I see Dominic by my side.
“Are you okay? You look pale.” Concern is etched on his face.
“I’m fine.”
I’m a queen after all and queens don’t show weakness.
Taking a deep breath, I open the doors.
The massive room greets us, but it’s barren now. All the tables and chairs have been removed. Mama must have taken care of that when I was in the hospital. The faint smell of cleaner lingers in the air.
Crystal chandeliers catch the sun’s rays and fracture them into scattered rainbows that shimmer across the polished marble floor. Shiny mirrors line one wall and velvet drapes frame the towering windows on the other. The far wall houses glass doors that lead out onto the porch. The ones I was half-carried through after being shot.
The memory of last week’s chaos hangs heavy in the air as we walk to the center of the space. I look down expecting to see my blood pooling on the floor.
“Wow, Cipi.” Dominic’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Your dirty money has really paid off. Not everyone can say they have a ballroom in their house.”
So much for him being sympathetic. “Shut up.” I groan. “Why do you always have to be like that? I almost died here.”
He doesn’t reply, instead he changes the subject. “When you entered the ballroom what did you do?”
“I was mingling with the guests. Then I went over there to the east wall to grab some food. Oh…wait…before that I was trying to reach Lucia. I went over by the parlor palms so no one would hear me. Nonna found me. I ate and talked to Mama. Lastly, I gave the toast and cut the cake. Then….” My voice trails off.
Dominic scribbles a note. “Where are the exits?”
I point to the far end of the ballroom. “There’s a set of French doors over there. They lead out onto the porch and gardens.”
“Could someone have gone in and out of those doors without being noticed?”
I shrug. “It's possible. The porch is hidden from the driveway, but there was security. All the perimeters were covered.”
“We have the French doors and the main entrance. Are there any other entrances?” Dominic makes another note.
“Behind the buffet tables there is a service entrance where the staff brought the food.” I gesture to the wall behind the long buffet table. “It connects to the kitchen.”
“I don’t see it.”
“You can’t, it’s hidden.” I walk over to the wall and feel for the latch. Turning it, I open the door to show him, then close it. “See.”
“Someone could have slipped through. But there is no way a person could have shot you from this entrance. With all the people in this area someone would have seen him. The shots had to come from somewhere else. Show me where you were standing.”
“Right here.” I walk over to the circular table that’s positioned near the French doors, just a ways away from the long buffet table.
My fingertips brush the polished wood as I remember the chaos that erupted here and the silent bullets that flew through the air. The memory of the red velvet cake dances on my tongue like a lingering ghost.
Dominic puts the notebook on the buffet table and approaches me. He circles me like a predator before coming to a stop inches from my face.
His gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath quicken. He points to my left side.
“The bullet hit here?” he asks softly, not breaking eye contact.
I nod. My heart pulses faster.
“I hate that someone wanted to put a bullet in you,” he whispers. “But it’s a good thing you’re tougher than they thought. I can’t wait to find the motherfucker who did this.”
I don’t trust myself to reply.
We stare at each other. I fight to keep the swirling emotions away. Memories flood my brain of our most intimate moments. We had been so in love, and then it had all gotten ripped away.
