Page 4 of Dante

We’re virtual strangers.

I don’t even know his middle name.

And he still hasn’t looked at me.

Not once since we were pronounced man and wife.

CHAPTER 2

DANTE

“She’s a pretty thing, your little bride,” says my younger brother Lorenzo, his dark eyes flicking toward Gina across the ballroom. “You’re lucky the elders saw fit to let an old man like you marry again.”

“You’re lucky as well.”

“Me? How so?”

“If Mary hadn’t slipped on the rocks, Gina could have easily been yours. And according to the contract I signed, she may be still. If something happens to me.”

“Let’s hope not, big brother. I’m in no hurry to end my jet-set bachelor lifestyle. Thanks for making it possible.” He mock-bows.

We turn our attention to Gina. She’s sitting with our gossipy cousin Angie. God knows what they’re talking about.

“Your flown-in fresh California blonde is gorgeous.” Lorenzo shakes his head. “Sweet too, from our short conversation. Naive, though. She knows you kill people for a living?”

“I only ice the jerks who get in my way. Be grateful. It means you sleep at night. You enjoy your models and your Champagne without blood on your conscience.”

Lorenzo laughs and peels away to dance with a black-haired beauty who’s been eye-fucking him all night.

I turn to watch Gina across the room.

She’s laughing at some ridiculous thing Angie must have said. Good. I like women with a sense of humor.

I take her in slowly. The veil is gone now. Her hair is the kind of sun-streaked blonde that looks real, like she spent serious time at a beach.

The dress is some seven-tiered Southern Belle thing her mother probably picked. The bodice is too tight. It pushes her small tits up over the neckline like she’s about to spill out of it.

I let my eyes track down. Narrow waist. Hips a man could span with two hands.

I think about the evening ahead. Her wrists in one of my hands. Her mouth open. The southern belle dress gone.

What she’ll sound like.

What she’ll taste like.

Mary had been tall, fierce, and looked like she could kill a man in heels.

In comparison, Gina looks like a Mattel beach toy.

But I’ve already decided what I’m going to do to her tonight.

And watching her fake-sip Champagne isn’t one of them.

My Uncle Silvio detaches himself from a knot of capos and crosses to her. I watch him take her hand. Kiss it. Hold it a beat too long.

He says something that makes her laugh and she does not pull her hand back.

The muscle in my jaw works.