poker with your dad first.”
“Fuck my father.”
He gets to his feet, only swaying a little. “I don’t think so.”
“Fuck someone else then.”
He looks mysterious and sad and tragic, gorgeous Luca in his bespoke tux, standing in front of me, framed by the skyline. “Take your own advice,” he tells me with a small smile.
“I intend to.”
I take his big, warm hand in mine and stroke my fingers over his wrist. In the elevator, he looks at my face. His blue eyes are glazed.
“You okay to get home?”
He smirks. “More likely to get there than you.”
I sigh, aiming for sad and dramatic. “That’s because you won’t fuck me.”
“I thought I’m your brother, sorella.”
I give him a wicked grin, and he looks down, shaking his head. He’s shy. Nobody knows it or would guess it, but sorello is so shy. I love it.
“Take care of yourself,” I say as the elevator opens.
He gives me a calculated grin, sort of sarcastic, like he thinks I’m being stupid. “Always,” he says. And we both know that’s a damn lie.
I watch as he heads in the direction of the kitchens, where some of his friends are. I’m thinking of his friend Leo—buff and yummy with a pair of different-colored eyes—when I watch Luca disappear; looks like he stepped into a windowed alcove off the hallway.
I creep around so I can watch him from behind one of those big, fluffy green plants people set up on their own pedestals. He’s just standing, looking out the darkened window, breathing so hard that his shoulders rise and fall.
As I step further behind the plant, he turns around, looks up, and then back down for a long moment.
I catch a glimpse of his profile as he starts down the hall. He looks perfectly composed. Sorello hides his secrets well. And don’t I know about that.
Untitled
Volume Two
“She who loves roses must be patient and not cry when she is pierced by thorns.”
-Sappho
4
Elise
FOURTEEN YEARS LATER
“My mother always said a woman should wear red. That’s because she didn’t go to law school. If she had, she would have known the safest colors for women in a position of authority are the muted ones: charcoal, navy, gray, black, beige, maybe deep maroon if the occasion is sexier than average.” I arch my brows. “Although they rarely are. Tonight, I’m breaking with my own tradition. Tonight, I earned the right to be up on this stage. We earned it.
“You elected me—an ‘Elise’—not a James or Matthew or a John—to be Manhattan’s district attorney in a historic win for female prosecutors. You helped me win with eighty-six percent of the vote. And so…tonight is our night. We’re the victors, so we’re wearing red.” My throat goes dry, just for a second, as the crowd before me glitters in a teary prism. A quick swallow fixes that, and I steady my voice so it doesn’t warble in the mic.
“I want to thank my team—all fifty-six of you, and many volunteers who never signed a work roster or gave your time and energy in return for a paycheck. I want to thank the people of Manhattan for trusting me to serve you thoughtfully and fairly, as I pledge to do as long as I hold this office…and beyond. I can’t not shout out my three queens: Sheree Johnston, Vanessa Heron, and Bhavna Singh, who ran my campaign like a machine even as I was splitting my time between my current post and looking toward this new one. Vanessa kept me on schedule, Sheree orchestrated logistics that would make the mortal mind implode, and Bhavana handled media relations with tact and class and the kind of grace we all might aspire to—while momming a new baby.”
I give the packed ballroom a big grin, swallow, and sweep the room with my gaze, appearing to be looking at people without actually doing so, lest I lose my dinner.
“Thank you. I don’t want to give an Oscars speech, but doors were opened for me that were closed to women before—and to some men, too. I’m both grateful and proud, on behalf of this great city. May justice reign, and may our monuments to greed and prejudice and lawlessness that masquerade as ‘just the system’ topple. I will push them over.” I pause—for exactly three Mississippis, then give a slight nod. “Thank you.”
The room erupts in a thunder of applause so loud it hurts my ears. And then people start to stand. The thunder becomes a roar. Someone whistles, and my eyes