“You must be very angry,” the woman beside her says. “If my husband lost his position…” The woman makes a dismissive movement with her hand. “Let’s just say he wouldn’t stay my husband for long.”
How sad. Is this what marriage in the mob comes down to? Using each other for personal gain? It didn’t seem like Maksim had much affection for his wife at the gala, but he’s clearly putting her to work with me.
If I’d married Nero consensually, I don’t see why I’d give a damn about his position or rank. It’s not his power I care about. I just don’t like seeing him be treated like crap by Gino Ferraro.
But I know that would be the wrong thing to say. I’m supposed to drop hints that I’m unhappy. That he’s unhappy.
So unhappy he’s ready to betray the Italians.
I smooth the napkin spread over my lap and mutter, “It’s their loss.”
Ekaterina tips her head slightly to the side. “What’s that?”
“I said that it’s their loss if they can’t appreciate my husband’s value. He’s got a lot of experience, and he knows more about the way things are run in this city than most of the men above him do.”
“Does he? Even after being gone for six months?” Her tone is casual, but I can tell she’s trying to draw information out of me.
“He may have been gone for six months, but before he left, he worked here for ten years. It’s not like all the things he knows became irrelevant in that short amount of time. With the exception of the don himself, there’s no one in the Messero family who knows as much about its dealings as Nero does.”
Ekaterina’s gaze goes from mocking to assessing. “For someone who’s new to this world, you sure seem to have caught on quick, Blake.”
“I don’t like feeling left in the dark. And I learn quickly.”
“Some men prefer keeping their personal life separate from their business.”
“Is that what your husband prefers?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow again. “Maks tells me everything.”
I can’t resist giving her a condescending smile. “You two seem like a great couple.”
“We are.” There’s a defensive note to her voice that suggests otherwise.
Our server comes around with another bottle of champagne. I’ve lost count of how many we’ve gone through by now. These women drink it like it’s water.
The server—a woman in a perfectly pressed uniform with the restaurant logo embroidered on her chest—pauses by Frida and refills her glass before moving to Ekaterina, who has already turned her attention away from me to launch into another story. Ekaterina talks with fervor, her hands constantly in motion, and when the waitress pours champagne into her glass, Ekaterina’s arm swings out at the same time.
A collective gasp echoes around the table as the champagne glass tips over, drenching the front of Ekaterina’s dress.
“You idiot,” she hisses at the waitress, even though it was hardly her fault. “What have you done?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“This iscouture.” Ekaterina’s face darkens with rage. “Is your job really so fucking hard that you can’t even refill a glass properly? Or is this your first day here, you dumb bitch?”
My eyes widen at her outburst.Holy anger issues.
“Madam, it was an accident.” There’s a hint of panic in the server’s tone.
Ekaterina snatches a napkin off the table and dabs it against her dress. “It’s ruined. I hope they pay you well here, because you’re going to buy me a new dress.”
The server’s shoulders slump, and her eyes brim with tears. The women around the table watch the scene unfold in silence, making no move to intervene. That’s when it dawns on me. If I don’t stop this, no one else will.
I open my mouth, but I’m too late. Ekaterina has already grabbed the bottle from the server and—
“Stop,” I shout, just as Ekaterina flips the bottle and empties the rest of its contents over the server’s clothes.
“Katya!” someone gasps.
