Bea looks at me. Waiting.
I give her nothing.
“That’s very generous,” she says, turning back to Victor. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”
There it is.
My grip tightens around the glass. I don’t react.
“When would it be appropriate for me to leave?” she asks.
Victor spreads his hands, deferring. “That’s up to your host. I wouldn’t want to pull you away from official business.”
Both of them look at me.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I say. My voice is even. Completely empty of the reaction burning in my chest.
Bea pushes back her chair and stands. Smooths the red silk over her hips with a motion that draws Victor’s eye exactly as intended.
“Then I’ll go now.” She picks up the card. “I’ve already had dinner with Mr. D’Amico.”
Not Raffaele.
Not anymore, it seems.
“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Victor’s enjoying this. He doesn’t even bother hiding it.
“Marco will take care of you,” he promises, nodding toward the entrance.
Bea inclines her head and walks toward the exit.
I stand.
“Leaving so soon?” Victor asks.
“Enjoy the event, asshole.” Low enough for him alone.
His smile doesn’t falter. “So far, I definitely am.” He tilts his head. “Will you be long? Nico should be here soon. Wouldn’t want to keep your brother waiting.” A beat. “Oh wait, that’s not right, is it? What do we call it when someone’s raised like family but isn’t quite? I always forget.”
I don’t answer. Don’t look at him. Just walk toward the entrance where Bea is about to step through the door, the chauffeur a few paces behind her.
My hand finds her shoulder before she can leave.
“Ms. Mendez.”
She turns. The entrance is busy—guests arriving, coats being checked, eyes everywhere.
“Mr. D’Amico.” She holds my gaze. “Tonight was adequate. But I think I should be leaving now.”
I drop the formality.
“I don’t want to see you talking to Victor again.”
“Why? Part of the job, too? Is there a logical reason my job of ‘listening’ should have a blacklist?”
“You’re walking on thin ice, Bea.”
