Original Sins by Faith Summers

2

Evie

It’s my birthday today.

Today I turn eighteen years old. An age of sentiment every woman should remember.

So, I shouldn’t feel like this—unhinged and unbalanced, like every fiber of my being might rip apart and disintegrate.

I always feel this way when something’s about to change in my life.

The ominous feeling started this morning when Dad told me we’d be having dinner with a special guest tonight at eight.

He’d greeted me with a bunch of roses and my birthday present—a beautifully designed handmade dress.

When he handed me the present, a look of sadness flickered in his eyes. That was what piqued my attention.

My father is the type of man who carries himself in a way that renders you unable to see through his thick skin and stony gaze. But he’s different with me. Some might call it gentler in a way and not so abrasive. That's why I can usually figure him out.

It’s when I can’t that I worry.

I’ve been tense all day and even opted out of lunch with my cousin, Cordelia, the one person Dad allows me as much free time with.

Some might call me the worrier, but the last time this feeling came to screw with me, my older brother, Dante, was killed.

The time before that, Mom took her last breath after years of battling leukemia.

At least after Mom’s death, I knew what was coming.

I was twelve years old, and Dad didn’t know what to do with me, so he sent me to Switzerland to that horrible boarding school I christened Hell.

St. Jude’s was run by a convent, but all sorts of debauchery happened there.

Apart from the one friend I had who was from England, no one spoke to me because they were afraid to.

Out of principle and for protection, people in the outside world don’t know my real name, but at school, they knew who I was. They knew I was the daughter of Donatello Ricci. One of the most powerful men in Chicago with near enough the same net worth as the Bransons. The only difference being, my family has ties to the Sicilian mafia.

I left St. Jude’s after my brother’s death.

Or maybe I should say I never went back.

My father kept me in Chicago, opted to send me to a private school, and became more overprotective than he already was.

That's why today my choices of celebration for my eighteenth birthday were lunch with my cousin or staying home.

We don't do parties because Dad's idea of a birthday party for me is inviting my aunts and his guards. They'd be the ones partying, not me. The only person I'd be remotely interested in talking to is Cordelia. That's why we always do our own thing.

Since I declined lunch, I spent the day getting lost in my designs the way my mother used to when she was alive.

Like her, I want to go into fashion design. She had her own label named after her. Since I inherit her company when I turn twenty-one, and I want to make my own success, I'm usually either drawing or sewing. Or both, like I am now.

I graduate from Raventhorne Academy next month and will be starting my fashion degree at the Otis College of Art and Design in September. That's where Mom went too.

The rumble of deep male voices suddenly cut into my thoughts as they waft in through my opened window. It's only because I know who the voices belong to is why I stop drawing and rush over to the window to get one last look at the two hottest guys on the planet before they leave.

I can't see them yet, so they must be standing on the porch talking to Dad.

It's Dad's voice I can mainly hear now, but way up here in my tower, I can’t quite distinguish what he’s saying.

Whatever it is, I have no desire to find out. He could be telling the world a meteor is about to blow up the planet, but in the presence of those two guys, I wouldn’t hear a word.

The tallest, whose Italian like me, is Georgiou Giordano. The one with slightly more muscle is his best friend, Henry Dubois.

Georgiou is a hundred percent sexy Italian stallion with dark tousled hair, bright brown eyes, olive skin, and an athletic frame. He has the build of a football player.

Even though Henry used to be the quarterback for his college team, he looks more like an ex-marine, but his sandy blond hair and turquoise eyes give him that All-American look.

Both have the GQ good looks Hollywood would pay millions for, and I don’t think there’s a girl alive in this hemisphere who wouldn’t swoon over them for their looks and prestige.

The girls who truly know them would die if either showed the slightest interest in them. They wouldn’t care that Georgiou is from one of the most dangerous crime families in Chicago or that Henry works for them.

Although I’m not sure in what capacity, both work for my father, and they've been coming here sometimes twice a month for the last five years.

Prior to that, it was only Georgiou who came. I would catch my usual glimpse of him in the summer when I was home from school.

Apart from seeing them here, I only know what I know because of Cordelia. She’s eight years older than me and makes it her business to know the deets of every single super-hot eligible bachelor that travels in our circles.

I've had the biggest crush on Georgiou and Henry since I first saw them, so I gobbled up everything Cordelia told me.

I did so, knowing there was no chance in hell either would be interested in a girl like me.

