Where the Sun Hides (Seasons of Betrayal #1)(9)

Back to the wall.

Front to room.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a flash of blonde that drew in his attention. Just as quickly as he saw the woman, she was gone, swallowed into the dancing, swaying bodies.

Still, he looked again.





Sonder was hot.

And not just a great club that was filled with patrons. No, hot.

Violet could barely breathe when the music turned up, and the people started moving faster around her. She had already tossed back a few drinks and danced with her friends until her feet hurt in her heels. She still wasn’t ready to leave. She shrugged off the leather bomber jacket she wore overtop of her cherry-red, bodycon dress. At the same time, she leaned forward and took a sip of the green-colored drink Nicole offered. The sour sharpness of the liquid burned the whole way down, but she barely even noticed.

“Good, right?” Nicole asked.

“So good.”

Violet looked around, trying to find where Amelia had disappeared to in the swarm of drunk, sweaty bodies. She quickly found her, right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other people with drinks held high and grinding together.

“I think she forgot about Franco,” Violet mused.

Nicole snorted. “I guess so. Not like that’s a loss. Want another drink?”

Violet knew she should refuse the offer. As it were, she felt light on her feet and a little hazy in the head. But she hadn’t risked her father’s wrath and traveled all the way from Manhattan to Coney Island for nothing. She planned on having a damn good time, partying it up to celebrate her twenty-first birthday, and nothing more.

“Yeah, get me another,” Violet said.

Nicole spun on her heel and made a beeline for the bar again. Violet cut through the people toward where Amelia was still dancing in a group of strangers. The beat of the music pumping through the venue pulsated from the floorboards and into the soles of her heels.

Violet loved to dance.

Moving to the rhythm was as easy as breathing. One of the purest forms of pleasure for her. She had danced since she was young. Ballet, jazz, contemporary and whatever else her father could put her in to keep her out of trouble and add to her Gallucci profile. As an adult, she didn’t get to dance as much as she used to when she was a younger girl.

Focuses changed.

School became more important.

So when she did get the chance to let loose with her friends, especially in a club that seemed specially designed for people to have the best time they could, Violet didn’t take it for granted. There was the bar area that had a number of stools lined up along the front with three bartenders ready to take orders. A DJ’s booth was set up against one wall with the dance floor stretching out as far as the eye could see. Soft lights lined the floor, but not so much that it took away from the setting.

Violet joined her friend to dance as the song switched to a faster, smoother beat. She linked hands with her friend and ignored how the swell of people seemed to grow, getting even closer to her and Amelia. The strangers that Amelia had been dancing with before Violet joined in came back, one wrapping around her friend while the other tried to slide in behind her.

She wasn’t having too much of that, but she let the guy get close enough that she could move to the beat with him.

Before long, Nicole was back. She balanced two drinks in one hand while she sipped on her green concoction from the other. Violet took one of the two red drinks from Nicole’s outstretched hand, immediately tipping the drink back for a long pull of the tartly sweet mixture that reminded her of strawberries but with the harsh kick of rum.

“Slow down,” she heard Nicole say, laughing right after.

Violet paid her no mind. She was already taking a second drink. Amelia wasn’t far behind, grabbing the drink that Nicole had brought for her. The music kicked up again, lights flickered, and Violet was lost to the visceral sensation of the club’s atmosphere.

There was no mob boss’s daughter here.

No Italiano principessa.

She was just another face in the crowd.

No one could possibly understand how precious that was to her.





Violet leaned forward, away from the man she was dancing with when he tried once again to kiss the back of her neck. She didn’t mind dancing or flirting with him, but she wasn’t up to letting the guy think he was taking her out to his car, or wherever.

Unfortunately, the fool had a handful of her wavy blonde hair wrapped in his fist and he tugged her right back in place. A faint sting radiated over her scalp from his pull, but Violet’s senses—diluted with alcohol—was numbed to the pain.

“Back off,” she said, turning to push her hand against the man’s stomach.

His lips pulled into a smirk and he chuckled, but thankfully, let her go.

“A tease, then?” he asked.

Violet narrowed her gaze, refusing to dignify that with a response. Why did men automatically think because a woman rejected their advances, that woman was suddenly playing games?

“Go find someone else to feel up,” Violet told the guy. “I’ve had enough.”

He took a step toward her, and Violet forced herself to stay in place and not back up. She gave a little sigh in relief when he shrugged her off and walked on past into the rest of the dancing people.

It was only then that Violet realized she had lost her friends.