Page 2 of Red Masquerade

We were all playing with fire, every one of us in the bar, ignoring the possibility of being found out, of possible arrest, were the cops to find this place. Though, many cops made their way to these things after their shift. The risk added a dazzling attractiveness to everyone in the room. Men who were average before seemed daring. We were all cohorts, co-criminals, breaking the law together.

“I’ve seen you before,” Brancato said, pulling my gaze back to him. “I had to introduce myself. You really are quite beautiful.”

“So you wanted to speak to me, only because I am beautiful?”

He raised a smug brow. “Can not a beautiful face precede a worthwhile conversation?”

“Hmm.” I lifted my glass, touching the cool crystal to my painted lips, though I did not take another sip. I could feel the alcohol working its way through me already, and the night was too young to let it take over. “And what is it you want to speak of?”

“How you found yourself in a place like this.”

“‘A place like this’?”

“To a gin joint.”

I shrugged. “Well, what brings you here?”

“If you must know, my driver.” He smiled like it was clever.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and tilted the glass, deciding to hell with it, adding more fuel to the fire in my belly, feeling liquor pour over my tongue, burning my throat. Pulling the glass away, I nearly winced as I exhaled. “I believe we came for likely the same reasons,” I said.

“What, forgirls?” He laughed again. “Don’t tell me your interests straythatway?”

“No, Mr. Brancato. Freedom,” I said.

I saw his eyes flicker. Maybe at the use of his name, I didn’t know.

“Miss Quintrell, Iamfree.”

And there was that darkness, a directness in his stare that set warning bells ringing in my ears. He crossed his arms, leaning his elbows on the table with no regard for propriety, lifting his own glass of drink and letting his wrist dangle. The amber liquid swirled.

I hummed again, letting my eyes wander once more across the sea of people.Where was Flora?

He was not wrong. As a man, he was free, and evidently knew it,reallyknew it, too. He was the kind of man who had money, a name backing him up, his father’s pockets an extension of his own. An inheritance. A business behind him, no doubt. And though I also had access to my family’s money, the profits of my father’s business, and now Lucas’ current ventures, I had no idea of the inner workings of that world. I had anallowance.

Marcel hadmoney.

“In this country, we are all free, are we not?” He raised his brow, but there was an easy smile on his face, as though he meant to trick me, as though there was a right answer to this question.

I pursed my lips. “One could say so.”

But as I sipped the alcohol, which I was not allowed to drink, it felt like a lie.

Brancato gestured to the room with his glass. “This will all pass,” he said. He thought I meant the prohibition. Those dark eyes narrowed at me, and he leaned closer, conspiratorial. “Though it doesn’t seem to be stopping us now, does it?”

I finished my own glass, tipping my head back. “No.”

He immediately gestured for one of the bartenders to refill our cups, and despite the crowd, the server came and went.

Brancato smiled at me. “We should do this again. Though, perhaps, elsewhere.”

The table next to us exploded in laughter, the woman reaching over to the man across from her, flinging over her drink in the action. Frizzy, over-processed blonde hair in a near-halo aroundher head, wire-thin brows drawn on in a dark line. A cacophony of giggles. Some of the splash hit the tops of my feet.

Brancato smirked in amusement. “Somewhere less… loud.”

“Like where?” I asked, dabbing at the spill on my skin.

“Let me take you to a dinner club. There is one I go to often, in Midtown. I have a membership.”