Chapter 3 Not So Sweet Sixteen
EVEET- 16 Years Old -
Eight years had passed since that unforgettable morning. Yet, Eveet still dreamt of her mother's body as it lay on the floor of her bedroom. All while a pair of dark eyes chased her through the hallways.
Eveet shivered, thinking of the familiar nightmare. She'd had the same recurring dream for the last eight years. She was sixteen now and she had spent the last several hours getting ready for her birthday party.
She could hear the music playing in the ballroom downstairs. It thumped through the floor, vibrating the baseboards under her heels. She could almost see the people mingling and laughing.
Most are probably half-soused, she thought sardonically.
With the government’s Prohibition halting alcohol sales, the Matranga family’s steady supply of their personally smuggled hooch at the party tonight ensured that it would attract both prominent guests and the many opportunistic leeches that would try to suck the bar dry.
Eveet rolled her eyes before looking at herself in the vanity mirror. She was sitting in front of it, practicing the smile she would be expected to wear tonight. It was pretty and brightened her already elegant features.
Her thick lips wore a dark shade of red, and she’d touched her cheeks lightly with some imported French rouge that her father had bought her.
Her strong jaw and dark curly hair showcased her father’s Sicilian blood. She wore it long tonight, and it feathered over her bare shoulders, which framed the delicate straps of her slim black satin dress.
She lifted her shoulders a couple of times, feeling sexy as she twisted sideways to peek at the daringly low back of her dress. A thick gold band hung around her neck, and a long string of pearls rested lightly between her breasts.
When she met her own eyes in the mirror, she couldn’t help but drop the fake smile she wore. She refused to lie to herself.
Hard eyes stared back, and a heavy sigh filtered through her lungs as exhaustion seemed to sap the energy from her bones.
As if she’d said the maid's name, Therese walked up and placed a petite stemmed wine glass down on the edge of the vanity.
“The guests are arrivin’, chérie, an’ I tink you could use dis. I don’ tink yo papa would mind." The maid’s rich Creole accent gave her words a slow, melodic drawl, but more than anything, it brought on a genuinely rare smile to Eveet's face.
“Thank you, Therese.” Her voice, which was unusually deep for a lady, dragged across her dry vocal cords like smoke. She couldn't help but lightly clear her throat. Reaching out, she grabbed the crystal flute and drank half its contents to ease the dryness.
She hadn’t said a word today. Too busy with her father’s training and too distracted by the house's chaos as it prepped for tonight’s revelry.
There would be dancing and card tables surrounded by dames looking to snag a man. Eveet expected fights and blood tonight, even if the Don, her father, had forbidden any brawling, or "rough housing" as the boys called it.
“You lookin’ mighty fine tonight, chérie,” Therese said with a warm smile. “Need anythin’ else, or you ready to shine at that party?”
Eveet's gaze swung to the maid standing to her right. She heard the unspoken words urging her to get down to the party. She was pretty, with her Creole heritage shining through, even if she wore the traditional black and white maids' attire.
"You're right. Of course." Eveet said, almost bitterly, before smiling up at Therese. "I'll finish my drink and make my way down. Let the Master of Ceremonies know I'm on my way, please."
Eveet's heart sped the moment the words left her mouth. This was the moment she dreaded the most. All eyes would turn to her, and she would hold all of the attention in the room.
All of that forced attention was almost too much, even though she could already handle dangerous alleyways, speakeasies, and knife fights that ended in blood or death. Since her mother’s murder, training had become her life.
Yet, hundreds of people looking to her to bear the full brunt of their expectations and relentless scrutiny?
Eveet shivered thinking about it, and downed the rest of the sweet Moscato in her wine glass. Standing, she glanced once more at her attire. When she was satisfied, she set the glass on the vanity before making her way to the ballroom.
Eveet stood for a moment outside the glass doors that led to the second-story stairwell. Her father had demanded that she use it and not sneak in where no one would notice her.
Through the glass, she could already see the haze of smoke that lifted off from the crowd below. The smell of Giggle Water, the latest term for cocktails and bubbly sweet drinks, made its way to her, and she scoffed.
The Matranga Crime Family owned the New Orleans’ underworld, controlling the flow of alcohol, guns, gambling, and women, led by Eveet’s father, Sylvestro "Silver Dollar Sam" Carollo.
She peeked through the glass at the ballroom below. It had a polished marble floor that gleamed under crystal chandeliers, casting golden light across everything. The wraparound balcony, adorned with wrought-iron railings, overlooked the dance floor, where jazz bands blew on trumpets and saxophones and strummed hard on banjos. The sound filled the room and echoed off its high walls.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, draped with velvet curtains in deep burgundy, lined the walls, offering views of the moonlit bayou that ran behind their estate. Tables laden with smuggled champagne and Creole delicacies like gumbo and beignets gave the room a spicy aroma.
Movement on the far balcony caught her attention, and she saw a flash of black. Luca? Or did Father place extra enforcers? Her thoughts came, distracting her from the excitement below.
Luca was her one weakness. A young, dark storm that battered at her meticulously built walls.
Will he come?
She knew enforcers in dark suits would patrol discreetly all night, blending celebration with underworld power, but was Luca among them?
"Eveet Antoinette Carollo", the Master of Ceremonies announced, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Here we go." She whispered.