Chapter 3

I didn’t even flinch at the wave of mockery and venom.

With everyone watching, I walked calmly to an empty seat in the corner. I pulled out the chair gracefully and sat down. When a waiter passed by, I took a glass of champagne from his tray and took a small sip. My movements were fluid, as if I hadn't noticed Lucius staring at me from the head table, his eyes burning holes into my back.

My composure was clearly a disappointment to those hoping for a show.

"Who does she think she is, acting like some kind of princess?"

A woman in a deep-V, magenta dress slinked over. It was Mia, a Falcone family hanger-on. I remembered her trying desperately to get into Lucius’s bed, only to be kicked to the curb harder than even a plaything like Tina. Seeing me looking "pathetic" was the highlight of her year.

She looked down at me, holding her wine glass. "You disappeared for three years. I thought you'd landed some rich old man. Turns out you were just rotting in a slum somewhere. What's the matter? The dumpsters outside aren't as full as they used to be?"

The crowd roared with laughter.

A man with a beer gut was next. He stroked his chin, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Hey now, Mia, don't be so harsh. The poor girl must have had a rough time overseas. Who knows what kind of 'services' she had to perform to survive."

He spat out the word "services," his eyes crawling over my faded jeans.

"Tell you what, my nightclub needs someone to clean the toilets. Out of respect for the Don, I'll even pay you double. A thousand bucks a month. Better than begging on the street, right?"

The laughter grew louder. Someone even whistled.

Through it all, Lucius said nothing. He sat like a stone statue, his eyes occasionally flicking toward me.

The girl in red by his side, however, was clearly annoyed. I’d overheard her name. Isabella Ricci. Of the Ricci art dynasty.

She scoffed, leaning forward with a look of pity and undisguised contempt. "Eleanor, is it? I've heard about you. How you used to follow Lucius around like a pathetic puppy."

"I have to admire your nerve. You have the thickest skin I've ever seen," she said, pausing to let the audience enjoy the show. "But at least you knew your place. You knew you and Lucius were worlds apart and had no future, so you ran. Too bad it looks like you failed out there, huh?"

"Now, Lucius is the Don. And me? I run my family's art business. I'm busy negotiating collaborations with top international artists. If you're in a tough spot, we can help you out."

"No, thank you," I said calmly.

Isabella sneered, her tone shifting to boastful. "Don't be proud. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

She raised her voice for everyone to hear. "I've already used the Ricci family's most powerful connections to get in touch with the hottest, most mysterious artist on the international scene—E.V.!"

At that name, my hand holding the champagne flute paused for a fraction of a second.

The room filled with gasps.

"E.V.? The genius whose painting just sold for eight million euros in Paris?"

"My God! I heard she never appears in public. Billionaires have offered fortunes just to meet her, and she turns them all down!"

"Ms. Ricci can get her? If she pulls this off—hosting E.V.'s New York debut—the Ricci family's value will skyrocket!"

The blatant shock and flattery from the crowd was exactly what Isabella wanted. She puffed up like a proud peacock, turning her head to look down on me.

Her gaze was like she was tossing a coin to a beggar.

"You hear that, Eleanor? This is how the real world works. Once I lock down this exclusive deal with E.V., the scraps from my table will be enough to feed a pathetic stray like you for a lifetime."

Isabella laughed contemptuously. "Out of respect for Lucius, once the deal is done, I could consider 'giving' you a job. How about… a janitor at the gallery I'm preparing for E.V.?"

Just as she finished, the ballroom doors opened. A woman poked her head in, looking anxious. "Ms. Ricci, my apologies. I've gathered all the research on the artist, E.V. And about the artist herself..."