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VICTOR
Lucia wanders back to me half an hour after she went to get me a drink, glass of champagne in her hand, and smiles. “Darling, sorry. I forgot about your drink, I got so distracted chatting with Rubio—have you met Rubio?”
She points at a man on the other side of the room, who pales when he meets my gaze.
The others with us all stare too, and one of the men snickers to himself. He probably thinks Lucia was flirting with Rubio.
He isn’t wrong, technically.
“I have not met Rubio, no,” I say carefully. I take the champagne glass from her and take a sip. “What did you chat about?”
“He’s from New Bristol!” Lucia beams at me. “You’ll have to take me sometime. They have much, much better shopping than around here. Or… you don’t have to come. I can go on my own. I just need your credit card.”
I almost choke on the champagne. She is laying it on very, very thick, but she does like to present herself as a very well-taken care of sugar baby sometimes.
“We can certainly arrange a trip. But I think I’d like to meet Rubio myself, before you plan anything extravagant.”
Lucia hooks her arm around mine and starts leading me to the man in question. As soon as we’re away from the few men I’d been networking with, she leans in closer and whispers, “He works for Pavone. I managed to weasel that out of him. He’s liaising with Pierino. You need to reconsider your friendship with that asshole.”
Anybody who has dealings with Pavone is an asshole to Lucia, but I don’t blame her. I had a similar dislike of all of Bellini’s allies, with fewer personal stakes.
Rubio looks like he wants to bolt, but he manages to stay brave enough to meet with me.
“Rubio!” Lucia says brightly. “I’m so glad you’re still here. I’d like you to meet Victor Corvi.”
I watch the look on his face. He already knows who I am, that’s clear enough, but he pales anyway.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Corvi,” he says politely. “Thank you for your hospitality this evening.”
I want to laugh. He doesn’t deserve myhospitality, especially if he’s one of Giulio Pavone’s flunkies, but I’m hardly going to shoot him in my own ballroom.
No, I’d save that for a more private setting.
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Lucia says, batting her eyelashes at him.
He’s instantly distracted, his eyes going to her and only barely staying above her neckline. Santino would be seething at the number of men who have eye-fucked her this evening, but I’m much more realistic. Let them stare.
She belongs to us.
“Lucia tells me you’re from New Bristol?” I ask mildly.
Rubio winces, then nods. “Yeah. I grew up there. But I’m much more of a Benton boy now!”
“Really? That’s a shame. I’ve been thinking of expanding, and I could use a bit of insight as to how things work there…” I trail off, letting Rubio try to figure out what my game is, whether I’m on to him.
“It’s like a lot of other cities. Ah, I think I should be going though, my wife is probably wondering where I am.” Rubio looks at his phone after he makes the statement, giving away his lie.
Lucia pouts. “So soon? I guess… uh, Victor, I’ll see Rubio out, okay? You can go back to your boring friends.”
She gives me enough of a pointed look that I nod. I think I know where she’s going with this, although part of me wants to take over. This is her plan, though, so I make a show of rolling my eyes.
“Don’t do anything I’d disapprove of,” I warn her, and I’m gratified at how Rubio flinches at the words.
Lucia, however, smiles sweetly at me. She takes his arm, chatting to him about shopping opportunities in New Bristol, but they don’t go for the front door.
I wait a few moments before heading to the stairs leading down to the basement, nodding to one of the guards. The party has wound down, anyway, and no one will notice that I’ve disappeared for a few moments.
I slip into the basement room we’d once held Lucia in, where Rubio is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. His hands are tied behind his back, and sweat is beading his brow. Angelo is making a show of sharpening a knife, while Lucia leans in close and murmurs something to Rubio I can’t hear.
