Deal with the Dark Don

The night in Alabama clung to Scarlett Boone like a wet shroud, its humidity thick with the aroma of faraway magnolias and rain-soaked asphalt. She ran down an alley in Birmingham, her sneakers scuffing the crumbling pavement that was covered in broken glass and cigarette stubs. The flash of a dying streetlamp caught her hurriedly braided auburn hair, illuminating her delicate face with flaming glints, her doe-like eyes piercing with desperation, and freckles dusting her cheeks like embers on light silk. Scarlett was a ghost in the gritty underbelly of the city at the age of twenty-three.

Her hands were rough from working endless shifts as a diner, cleaning dishes and mopping floors, and her little frame was slender from missing countless meals. But to her childhood friend Ivy and the nurses who grabbed her crumpled cash for her mother Eleanor's cancer treatments, she was a quiet fighter, her heart forged in unrelenting sacrifice. To Birmingham's busy streets, she was invisible, a waitress barely making ends meet. In her world of limited resources, the diner's grease stuck to her skin and mixed with the subtle lavender soap she had taken from a motel.

With every euro flowed into the drugstore vials rattling in her shabby canvas bag, she ignored the hollow ache in her gut that grumbled. Eleanor's lifeline was those bottles, each one a victory over the illness destroying her mother's body. With a spark that pierced Scarlett's fatigue, Ivy's voice reverberated from their earlier break that day: "Crash that fancy masquerade with me, Scar." Have a little fun. What could possibly go wrong? For a night, you might even forget about the hospital. The memory caused Scarlett's lips to quiver, and her fingers clenched around a pilfered invitation she had discovered in the diner's lost-and-found box. In the dark light of the alley, the gold embossing glistened, offering a glimpse of a world of opulence and luxury that was far different from medical bills and past-due rent. Even if it was a reckless whim, she was unable to stop it.

She slipped into Ivy's borrowed black gown after ducking into a dark nook to change. The chilly, strange touch of the silk against her flesh made her feel both alive and exposed. It was like a lover's touch. She covered her eyes with a flimsy lace mask, concealing the weariness that was imprinted on her face. With its marble front glistening beneath lighting and the sound of violins and laughing reverberating into the muggy night, the Grand Belle Hotel rose before her like a cathedral of luxury. As Scarlett got closer to the entrance, her heart pounded in her chest like a drum. With a steady hand, she flashed the invitation, half expecting it to be rejected, but the doorman nodded her in with barely a glance.

With crystal chandeliers hanging like frozen waterfalls and light breaking across velvet draperies and polished marble floors, the ballroom was a fever dream of opulence. Intricately costumed guests whirled around the room, their champagne glasses glimmering with reckless wealth and their laughter as sharp as glass. The subtle scent of truffle canapés served on silver trays blended with the aromas of jasmine, amber, and something sweeter. With her doe eyes wide behind the mask, Scarlett swooped through the crowd, taking in the sparkling jewelry and gilded features. The burden of her life briefly vanished, to be replaced by a wild rush that made her pulse skip a beat. She grabbed a champagne glass from a tray, the bubbles piercing her tongue, a strange experience that made her laugh softly.

"Lost, sweetheart?" With a Southern drawl that sliced like a blade through the cacophony of the ballroom, the voice was as smooth as aged bourbon. With a gasp, Scarlett turned to face a man who was leaning against a marble pillar. Only his sharp steel-blue eyes, which appeared to stare right through her, were visible through his raven mask. Tall, with broad shoulders that filled a fitted black suit that exuded wealth and power, he was a silent storm that attracted everyone's attention without asking for anything. His lips curled in a way that chilled her, and his dark hair was swept back, a single lock cascading over the mask.

Scarlett raised her chin and murmured, "Not lost," her voice more steady than her quivering legs. Despite her heart pounding beneath his inspection, the champagne gave her a boost of confidence. "Just... wandering."

With a smile that was both enticing and predatory, he remarked, "Wandering is dangerous in a place like this." He held out a hand and pushed off the pillar. "Want to dance together?"

Ivy's challenge echoed in her ears as her heart pounded. She put her hand in his and asked, "Why not?" Her skin tingled as they made contact. His solid, warm grip effortlessly drew her into the dancers' flow with a commanding ease. A slow waltz of music erupted, transforming the area into a haze of twirling dresses and golden masks. His body was close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from him, and his hand was on her waist, causing sparks to fly through the silk of her clothing. He whispered, "You don't belong here," as his breath touched her ear and roused the delicate hairs on her neck. "This crowd can't handle the fire in your eyes."

Her pulse pounding as his fingers tensed a little, she shot back, "And you talk like you know me." Her voice was a mix of challenge and nervousness. As he drew her in closer, their steps slowed to fit the slow pace of the music, and his resonant, low laugh vibrated through her chest. With his eyes fixed on hers through the masks, he whispered, "What's a girl like you chasing in a place like this?"

"Escape," she said, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it, unprotected and raw. His eyes darkened, a glimmer of passion flickering through them, and before she could turn away, he lifted her chin and planted an eager, forbidden kiss on her lips. His mouth was firm yet kind, and it tasted of mystery and whiskey. The fire he gave her made her knees buckle. The universe narrowed to the feel of his lips, his body pressing against hers, the electric excitement that overpowered the music as her hands gripped his jacket, fingers burrowing into the soft fabric.