a hooker working a room than a daughter coming to dinner, so making eye contact wasn’t happening. At least not yet.

  “We have a guest,” my father said. As I was passed him, he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “Don’t disappoint me,” he hissed, quiet as a snake and every bit as chilling as one.

  When I met his gaze, I saw the same paralyzing stare he gave his men. Those dark, glossy eyes that seemed to see everything appraised his only child in the same way as he inspected the men who killed for him.

  “I never have,” I replied.

  The wrinkles etched into his forehead deepened. “Never do.”

  To top off his ominous words, he leaned in to kiss my cheek. There was no affection in it; it was a kiss of duty. As a child, I’d lived for those rare kisses on the cheek. Sometimes I’d even wait on the other side of the door when I knew my father would be coming home, hoping to receive one. These days, though, I barely endured them.

  “You look lovely, dear,” Mom said, trying not to gape at the way I’d been done up. For a mother who loved seeing her daughter in bobby socks and velvet headbands, no doubt this look hadn’t been her idea. That meant it was my father’s, which meant . . .

  I was mid-internal sigh when I noticed him. From his swagger to his over-powering cologne, I knew who he was before looking at his face. Really, if I never had to look at his face again, I’d be good with it. But when the Krait cleared his throat, I immediately obeyed the silent command.

  “We have a guest. An honored guest.” My father clapped his hand over the man’s arm. “You remember Constantine, don’t you, Josette?”

  I worked up a smile for the man beside me who was making no qualms about both inspecting and appreciating my lack of dress. “How could I forget?” The last time we met, you spent half your time staring in a mirror and the other half talking about your future wife bearing you six sons.

  “And after seeing you now, I know I could not possibly ever forget you again.” Constantine nudged my father. “Why didn’t you tell me your daughter had grown into such a beauty? Last time we met, she was all elbows and knees and bright eyes.”

  He and my father exchanged a chuckle as I felt something boil inside. I’d been dressed up like some trashy doll for the amusement and enjoyment of a man who put the punch in vile.

  “I’ve still got the knees and elbows,” I said, interrupting their private laugh. “The eyes aren’t so bright though.”

  Then I wove between them toward my seat at the table. If I wouldn’t have lived in a state of fear of my father, I would have charged out of the dining room and ripped the dress to shreds. But I did live in fear of my father, his men, and his enemies. On this side or the other, fear was what I ate at every meal.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I sit by you tonight.” Constantine was already sliding into the chair beside me, angling it toward me.

  “You can hope all you’d like,” I replied with an overly sweet smile.

  “Josette.”

  One word from my father was all it took to wipe away whatever streak of defiance had cropped up. Wringing my hands in my lap, I tugged at the hem of the dress, trying to make it a foot longer. No luck. As the drinks were poured, I tried not to notice the man beside me staring at me with such intensity I felt like I was about to be vaporized. Again, no such luck.

  Constantine Lombarti was what my father referred to as the new order. He was young, lived in a penthouse in Las Vegas, and was the head of the largest Italian crime circle in the West. Father had been trying to fix me up with Constantine since before I could ride a bike. To him, it was all business. The Krait was of the old order, one of the most powerful men in the East and feared by his allies and enemies . . . but he was getting older. Joining forces with the Lombarti ring would ensure the empire he’d striven to create would be left in good hands. A marriage of the new and the old. A union of the East and the West.

  But first . . . his daughter and Constantine had to be joined.

  In the past, I’d never given my father’s matchmaking much concern because Constantine was at least ten years older than me and a hundred times more . . . experienced. He ran his organized crime ring out of Vegas for a reason, and it wasn’t for the flashing lights. He was notoriously promiscuous and had supposedly fathered so many illegitimate children
, he had to hire a bus when he took them on their annual trip to the zoo. Objectively, he was good looking, but when I added a dash of subjectivity, he was revolting—mainly because it was blindingly clear he’d never love another person a fraction as much as he loved himself.

  It was rumored he wasn’t as deadly as my father, but I’d heard of Constantine having a man skinned alive for sleeping with his paramour-of-the-minute. And that was the man sitting beside me, staring at me in a way that made me feel as if a dozen snakes were winding up and wrapping around my body.

