I watch her spark the lighter to life, holding the flame to the end of the cigarette before releasing the button and handing it back to me. I thumb the engraving before slipping it back into my pocket.
A charged silence follows, echoes of everything we’ve said and all that we haven’t hovering in the evening air.
I tap my cigarette against the side of the crystal dish set out for that exact purpose, weighing where to start.
“I donated to the symphony,” I finally say.
“I know. Lincoln. Subtle.”
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle. I wanted you to know it was me.” I sense her look my way, but I keep my gaze straight ahead. “I didn’t want there to be any complications with the funds, so I did it through a foundation we funnel money through. Samuel Belvedere is on the board of directors. He was trying to impress me, so he arranged for us to attend a performance after a business dinner. I didn’t know until just before.”
I watch Carina shift position out of the corner of my eye. She lifts one leg, setting her bare foot on the edge of the seat and letting her arm rest atop her knee. The cigarette dangles carelessly between two fingers, a tendril of smoke rising and dissipating.
She studies the thin stream. “Shakespeare said smoke was ‘made with the fume of sighs.’ I’ve always liked that saying.”
“Love.”
Carina’s head jerks in my direction. “What?” Her tone is sharp, no longer lyrical or nostalgic.
“The saying is, ‘Loveis a smoke made with the fume of sighs.’”
She flicks some ash on the tray. “You’re a know-it-all.”
“I’m right. It’s fromRomeo and Juliet.”
Carina sighs, sinking back into her chair. “Who was the woman?”
I assume we’ve shifted to reality, not that we’re discussing Juliet.
“His daughter,” I answer. “Also to impress me.”
“Sound like Samuel Belvedere and my father would get along.” She moves the cigarette closer to her mouth, inspecting the stick before taking a small suck. Carina exhales more smoke, then says, “I could tip off the IRS that your foundation is a front.”
I smile at the threat.
“Iwillif you try to send me back to Italy.”
Any amusement dissipates faster than the smoke she just exhaled.
“No point to that until we find out how badly they want you back.”
Instantly, I have her full attention. She swivels her torso, dropping her leg so she can really look at me.
“That’syour angle in all this? Use me like bait?”
“Like leverage,” I state calmly. “They had men crawling the city, looking for you. That draws attention. We have overlapping interests that can be redistributed.”
She spits out a few ugly names in Italian. I’m not fluent, but I know enough of the language to recognize the insults.
“I killed the last person who called me that.”
That comment shuts her up fast. She stares at me, eyes sparking with fury and fear.
I still can’t decide if I want her to be wary of me or not. Both possibilities piss me off—for different reasons.
“How many people have you killed?”
The question catches me off guard. No one else has ever asked.