Men like them want real women.

Both just turned thirty, and while the two have been in my world for as long as I can remember, neither know I exist.

Besides, in this tower, no one can see me.

My room is positioned in this fortress of a house to hide me away.

It’s just beneath the attic, but it’s tucked in between two other rooms in one of those weird architectural ways that make me think my father had it designed like that.

Even Rapunzel had it better than me because at least people could see her when she went to her window.

No one can see me unless my father wishes it.

Dad thinks it’s best to live like that to keep me safe.

I’ve lived my life through Cordelia for so long sometimes I forget who I am.

As I watch Georgiou and Henry get into their Black Bugatti, I wonder where they’re going and who they’re going to see.

It’s Saturday night. Men like them are bound to be meeting up with women who probably look like Victoria’s Secret Angels.

As soon as their car pulls away, there’s a knock at my door.

The opening of the door robs me of seeing them pull away from the drive.

Dad comes in with a wry smile and looks over my attire. His lips press into a line of displeasure, and I know it’s because I’m still wearing the same clothes from this morning.

“Evie, I told you we’re having a special dinner tonight. I need you to get dressed.”

“Sure.” I straighten up. “Dad, can I just ask who is coming to dinner? You didn't say, and I didn't want a party for my birthday.”

Dad stiffens and lowers his salt and pepper brows.

“This isn’t a party. It's a special dinner, so I’d like you to get ready and wear the dress I got you.”

“But—”

“Enough, Evangeline, just get ready. Okay?”

The use of my full name in that harsh tone shuts me down. Dad is strict and stern at the best of times, but that was a little much even for him.

“Okay.” I nod, and that sad look comes back into his eyes again before he leaves.

It has me worrying all over again.

* * *

A feast for God himself awaits on the dinner table in the dining room.

Lucia, our head maid, is just doing the finishing touches to the table, and Marcus, Dad’s head of security, stands by the table talking with him in a hushed tone. The conversation dies when they see me, and Dad smiles as he looks at my dress.

Marcus excuses himself, as does Lucia, leaving me with my father.

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Dad nods. “No one can rival my daughter’s beauty.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Sit next to me,” he says, pointing to the chair beside his at the head.

I do as he asks and glance at the clock before I lower to sit.

It’s five to eight. Whoever is coming to dinner will be here soon.

Dad brings his hands together and suddenly looks older than his sixty years when he glances at the clock too. I’ve always marveled at how much younger he seemed because he’s one of those old tough guys. Tonight there’s a shift in his usual overconfident persona that I’m not used to.

He was nearly thirty years older than my mother. Cordelia told me people thought Mom was a gold-digger, but anyone who knew my parents could rule that out completely just from looking at them.

She’s been gone for six years now, but I still remember the way they were.

He hasn’t remarried, and while I know there have been many women eager to be on his arm as much as they’d love to get their hands on his fortune, there hasn’t been another woman that I’ve been aware of.

“I want you to be on your best behavior, Evie,” he states, holding my gaze. “We will talk after dinner.”

“Dad, you do realize this is very vague, right? We could have talked today.”

“Evie, I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve known you long enough to know what to expect when you’re up against something you might not like.”

I quirk a brow. “So this is something I’m not going to like?”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“I think we both do, or you wouldn’t be so secretive.” I knew something was up. God, I wish I could be wrong just once. “Today’s my birthday, Dad.”

“Time waits for no man, Bellezza. It’s not going to wait for me, and it’s not going to wait for you. That’s why we strike when the iron is hot.”

My lips part to answer him but the doorbell rings, and the words fade from my mind.

I’m about to find out what’s happening and who I’m going to see.

Moments later, my question is answered when Lucia ushers in Peter Marino, a man who makes my skin crawl and my soul quiver.

That smile he gives us might be well versed in charming many women out of their panties, but it won’t work on me.

He is one of my father’s business associates that I have the misfortune of knowing for the simple reason that our families were close. My father kind of took this devil under his wing when his parents died.

Peter was ten when he came to live with us. Dad then groomed him to be who he is today.

At twenty-eight years old, Peter is my father’s assistant and the vice president of Omicron, the international private bank my father owns.

Put simply, in the absence of my father, Peter’s in charge, and that makes him a powerful man.

One I don’t think I could dislike any more than I do.

Dad, however, gives him a proud smile and stands to greet him with a hug when Peter walks up to him.

