But if he does, he says nothing. “Get me another bourbon,” he orders.
“I’ll go,” Matvei offers, already turning. “Allow me.”
“No, no, no, let her go,” insists Raymond. “She needs the steps. Look at her, she’s getting hippy.”
That’s a lie. I am, in fact, getting more not-hippy by the day, courtesy of the morning sickness that has me parting ways with breakfast on the regular.
But I smile and make my exit. It’s actually fine by me—every second I’m not standing next to Raymond is a second that I’m… well, not standing next to Raymond. Which is nice.
I beeline for the bar.
Behind me, I hear Raymond saying to no one in particular, “You never know, do you? You really never know. Life can change likethat.” And I hear him snap his fingers.Like that.
It can’t mean anything. It’s just Raymond talking. He does that. Whenever he drinks, the bourbon unlatches a muzzle that, for the sake of the world, would be much better off staying locked. And then he justgoes off.Saying the damndest shit, just for the sheer pleasure of hearing his voice fill the room.
But then he says it again, louder, to Lowery, “I’m just saying, Hank. You never know when it’s all gonna change. One little surprise andboom.Everything you love goes up in smoke.”
I hurry away to a bar out of hearing range of Raymond’s voice, just to buy myself a few minutes away from him.
He’s still going when I get back, though. He takes his double bourbon on the rocks from me without so much as a muttered thanks, then resumes a high-volume story about a deal that fell through in the Nineties and a man who learned the hard way that you don’t try to outsmart Raymond Snyder.
As he blabbers on, I resume my station at his side, with my smile plastered on. Raymond glows pinker the longer he talks. The alcohol is doing its slow and steady work.
But I don’t have any toxins in my bloodstream to calm me down. Not unless you count fear, and it’s not calming anything.
He doesn’t know,I tell myself.He cannot possibly know.The cryptic looks I keep catching are just Raymond being Raymond, fishing for a reaction so he can twist the hook. He fishes like that constantly. He always has.
Besides—even if, by some miracle of his rancid intuition, hedoesknow about the baby or the plot or my relationship to Giana, it isn’t going to matter. Not for much longer.
Because Matvei is here.
Before the night is out, Raymond will be in the ground.
All I have to do is keep smiling until then.
Senator DeMaris reappears at our elbow. Since I last saw him, he has acquired a bridesmaid: a thin redhead in lavender chiffon who is twenty-three if she’s a day. He’s whispering something in her ear and she’s giggling in a way that makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out into the street for a well-deserved timeout, followed by a woman-to-woman scolding.
“Ray. Ray, listen to this. Listen.” DeMaris ropes Raymond in with a chummy arm around the shoulder. “Brittany here works for the Brooklyn D.A.’s office. Isn’t that something? Brittany, tell Ray what you told me about that thing…”
The bridesmaid launches into some anecdote, and Raymond is suddenly very interested in her. Brittany’s reciprocal interest inRaymond appears to be at least partially related to the gleaming Patek Philippe on his wrist.
While they’re talking, the senator winks at me over Raymond’s shoulder.
Then, without further ado, he grabs my ass.
I freeze. The senator’s palm is hot and damp through the silk, and beyond repulsive. He’s toying with the lace edge of my underwear. “You holding up okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs in my ear. “These things can be a slog.”
“I’m fine, Senator.” I take a strategic step forward, out from under his hand. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He’s sure his fingertips graze the curve of my butt as his hand falls. “Anytime at all, Cassandra. I mean that.”
“That’s very kind of?—”
I look up to find Matvei looking at me. To the untrained eye, he looks as calm as ever.
But his knuckles around the glass are white.
I shoot him a microscopic shake of my head.Don’t. Not for this. Not now.
