Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
That's what famiglia occupying the seat of power mainly comes down to. It's like tough, old-school parenting on a grand scale, but you won't get any complaints from me, since it's also why our crime rate has been at its lowest in modern times.
Well-hidden speakers start playing Blue Oyster Cult's Don't Fear the Reaper, and Julio once again gets everyone going as he starts dancing and waving his arms in the air even when we're still in line. Destiny Child's Say My Name plays next, and a smile quirks over my lips.
Well, well, well.
Color me freaking impressed—-since only another horror buff would have come up with this kind of playlist. The first song was from the Halloween movie franchise. This second song is from Candyman, and...whoa.
I mentally bow down in worship when Joan Jett and the Blackhearts croon out Season of the Witch as the line finally starts moving.
Well freaking played, unseen DJ.
The only witch in our midst is obviously none other than our very own Khaleesi, albeit thrice her age but minus the madness, and instead of 'queen', we refer to her as La Strega with equal amounts of fear, fondness, and respect. The words translate to 'the witch' in Italian, and the Marchetti matriarch is indeed the baddest witch this city has seen and will ever see.
"PARTY TIME!"
The words, yelled out by a sunglass-wearing driver of a convertible, take me away from my thoughts, and I absently watch the guy's red-hot Camaro slow down to let security inspect his car with metal detectors and bomb-sniffing dogs.
Guests who aren't from around here may think this is overkill, but this is famiglia territory, after all, and so security here has always been White-House-levels tight.
'Evening, ma'am,' I overhear security address the other passenger. 'Mind if you open the glove compartment for inspection?'
'Oh, sure.'
My head jerks up at hearing the other passenger speak.
That voice!
I know that voice, and my incredulous gaze flies straight to the brunette seated next to the driver.
That can't be her, can it?
"Julio, look!" I elbow my cousin's side and ignore his grunt of pain as I tiptoe and crane my neck in an effort to get a better look at the other girl. "Isn't that Ynez?"
The car speeds away before Julio can take a peek, and I bite back a groan.
Argh!
"I really think that girl—-"
Julio cuts me off with a glare. "Stop it, cuginetta. Remember what we came here for?"
"But I really think—-"
My cousin cuts me off with a groan. "Smettila!" The words translate to 'stop it' in Italian, and I feel slightly guilty after hearing the genuine dismay in Julio's voice.
"Don't you remember your promise, Ysa? Or don't you care anymore about not making your Mama feel guilty for moving on?"
"Of course, I care—-"
"It's been four years since you last had fun," Julio stresses. "Four years!"
I bite back a sigh. Maybe he's right, and I'm worrying too much over Ynez again. "You win."
Julio shakes his head. "Not enough."
I make a face, but my cousin still isn't satisfied.
"I want to hear you promise, cuginetta. No more acting like you're Ynez's babysitter. Capisce?"
"Bene, bene." Fine, fine.
"Still not good enough," Julio retorts. "Give me your word, Ysabel Fiore—-"
"Yes, okay, you have my word."
"Good girl."
I slap his hand off when he tries patting my head, but Julio only laughs since we both know getting a rise out of me has always been one of his favorite hobbies.
The guy in front of us suddenly turns to Julio, asking him something about the lineup for tonight's live concert. You can practically see sparks flying between them, and by the time it's Julio and the other guy's turn to have their IDs scanned for entry, I've had the distinctly awkward pleasure of witnessing their first makeout sesh.
Ugh.
"Don't forget, we meet at midnight, va bene?" My cousin blows me a kiss before walking away with his arm already curled around his newest squeeze.
Security scans my ID next, and it takes only a moment before I have an admission band strapped around my wrist, and I'm also cleared for entry. Admission to the Marchettis' annual fright fest may be free, but pre-registration is non-negotiable for both residents and invited guests alike.
"Oh my gosh, is that..."
"No way, I can't believe that's..."
"Is that really..."
It's not just the Halloween decor, the refreshments, or the scare actors and the top-notch attractions that the Marchettis go all-out on. No expense is also spared to have A-listers drop by every year, and for good reason, too.
Clueless residents may think this party is Boston's most prominent family's way of practicing noblesse oblige, but in reality, it's just the Marchettis wanting to have intel on everyone living in their city.
La Strega isn't the all-seeing, all-reaching, and all-powerful weapon of destruction that she is by chance. Nothing happens in the Hub that the Marchetti matriarch doesn't know about, and it's because of her - and not our so-called 'awesome' local government that's the reason why no one these days ever gets mugged, raped, or murdered.