“Wonderful, I’m glad you’re here now,” Dad states and motions for Peter to sit on his other side.

I say nothing.

Peter knows it's no secret I can't stand him.

What he doesn't know is why. If I'm being honest, though, I'd have to admit, I felt this way long before I had a reason to.

Dad gives me an uneasy look for my silence, but I ignore him.

He knows how I feel about Peter too, and that’s probably why he didn’t tell me he was our special dinner guest. What I don’t know is why he's suddenly so special.

“It’s nice for us to gather like this in celebration of my daughter’s birthday,” Dad says.

“Happy birthday, Evangeline. You look beautiful,” Peter tells me, and his dark green eyes take me in with that uncanny fascination I’ve always hated.

“Thank you,” I reply stiffly.

I'm expecting Dad to do some form of explanation, but he doesn’t.

He and Peter start talking about business, then we eat.

I almost, almost believe the worse part of the evening is over with Peter’s presence, but in the breath of finishing dinner and getting dessert, Dad clears his throat. He does it in that suggestive way that says he wants our attention and give it we do.

I also notice Lucia in the passageway signaling to the chefs to hold off bringing out dessert. Fury fills me that she might know what’s going on, and I still don’t.

“I think it’s time to discuss other matters I wanted us to talk about together,” Dad states. “I’ve had an amazing opportunity to purchase a chateau in Tuscany with a fourhundredyearold vineyard. I’m looking to continue the business previously run as a winery, so that means I’m going to be spending more time in Italy.”

“More time?” I ask. My palms become clammy with sweat as I stare at him.

“Yes, my dear daughter. As in, I might be moving there, or at the very least, I’ll be there more than here. So, the time has come to hand over the bank and the resort to a new leader.”

My eyes dart to Peter, who is already looking at me. He looks too comfortable, and I’m certain he’s well aware of what’s going on. I’m the last to know anything, and for as much as I know my father loves me, I hate the way he treats me.

He treats me like I’m a thing without feelings and emotions. That’s what happens to you when you have to do as your told.

“When is this happening?”

“Next month, just after you graduate.”

“So I won’t see you before I go to college?”

He presses his lips together, and I already know the answer he’s going to give me is not one I’ll like.

“There’s been a change of plans in regard to college. I was hoping you could still go, but that’s going to depend on what Peter thinks.”

My nerves scatter as my gaze snaps back to Peter.

“What do you mean, what Peter thinks?” I counter. “I always had plans to go to college. It shouldn’t matter what anybody thinks besides me. What’s going on, Dad?”

“Evie, I’m giving Peter the business. I plan to do the official handover by the end of the year. Part of the terms for his acceptance of my offer is to marry you.”

I bolt up out of my chair, nearly knocking it over. “No. I can’t. I can’t do it.”

Dad stands too, looking as enraged as I expect him to be. He loathes when I try to argue with him in public. Tonight is no different.

However, I can’t worry about how angry he might be with me because he’s talking about signing my life away to this monster.

I have no idea if my father knows just how evil Peter is. I do, so I know my life will be hell if I marry him.

“This is not up for discussion, Evie. It’s happening whether you like it or not. Now sit back down.” Dad points to the chair.

I stand my ground, though, and glare at him. “How could you do this to me? You knew I had plans, and none of them included marriage.”

“But mine did. I never spoke about it before because I knew who I had in mind to marry you.”

All this time, Peter remains silent. It’s not because he’s fazed in any way by my outburst.

He has that cool, calculative presence because he’s an asshole who knows how to choose his battles and when to pipe down and watch. Right now, he’s just choosing the latter because it suits him.

“Sit, Evie, do it now,” Dad orders in that demeaning tone again.

When I look back at him, I see the seriousness in his face, and I remember he’s not a man you defy without consequence.

I can’t fight this because I don’t have the means to, so I sit, and I try not to cry.

Dad returns to his seat and looks from me to Peter.

“The wedding will take place at the end of September. I'll be heading to Italy in a little over a month, but I'll return briefly in mid-July for your engagement party. With the wedding being in September, you'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea of what the future will hold.”

Plenty of time?

That’s four months. No amount of time could make me get used to anything when it comes to Peter.

And...not when I think he had something to do with my brother's murder.

That’s a secret I’ve carried in my heart for the last three and a half years.

I can’t marry Peter, so the only thing I can plan to do in the next four months is leave.

I just don’t know how I’ll be able to pull off something like that when I’m practically locked away in a tower.