Page 3 of Dante

“Second cousin,” she corrects. “And it was for elites only. My family’s pretty low in the pecking order.”

“Why do you think she was drunk? Was she an alcoholic?” I ask.

“Mary? Not a chance. Probably afraid of what a little too much vino would do to her complexion.”

“So she stumbled and hit her head on a rock,” I say. It’s hard to imagine that beautiful, arrogant woman ending her life in such a banal way.

“Yep. That’s the official coroner’s report. But The Manhattan Social Diary gossip column tells a different story.”

“Manhattan Social?”

Angie looks at me like I was born yesterday.

“Close enough. It’s a gossip column chronicling the scandals of Manhattan’s rich and powerful. It’s syndicated internationally.”

“What did they say?”

“They don’t name names. But last July, they reported that Mary died under ‘mysterious circumstances.’”

“What does that mean?”

“Nobody talks about it.” Angie glances around as if someone might be listening. “But read the Manhattan Social story from last July yourself.”

Hmmm. Dante’s last wife died under mysterious circumstances.

In the novels Alice tells me about, this means the hero killed her.

Or someone else did.

“Should I fear the same fate?” I say, forcing a light tone.

But Angie’s answer—and the way she crosses herself—makes my blood run cold.

“Only if you displease him.”

“You said he loved Mary! If this Manhattan Social suggests he killed her, why? Are you saying she displeased him?”

Angie just shrugs. Then she signals a server carrying Champagne to refresh our glasses.

“Dante may be handsome. But it’s often the beautiful ones who have the blackest hearts. Old Sicilian proverb.”

I look over to find Dante in the crowd. He stands near the window, speaking quietly with three men in dark suits.

Pride surges through me as I take in how gorgeous he looks in his custom black tuxedo, the snake tattoo on his neck peeking out.

Even now, at our wedding reception, I can see the outline of a gun at his waist.

Somehow, that excites me too.

I try to catch his eye. I’m almost sure he sees me, but Dante doesn’t glance my way.

“They call him the Iceberg,” Angie says, noticing my disappointment.

“Why?”

“Because nothing melts him. Especially since Mary’s passing. But now that you’re his wife… maybe you can thaw that cold heart.”

I turn to watch my new husband again.