Page 23 of Sweet Prison
I wonder what kind of dealings Massimo has with the notorious Don Ajello? Also, something tells me Peppe is working for Massimo, too, considering he never said a word to anyone about our excursion. He didn’t even question me when I told him where I had to go.
“Zara!” The door to my room swings open and Dad steps inside. He’s wearing a new black suit and has his hair slicked back, ready to impress whatever bigshot is coming tonight. I have absolutely no doubts about that. “The guests are arriving, and you need to greet them.”
I sigh. “I’m coming.”
“Good. Now, close your eyes.”
Raising my eyebrows, I do as he says. The unmistakable sound of footsteps in dress shoes approaches and moves behind me. Then, something drapes around my neck.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at this the other day,” he gushes next to my ear and kisses the top of my head. “Happy birthday, baby girl.”
When I open my eyes, I’m faced with Nera’s shocked expression.
“Please, hurry,” Dad says. “It would be incredibly bad manners not to greet the people who came to your birthday party.”
The door clicks shut in his wake, and I look down. An exquisite diamond and gold necklace rests over the swells of my silk-covered breasts, sparkling against the beige of my shirt. Yes, it’s the one I saw in the jewelry store at the mall when Dad and I stopped to pick up some fabric I ordered. I spent quite a while staring at the elegant piece in the window display while Dad went to use the restroom before we left to meet his associate for dinner.
“I can’t believe he did that.” Nera rushes behind me to unclasp the necklace. “I’ll make sure he returns this and gets you something else.”
“Don’t bother,” I mumble.
“No, I will. And I’ll make him apologize. How could he forget you can’t wear gold?”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Taking the necklace from her, I bring it across the room to my vanity and drop it into my jewelry box. Alongside most of my father’s previous presents that I also cannot wear. “And you won’t mention it to him, either.”
“Zara.”
“I said no.” I take Nera’s hand. “Let’s see who our dad invited tomybirthday party.”
***
I snatch a glass of white wine from a waiter’s tray while he’s not looking and take a huge sip. “If I have to shake another hand tonight, I’m going to kill someone.”
“I don’t know why Dad insisted on making this into such a big event when it’s not what you wanted,” Nera mumbles next to me.
“Because his own birthday isn’t for another four months, and he’s running out of occasions where a guest list of a hundred people or more would be appropriate.”
I sigh and glance at the mingling crowd. Being a winter baby means no garden birthday parties, and the great hall is so full, the attendees are nearly tripping over each other. Having so many people this close together is an absolute dream for eavesdropping. However, with Nera at my side, I haven’t had many opportunities tonight. Other than a fun snippetthat Adriano’s wife had her boobs done, which everyone has definitely noticed, I haven’t heard anything useful.
On the far side of the hall, standing near the fireplace with Capos Armando and Brio, is Salvo. They appear to be deep in discussion, but every now and then, Salvo throws a look in my direction. I have no idea what his problem is. In the past weeks, I’ve run into him twice when I went over to take his mother’s measurements. Both times he tried to start a casual chat, but I managed to evade him.
“Would you be mad if I take off now?” Nera asks. “I have a paper to finish before tomorrow morning.”
“Of course not. I’ll make another round through the room and then sneak upstairs myself.”
She gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “Text me when you open your presents.”
“Yup.” I kiss her in return. I can’t wait to see all the crystal vases, jewelry, and other meaningless stuff from people who don’t even know me.
Once Nera departs, I make my way among the guests, but with the crowd so tightly pressed together, no one is discussing any sensitive subjects. Spotting Salvo heading in my direction, I quickly do a one-eighty and practically run back to my room.
The maids have already brought all of my presents upstairs, piling them in a huge heap on and around the couch. I ignore the elaborately wrapped packages and head to the bathroom but stop when I notice a large unwrapped box among a stack of small gift bags. It’s a simple white cardboard box, with just an envelope attached at the top with clear packing tape.
I drift between the rest of the presents and pluck the envelope from the box. Butterflies stir in my stomach as I pullout a plain piece of notebook paper with a single sentence written across the page.
Happy Birthday, Zahara.
It’s unsigned, but I would recognize Massimo’s handwriting anywhere.