Chapter 3: The Don’s Plus-Size Problem

The gunshot wasn't loud.

It was muffled — pfft — like someone sneezed into a pillow.

But Queenie heard it, because the entire Sinclair mansion had gone dead silent after Violet Jones stole the DJ mic and screamed about pictures on Lucifero's desk.

And then everyone heard Violet scream for real.

Not the drunk, attention-seeking scream. A real, high-pitched, "OH MY GOD THERE'S BLOOD ON MY DRESS" scream.

Queenie was still trapped on the balcony, Viola's hand clamped over her wrist, Lucifero's hand crushing hers.

Down below by the electric blue pool, the maid who had been dragged toward the deep end was now sitting up, perfectly fine, holding her ankle and wailing dramatically. The two men in black suits were standing over her with their hands up.

And in the middle of the pool — fully dressed, sputtering, his expensive police uniform soaked — was the police officer.

Marco, Lucifero's head of security, stood at the edge of the pool holding what looked like a very expensive tranquilizer gun. The kind they use for bears.

"Boss!" Marco yelled up to the balcony, panicked. "It was supposed to hit the maid! Not Officer Daniels! The dart curved!"

Officer Daniels, who Queenie now recognized as Viola's ex-boyfriend from high school who became a cop, was flailing in the pool yelling, "I'M GONNA ARREST YOUR WHOLE FAMILY FOR THIS!"

Viola stared. "Did... did Marco just tranquilize my ex-boyfriend into your pool?"

Lucifero pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine. The terrifying Don mask cracked for half a second and he just looked like an exhausted older brother with extremely incompetent staff.

"Marco, get him out before he drowns and we have paperwork," he shouted down, his voice flat.

This was not dangerous. This was a circus.

Queenie, despite herself, despite the tears still on her cheeks and Violet screaming about stalkers inside, let out a wet, hiccupy laugh. "You — you shot a cop into your pool with a bear tranquilizer?"

Lucifero looked at her, and his eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny, Mika?"

The nickname sent a full-body shiver through her. "Don't call me that! And yes! It's a little funny! You have a gun that shoots sleeping darts!"

"It's for wild boars that get onto the property," he said defensively. "My father used to hunt."

"Your father hunted wild boars in Beverly Hills?"

"He hunted anything that annoyed him. It was a broad category."

From inside, Violet's voice came back over the speakers, emboldened because she thought the gunshot was for dramatic effect.

 "AND ANOTHER THING! HE HAS A SHRINE! IN HIS OFFICE! TO THE PLUS-SIZE GIRL!"

Viola groaned. "Oh my god, she found your Pinterest."

"I don't have a Pinterest," Lucifero snapped.

"You have a secret board called 'Yellow Dresses' Marco showed me," Viola said.

"I will kill Marco."

"You will not kill anyone at my birthday party," Viola hissed. "Mom will be mad."

Lucifero finally let go of Queenie's hand and pushed open the balcony doors. The heat of the party hit them sweat, perfume, champagne, and pure gossip. Every single person was staring up at the balcony like it was a reality TV finale.

Violet stood in the middle of the dance floor, mic in hand, mascara running, black bodycon dress riding up. She pointed dramatically at the balcony.

"THERE SHE IS! THE CATFISH!"

Queenie wanted to die. She tried to hide behind Lucifero, which was hard because she was 5'3" and curvy and he was 6'3" of solid muscle, but she managed to make herself mostly invisible behind his black shirt.

Lucifero descended the stairs, each step slow, deliberate. The crowd parted like the Red Sea. He didn't look at Violet. He walked straight to the DJ booth, took the microphone out of Violet's hand, and turned it off.

Silence.

Then he turned, looked up at the balcony where Queenie was trying to become one with the curtains, and said, loud enough for the whole mansion to hear:

"Her name is Queenie. She is my girlfriend. She has been my girlfriend for three years. Anyone who has a problem with that can talk to Marco. He's currently fishing a police officer out of my pool."

Marco, dripping wet now because he had jumped in to save Officer Daniels, yelled, "I'M OKAY! HE'S OKAY! WE'RE BONDING!"

Viola's ex-boyfriend, Officer Daniels, yelled back, "I'M GONNA NEED A TOWEL AND A LAWYER!"

Queenie's brain short-circuited. Girlfriend? Three years?

She came barreling down the stairs before she could think better of it, her faded yellow dress fluttering, her tote bag smacking against her hip. "I am NOT your girlfriend! I was a customer service rep! You paid $9.99 a minute! That's not dating, that's  that's technical support with flirting!"

The whole party gasped. A girl in the front whispered, "Oh my god, she scammed the Don."

Lucifero's grey eyes locked on her as she reached the bottom of the stairs, breathless, face red, all soft curves and fury. She was inches from him now, having to tilt her head all the way back.

"You charged me $500 a week to tell me about your library's overdue book policy," he said quietly, so only she could hear, but the mic in his hand was still on.

The speakers boomed.

 "YOU CHARGED ME $500 A WEEK TO TELL ME ABOUT YOUR LIBRARY'S OVERDUE BOOK POLICY."

The party erupted. Someone yelled, "QUEEN!"

Queenie wanted to murder him and the DJ. "Turn that off!"

He finally turned the mic off and tossed it to the DJ. Then, in a move so fast Queenie didn't see it coming, he bent down, grabbed her around the waist  one arm around her soft middle, hauling her up against his hard chest  and kissed her.

Not a soft, shy balcony kiss.

A possessive, claiming, shut-everyone-up kiss, right in the middle of the dance floor, in front of Violet, Viola, Officer Daniels in the pool, and 100 people filming.

Queenie's tote bag fell to the floor. Her hands, on instinct, grabbed his black shirt.

He tasted like smoke and winter and black coffee.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen, her eyes wide, her entire plus-size body trembling in his arms.

The room was silent again.

He looked down at her, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to hers. "Still think the picture was fake, Mika?"

From the second floor, Viola screamed.

"LUCIFERO SINCLAIR, YOU PUT MY BEST FRIEND DOWN RIGHT NOW BEFORE YOU THROW YOUR BACK OUT!"

And from the front doors, which had just burst open, a new voice  cold, female, amused said.

"Well. This is not what I expected to walk in on. Lucifero, darling, who is this delicious girl and why is my son kissing her like he's going to eat her?"

Everyone turned.

A woman in her 60s, immaculate, silver hair, black  suit, holding a tiny dog that was also wearing black, stood in the doorway.

Lucifero went rigid. Even Marco in the pool stopped swimming.

Viola whispered, "Oh shit. Mom's home early."

Queenie, still being held bridal-style in the arms of a Mafia Don who thought she was his long-lost online girlfriend, looked at the tiny dog, which was growling at her, and blurted the worst possible thing.

"Hi. I'm a catfish."

And the dog barked.