Love is a Tragedy

I took a long drag of my cigarette, staring at Antoine talking to a German dignitary across the room. God, he was hot. His dark hair fell in waves that framed his face perfectly even with the perpetual sunglasses he always wore, the ones that shaded his pretty green eyes so annoyingly. And that suit, the glass of scotch in his hands - the hands I wanted in places I shouldn’t have been thinking about right now...I tilted my head back, letting the smoke release from my lungs as I started at the crystalline chandelier hanging above me.

“That’s awfully bad for your health, you know,” someone said. I turned to where Calida Verana stood. As the only boss in history to head two different mafias at once, my half-cousin was not one to be messed with. We looked similar, face shape-wise. Same dark brows and full lips, plus we were both around five eight. But that was where the similarities ended. Her dark eyes were nearly black and auburn hair framed her face, giving way to a sharp look that was more calculating than anything else.

I said, ”Il tuo francese è terribilmente arrugginito cugino,” switching to Italian (one of her two native languages).

She rolled her eyes, then switched to Russian, her other native language. “How’s your Russian?”

I smirked, then changed to English, the only language everyone in this room had in common. “Could be worse.” I looked her up and down, then surveyed the room again. “Where is Mr Switzerland?” It was a running joke that we in the family had because Aidan, Calida’s fiance and British Mafia leader, never wanted to get involved in our family’s politics.

I looked around the ballroom, searching for him. It was a grand room, one my family often rented out for functions that involved relations with other families and organized crime companies. The red walls were my favorite shade, and the golden lining and leaves made me irrationally happy - ballrooms in France could be so dull and ugly sometimes.

“He has gone to get drinks. Then he will most likely get side-tracked by the Seine or some thing. He does love to see sights.”

I laughed. “He is not much of a typical Mafia boss, is he. More of a spy, no?”

Calida raised an eyebrow. “I’d argue the same of Evan and Desiree. That girl...I would wager that she is not cut out for the lifestyle that her future holds should she marry him.”

“Hush,” I said, switching back to Russian, the only language I knew Desiree didn’t know. “She will handle it, or my parents will not allow him to marry her.”

“Maybe they’ll elope and you’ll get to be the boss,” Calida said, happy with the switch back to a language she was native in. “I know that’s what you’ve always wanted.”

I eyed Antoine, who looked positively bored out of his mind with this German. “It would make certain things easier.”

Calida followed my line of sight and grimaced. “We all fall in love with things that we can’t have.”

“I’m sure with enough persuading I could have him. I’m just...I like how it is, kind of. The secret is...” I searched for the word in Russian, but gave up and just said it in English. “Thrilling. The kind of thrilling I don’t usually get in this life."

“Does he know that?” she asked, honoring my switch. “Because, as thrilling as it may be, you work in the same compound. You are bound to get caught eventually. And your brother is, how do they say...ah, his best friend.”

"Oui. Antoine knows how I feel - and he feels the same. As for Sir Parfaite over there...” I eyed my brother out of the side of my eye. He had his arm around Desiree and seemed to be discussing something wildly out of hand for a function like this. “He knows, but I do not understand why my parents insist he should be the boss. He is not cut out for this, as you said about Desiree.”

“It’s because - Gah, what is the word?? I despise English.” In the end, she gave up again and said it in Italian as I laughed. ”Patriarcato, as they say in Italy. That is the reason.”

"Patriarchy, darling,” a deep voice said. “The word in English is patriarchy.” I turned to see Aidan Bloodworth to my left. He stepped around me and wrapped his arms around his future wife from behind.

“Yes, that is it. Thank God for British people, wouldn’t you say? They actually understand the language.” Calida laughed, leaning her head back against Aidan’s chest. He looked down at her with so much love I was surprised his heart didn’t burst, his blonde hair shading his eyes.

“I wish I understood yours.” Aidan directed this comment at me. “Why so many vowels and silent endings, Lysandra? It’s such a pain.”

I rolled my eyes, and, for what felt like the millionth time that night, switched my language. ”S’il te plait. Tu es couramment.”

"A peine."

“Barely my ass,” Calida said. “You were full-on ranting to an assistant about Ratatouille in French two days ago.′

Aidan rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What are the earbuds for?”

Ah yes, the earbuds. They were dark red, just like half of my wardrobe, and nearly disappeared into the curls of my hair. Not quite enough though, I guess. I shook my head and adjusted my hair to hide them better before answering.

“One’s connected to Antoine and Evan in case anything happens - mostly for Desiree’s protection. Not that she would need it. As unfit for this life as she is, she can damn well protect herself. The other is Arctic Monkeys.”

“Oh, Arctic Monkeys! I love them, they-” Aidan started to fanboy, but Calida cut him off and said in a low voice, ”Mia cugina, Antoine is on his way over here. And your mamma is watching.”

It took my brain a moment to catch up with her Italian-English, but once I did, I froze, then swore. “Calida, can you distract her? Por favore?"

She rolled her eyes but conceded. “Fine. But I want details before I leave tomorrow.”

“Whatever. Now shoo.” Calida walked away, Aidan’s hand on her back as she went to distract my mother. I watched Antoine out of the corner of his eye and practically felt his relief when he saw my cousin start to talk to Charlotte.

Antoine continued walking towards me. I heard him murmur into his earbud, “Evan, can you handle the rest of the crowd if someone starts asking questions?”

My brother responded with a sigh and a reluctant, “Yes, I’ll deal with it.”

“Great.” He kept walking toward me. I made eye contact and immediately felt that spark, the one I always felt when I looked at him—my perfect man. When he approached me, he initially pretended to be having light conversation.

“Any new updates on the textbooks shipment?” French. Good. General mafia business, that was.

I shrugged. “It should be here tomorrow. We’re just waiting for my brother to sign off on it. Otherwise, they’ll hold it back, and of course, I can’t sign it, even though I basically run the department at this point. Fucking patriarcato.”

Antoine’s low chuckle left a warm feeling in my chest. “Is your cousin getting to you, then? Or what’s with the Italian?”

He stepped closer and slightly touched my waist. He took my hand, all polite and pretenseful. Bending down, he kissed my knuckles. As he raised himself back up, he whispered, “Bathroom.”

“It has been nice talking with you, Lysandra,” he said. “I do hope we get to spend more time together soon, don’t you?”

I nodded numbly. God, I was a nodding fucking fool today. “Absolutely.” I watched him walk away, my gaze lingering on those back muscles that I couldn’t see but knew were there. I forced myself to breathe even as Calida looked back and smirked.

Goddammit, she totally knew this was going to happen.