The jazz music simmered through the room, a slow pulse under the chatter of expensive laughter and polite conversation. The don sat in his armchair, talking easily to his court of jesters. He’d been up and walking, even did pushups when someone called him out on his hospital stay. My grandmother grinned through the ordeal, clutching her cocktail glass with white, boney fingers.
The bastard didn’t see what he was doing to her. His determination to prove that everything was status quo was going to physically hurt the woman he professed to love.
And she was too chicken to call him out on it.
I cut a look at the door where Rae entered, balancing a silver tray. The uniform should have made her invisible, just another servant blending into the marble and crystal of the evening. Yet to me, every light in the room seemed to find her.
She looked…defeated.
I fucking hated it.
Those hazel eyes fixed on the rims of the champagne flutes that threatened to wobble off. A brash, shallow laugh made her jerk slightly. I clenched my jaw, promising death to the person who made her uncomfortable.
Rae moved around the far side of the room. The whole evening she’d been careful. Eyes down and shoulders straight. Pretending not to notice me. But right as she held the tray to a thirsty group of glittering ladies, I caught the flicker. A splitsecond. Her gaze caught mine, sending a rush of feeling straight to my gut before she looked away.
Porca miseria, I had it bad for this woman.
And because of the mess of people, I couldn’t go to her. Couldn’t openly take her in my arms and pull her away from the stench of expensive perfume and meaningless smiles.
Conscious of the crowd, I kept myself from staring directly at her. But I tracked Rae’s every step as she moved around a group of men talking too loudly. One of them threw his hands in the air, animatedly telling a story. Rae flinched. She managed to move her tray just in time to prevent disaster.
I took a step in their direction.
“Dominico, carino, you remember my friend Veronica,” Nonna said, stepping into my path.
“Ciao,” Veronica greeted me. “How is your dear mama? I haven’t seen Donatella inages.”
I bristled. “My mother is well, thank you.”
“I miss her! Tell her to visit more,” the old bat crooned.
That wasn’t fucking happening.
“She used to love a party,” Veronica simpered. “And I must say, this isquitethe party. But…who is that man in the phantom of the opera mask?”
I flicked a glance at the Irish boss. Liam McDonagh and his wife were at the bar. He looked good. Fit and healthy. It was nice of him to be here, and if I was a goodhost, I would go say hello. But I had other things to do.
Like stare at Rae as she set out with a fresh tray of wobbly flutes.
“He’s a friend.”
Nonna pursed her lips at my tone. “I don’t recall his name.”
I gave her a pointed look, and she took the hint.
“It’s a blessing to open our home to so many people. Why! Just last month, Arabella and I hosted the Princess of Spain.”
I tuned my grandmother out. Because at that moment, I caught the sound of laughter. It shouldn’t have been noticeable with the volume of mammalian noises, but it was. Clear. Warm.Sweet.I glared at the men taking flutes of champagne. There were enough of them that they took every glass from her tray. One even bumped his elbow against her at some inside joke.
My sweet southern bloom smiled at him before returning to collect more glasses.
Enough of this.
I abruptly left my grandmother and stalked straight to the mahogany bar, where Theo was mixing drinks. I wove through conversations I didn’t hear. The sound of Rae’s breath—rapid, shallow—somehow carried across the noise. She didn’t know I could read it. She didn’t know I’d already memorized it.
It was a part of her, so why wouldn’t I?
The worst part was the brilliant, beautiful smile on her face was gone. She’d given it away to those men, and now the inner turmoil was etched into the details of her face.