  “You are eighteen now, yes?” Constantine asked, taking a sip of his Chianti.

  I nodded, but when my father’s fist came down on the table, I added, “I am.”

  “Of the legal age. How exciting.” His voice was like silk, soft and smooth, though the look in his eyes was far less gentle.

  “I never thought of being legal to vote as exciting, but I’ll look forward to finding out.” I thanked Thomas with a smile as he set gazpacho in front of me. When Constantine leaned in, it took every fiber of my willpower to keep from pushing him away.

  “I wasn’t referring to voting,” he said in a low voice, his lips wet as he inspected my hem line.

  Snatching the napkin from the table, I dropped it into my lap and spread it out. All that served to do was shift his gaze up a couple of feet.

  “Are you here on business?” I asked, forcing myself to take a bite of soup instead of retching from his continued stare.

  “Not on that kind of business,” he replied, looking at my father. “Should we tell her, Mr. Costa?”

  My mom froze, her soup spoon halfway to her mouth. If that wasn’t enough to put me on high alert, the smiles passing between my father and Constantine were enough to make me uneasy.

  “Josette,” my father began, lifting his Chianti glass.

  Constantine followed suit. My mom and I stayed frozen.

  “Rejoice. You get to be the woman to bear the honor of being Mrs. Constantine Lombarti.” My father looked at me then like I’d always dreamed he would—like I was the child he’d always wanted and was exceedingly proud of.

  Then I realized it wasn’t me he was looking at—it was Constantine.

  “What are you saying? Exactly?” I asked, too confused to make sense of what he’d said.

  My father’s smile dimmed. “You are neither deaf nor dumb, so stop acting like you’re both.” He tipped back what was left in his wine glass before indicating for Thomas to refill it. “You are going to marry Constantine. You will be his wife. He will be your husband. He will be my son-in-law.”

  “And you will be my father-in-law.” Constantine tipped his glass at my father then took a drink.

  I couldn’t decide if I was more shocked or outraged. From the feel of it, both were about to explode out of me. “And when did you decide this? On the day I was born or as I was trying not to break my neck on the stairs?”

  My mom unfroze long enough to set down her spoon and give me a warning look. We both knew the penalty for speaking out against my father, but I was long past caring about reprimands and punishments. I was long past being the innocent, obedient daughter who nodded and smiled on command.

  “I believe I can answer that,” Constantine said with his signature smile that tipped the condescending scale. “Your father made that decision on the day you were born I’d say, but I left my decision open until just now.” His hand settled on my leg, closer to my lap than my knee. “How could I say no to all of this becoming my wife?”

  My fingers curled into fists. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s a fairly simple two-letter, one-syllable word. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said it. Or heard it.” I practically glowered at him.

  “Josette!” My father burst to a stand, his face red and his hand quivering with rage. “Speak with respect at my table, or you’ll be sent away from it.”

  “Promise?” I muttered to myself before meeting my father’s glare. “Excuse me. I find it difficult to give respect when none is given in return.”

  My mom’s head nervously twisted from me to my father, but I was too furious to feel nervous. I was eighteen, living in a free country, and an intelligent, capable woman. How could he think he could just set me up with someone and I’d go along with it without so much as a few words of protest?

  There were many things preposterous about my father, but this was the most.

  “I thought you told me she was sweet and obedient. One who would never betray or shame me.” Constantine sipped at a spoonful of gazpacho. “But here she is, shaming her own father at his very table.”

  The vein running through my father’s forehead was bursting through the skin. “She only shames herself,” he seethed, his tongue lapping out to wet his lips. “Listen to me now, and listen to me good. Daughter.” He said the word as if it was an abomination. “You are going to marry Mr. Lombarti. You are going to love him and obey him and never shame him at his table like you have yourself tonight at mine.”

  My breathing came in such heavy pulls it was a chore to talk, but I’d stayed silent for eighteen years. My silence had run out. “I’ll be holding my breath in excitement until the happy day.” Sarcasm was thick in my voice and expression.

