“Didn’t it?” Carmine asked. “The fighting stopped.”
“For a price,” Alberto muttered.
What price was that?
Inside, Violet knew she was too curious about something that clearly wasn’t her business to begin with. Still, she moved a little closer to the doors, wanting to hear every little word if her brother and father decided to talk quieter.
“My point,” Alberto said, “is that I worry about your sister. When she finds something she likes—someone—she trusts them too easily. She has too many friends as it is that I don’t approve of.”
“You could fix the problem by getting rid of it altogether.”
Violet’s heart stopped for a split second.
It only lasted as long as her father’s silence.
Alberto barked out another one of his bitter laughs. “See, there you go again, Carmine. You shoot off at the mouth like you understand how this works, like there will be no consequences for your rash decisions. No, I cannot justify the war and bloodshed it would cause me if I killed the son of Vasily Markovic.”
“Papa—”
“Once again, son, you managed to prove to me in very few words how unprepared you are for a position you think belongs to you, simply because you were born a boy.”
Ouch.
Even Violet flinched at that.
Clearly she wasn’t the only one who had disappointed their father lately.
“What about Franco?” Carmine demanded.
“What about your foolish friend?”
“He deserves some kind of retribution for what happened.”
Something smacked against something hard, making it echo out to Violet’s spot in the hallway. “Goddammit, I am not getting into this again. I said no to that. The answer is no. If that enforcer defies me simply because he is your friend and he thinks he can get away with it, I will cut his fucking heart out.”
Violet had no idea what her father was talking about, but she decided in that moment her textbook could wait. She didn’t want to be caught listening, and she really didn’t want to hear anything else.
She couldn’t get out of the mansion fast enough.
“You look wonderful,” Alberto praised, taking Violet’s hand as she approached him. “I see you managed to find a dress.”
Violet smiled, and pretended like there wasn’t a hell of a lot of eyes watching her at that moment. The long stage meant for the runway and models was lined on either side by six rows of seats from one side to the other. The ballroom had been converted for the fashion show’s use. Black and chrome accents hung from the ceiling. Music pumped through the place courtesy of the high-profile DJ set up near the entrance of the runway where the models would come out of. Media people, flashing their badges and cameras to keep out of the hands of security, bombarded the venue from every angle.
While this very scene of high-life and socialites was exactly her mother’s thing, it wasn’t Violet’s. She didn’t feel comfortable in front of a large crowd being photographed and asked questions about her mother’s latest designs and the event that was sure to turn heads.
But her father demanded she show, and so she had.
“Thank you,” Violet told her father.
“Where are your friends?” Alberto asked.
“Coming. They got caught up in all the pretty lights outside.”
Alberto caught onto what she was saying, and chuckled. “For some people, the shininess of a red carpet and paparazzi doesn’t wear off, Violet.”
It wore off for her about ten years ago.
When she was a kid, it mostly just scared the hell out of her.
“Sit,” Alberto said, waving at one of the empty chairs beside him.
Violet followed her father’s demand. It wasn’t long before Nicole and Amelia joined her in the front row, along with her brother on the other side of her father, and a few familiar faces behind them. They had some of the best seats in the house nearing the very front of the runway.
Taking a quick look around, Violet picked out a good dozen celebrities that had been handpicked for invitations from her mother, a few musicians that had a taste for fashion, as well as high profile individuals from all across New York. Each event was a little more important than the last, Violet knew. Her mother’s name only grew, and her celebrity status lifted higher with it.
Gallucci was more than just a dynasty.
It was a goddamn brand.
When the lights dimmed and loud voices turned into hushed murmurs, Violet relaxed a little more. She didn’t have a lot of interest in her mother’s shows, but she did enjoy watching the models.