Chapter 3: Perfect  

AMELIA

At the door of the Crimson Mask Gala, men in black suits handed their pistols to a girl in a red apron, and she tucked each one into a velvet bag like a sleeping bird.

I stood at the end of the weapons line in my blue dress with nothing to give her. I had no gun. I had no mask. I had a prepaid phone burning in my clutch and a mother who had called Lucinda DeSanto before breakfast.

"You are in the weapons line."

I jumped. Luca stood beside me in a black suit, a crimson half-mask pushed up on his forehead. His dark gray eyes moved over my face.

"I did not know where else to stand."

"The ballroom is that way."

"I know."

"Amelia."

"Watching."

"You have been crying."

"No."

"Your eyes are red."

"It is the cigar smoke. Two hundred men are smoking."

"You are a terrible liar."

"So I have heard."

"Your mother left the cloakroom looking pale. Aunt Lucinda left the hall smiling." His jaw tightened. "What did they say to you?"

"Nothing important."

He studied me for a long moment. Then he looked at the little silver compass at my throat, and his face softened. "You wore it."

"Of course I did."

"Good." He held out his arm. "Walk in with me."

"Mom told me to stay near the back."

"Your mother tells you many things." His voice was low. "Tonight, you walk with me."

I took his arm.

At the ballroom doors, a footman held a tray covered in crimson masks.

"Masks?" I said. "Nobody told me."

"The Crimson Mask Gala. Every guest wears one until midnight."

"Why?"

"My great-grandfather started it. He said a man can only be trusted when nobody can see him lie." He lifted a crimson half-mask with a thin gold edge. "This one."

"Why this one?"

"It will not hide your eyes." His mouth curved. "I would like to see them."

My heart skipped. I tied it on.

Across the room, Vittorio DeSanto stood by the stage, silver-haired, a scar across his left hand. His cold eyes did not stop on me.

"There you are, darling."

Sofia Bellini glided toward us in a long ivory gown and a white porcelain mask with a single gold teardrop under the left eye. Her blonde hair was pinned tight. She kissed Luca's cheek, and her blue eyes slid over my crimson mask.

"Sofia."

"You look handsome." She turned to me. "And Amelia." She smiled, thin and tired. "Excuse me. My father is waving."

A heavy gray-haired man stood by the champagne tower, glaring. Sofia crossed to him. Even from across the room, I could hear them.

"I will not be sold at a party, Papa."

"Sofia."

"I am leaving."

She walked toward a side corridor, her white mask tilted high. Her father watched her go with a face like stone.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Her father wants an engagement announced tonight." Luca's voice went flat. "She does not."

"Do you?"

"I have not decided."

"Luca."

"Not now."

At the far side of the room, a woman in a green silk dress lifted her glass slowly toward the side corridor, as if toasting someone who had just left. A heavy gold ring glinted on her finger. Lucinda DeSanto was smiling.

An hour later, Luca found me beside the dessert table.

"You promised me a dance."

"I promised nothing."

"I am collecting anyway." He held out his hand. "We are two strangers in masks."

"People will talk."

"Let them."

A slow song began. His hand rested at my waist, and smoke and sea salt wrapped around me.

"You are shaking," he said.

"I am wearing heels."

"You are a terrible liar."

"Then stop asking me questions."

"Tell me what you want."

"Tonight?"

"Ever."

"I want a door I can lock from the inside," I whispered. "And a key nobody else has."

He did not speak for a long moment. "I would give you that."

"You cannot."

"I would build you a house with ten locks and no guards." His thumb moved across my back. "Only you would hold the keys."

I could not breathe. "Luca."

"Forget it. Tell me something else."

"I am afraid I am a bad thing that happened to this family."

"You are not."

"Everyone says I am."

"Everyone is wrong." His voice was rough. "You are the only good thing that has happened in my house."

"Luca, there you are."

Lucinda stood beside us with a crystal glass of dark red liquid. A slice of blood orange floated in it. She wore a green silk mask with a gold crescent over one eye.

"Your father is waiting for the Crimson Toast. I fetched yours myself. Blood orange and sparkling wine, the family recipe."

"I do not want it."

"Please." She pressed it into his hand. "Everyone will notice if you hold nothing."

"To the DeSanto name," Vittorio called from the stage, and two hundred glasses rose.

Luca drank the whole glass.

"Luca, wait," I said.

"It is only a toast."

"Who made it?"

"Aunt Lucinda did." He glanced at her. She was already smiling at someone else.

"Excuse us," Lucinda said sweetly, and drew him toward the stage.

Ten minutes later, I found Luca at the edge of the dance floor, gripping a marble pillar.

"Luca?"

He did not answer. Sweat shone along his jaw.

"Luca, look at me."

"The room is tilting," he said.

"You drank the toast."

"It tasted strange." He frowned. "Where is Sofia?"

"I do not know. Can you walk?"

"Yes."

"Does it hurt?"

"I cannot think." His voice was low and scared. "Everything is burning."

I grabbed his arm. His skin was fire. "Lean on me."

"Do not call the doctor," he said. "Papa is watching. If the Capos see me weak, they will use it."

"Then I will take you to your room."

"East wing. Second door."

"I know where it is."

I smiled at everyone we passed. In his room, I lowered him onto the bed. He tore off his mask.

"I will bring water."

"Do not go."

"I will be right back."

"Amelia." He caught my wrist. His eyes were dark and wild. "Help me."

"How? What do you need?"

"I do not know. I am on fire."

For one dangerous moment, I thought he meant me. I leaned closer. "Luca?"

"Sofia," he whispered.

I froze.

"Sofia. Where is she?"

"She is downstairs."

"Get her. Please."

Something inside me folded up. "You want Sofia?"

"Please."

"Of course," I said quietly. "I will find her."

He let go. I walked out and shut the door.

In the hallway, a woman in a black apron stepped out of the shadows with a stack of fresh towels. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her brown eyes were tired.

"Miss Amelia."

"Mrs. Rosi. I need Miss Bellini."

"Miss Bellini left an hour ago, Miss." Carmina Rosi looked at the floor. "By the side door. She did not say goodbye."

"She left?"

"She left." Her voice shook. "I am so sorry."

I stood very still. Nobody is coming.

Then I saw it.

On a small table beside Luca's door lay a white porcelain mask with a single gold teardrop. Exactly like Sofia's.

"No," I whispered. "She left it."

One night. He will not remember. Nobody will ever know.

"He is sick. This is wrong."

Tomorrow you will be gone.

"He called for her."

He will never know it was not her.

"Forgive me, Luca," I whispered.

I took off my crimson mask and tied the white one over my face. Carmina had gone quietly.

At the far end of the corridor, a woman in green silk stood perfectly still beneath a gold lamp. A heavy ring flashed on her hand. She lifted her glass an inch toward me, as if toasting. Then she mouthed one word.

Perfect.

I should have run. Instead, I slipped inside, shut the door, and turned off the lamp.

"Sofia?" Luca mumbled.

I did not answer. Somewhere down the hall, very softly, a woman laughed.