  Constantine’s eyes gleamed. “You won’t have long to hold that breath. We’re getting married this summer.” When my eyes widened, he mistook the meaning. “You can hardly expect a man to wait a year to enjoy that which he has already paid for.”

  I looked the part of one, and apparently he’d paid the price for one. “I’m eighteen,” was my convincing argument.

  “The perfect time for a young woman to get married. Right on the cusp of losing her girlhood innocence, and right before she’s on the verge of getting into too much trouble.” Constantine grinned.

  “You’re how old?” I asked.

  “Thirty-five.”

  “That’s almost twice my age.”

  “Which is the recipe for a successful marriage. A man needs to live his life before settling down, and a woman can only live her life once she settles down. Why it suits a woman to get married young, it doesn’t a man. Therefore you and I will make a most suitable match.”

  “That’s a rather narrow view,” I replied, dangerously close to slapping him. It was the first time I’d wanted to slap anyone, and I wasn’t sure if that was due to Constantine or the person I was becoming.

  “The world is narrow.”

  That was when I reached critical mass. I couldn’t sit for another moment or listen to another word. I might have to answer to my father, but storming out of the dining room would be worth it. “I’ve had enough dinner for one night.” Shoving out of my chair, I stormed off as much as I could in my dress. My ever-present shadow fell in behind me.

  “Stop this instance!” My father slammed both of his hands onto the table, making the crystal and china rattle.

  Sucking in a breath, I kept going. “I will when you will.”

  I was almost out of the dining room when he grabbed my wrist and yanked me back with such force I cried out. Luca moved to step between my father and me then paused, clearly conflicted. Who did his allegiance lay with most: the person he was sworn to protect or the person who’d hired him to protect her?

  “How does June sound instead of August, Constantine?” my father asked, although his eyes never stopped boring into mine.

  “June sounds better than August, although tomorrow sounds better than June,” he replied, perched casually in his chair. He looked utterly unconcerned that his bride-to-be was being man-handled right in front of him.

  “Good. The sooner you’re married, the sooner this sudden streak of disobedience can be beaten out of her.” Father’s fingers tightened around my wrist even more.

  When I grimaced in pain, Luca stepped in. “You’re going to hurt her, sir.”

  “I should hope so after the disgrace she’s brought upon me this night,” my father fired back before releasing my wrist and stepping away from me as i
f I was toxic. “Go to your room. I will not have you offending me or my guest again tonight. Besides, you’ve got a wedding to dream about.”

  I stepped back until I felt Luca. “I will not marry him.”

  The red had bled from my father’s face, but in its place was something just as intimidating. His eerily calm expression, paired with the dark eyes that seemed to see everything, met me. “Oh, I think you will, because you have two choices, my dear, sweet daughter.” Maybe it was out of instinct or maybe it was every bit as intentional as it seemed, but my father stroked the large family ring he wore in place of his wedding ring. Within it was a tiny pill that would end a person’s life in under sixty seconds. Every man in my father’s employ wore one. Should they be taken, it served to end their life before they could be tortured and give up valuable information. “You can marry Constantine Lombarti, or you can marry an early grave. The choice is yours, but either way, you’ll have to pick your flowers.” A pat on my cheek that was more of a slap followed. He turned his back on me and headed back to his dinner and schemes.

  My mother, I noticed, had not stopped staring into her soup. That silent, near servile shadow at a table or moving about the house was the same role I’d played up until tonight. I’d been a shadow for so long, anything resembling substance felt heavy and cumbersome, but at least I felt something. Feeling something was better than feeling nothing.

  “Are you all right, Miss Costa?” Luca asked, concern present in his tone.

  “Yes,” I replied as we moved through the foyer. “And no.” Now that the adrenaline was dimming, my body felt faint. My hands and legs started to shake. I’d decided to stand up to my father when he told me I would be the dovetail to marry the East to the West—not exactly a great way to ease myself into the whole not-being-a-floor-mat-anymore.

  “Did you know?” he asked in a hushed voice, checking over his shoulder.

  “Did it look like I knew?” Reliving the scene made me shiver. Reliving the looks Constantine had given me made me shake.