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“I believe the decks hold the most impressive aircraft,” he states. I’m sure he has seen them as many times as I have, but I know this is code for ‘Let’s go where we will have more privacy to talk.’
“I’d love to take in the sights.” He leads, and I follow, both of us stopping several times to brush shoulders with more people trickling in. I speak to two more judges who are in our pockets. When we reach the deck, it’s not as congested with people. Blue and purple lights shine on different aircraft, and my eye is drawn to each of them. Up here, the air is fresh, the breeze slight and cool, and the soft sound of the river rustling by with only faint sounds from the orchestra playing below deck.
“I need to make the borough safer,” I say, both standing in front and just beneath an aircraft. Waylon polishes off his snack before he nods in agreement, but there is a questioning gleam in his eye. “There has been an uptick in petty shit that, if not squashed now, could become more dangerous.”
“Of course. Isn’t that everyone’s goal?” he answers, but it’s clear he thinks I want arrests to rise.
Jail’s a waste. I want the bottom-feeders out of my way. Some get brave and think they can disrupt my business. They are more of a nuisance than anything else, but they’re the kind of nuisance I want taken care of before they grow bolder. Give a man enough rope, and he will hang himself. So I want it unraveled for them, and I want their fear to be so severe that they would piss themselves tying the knot.
I hear a commotion behind us and take a quick glance over my shoulder, stifling a groan as the thin stem of the champagne flute snaps between my fingers. Waylon looks at me in narrow-eyed surprise.
“Don’t fucking start,” I mutter. He lifts his hands in concession.
Not here for a fucking day, and already she’s fucking everywhere.
The vicious surge of jealousy that swells up at the sight of Carina strutting in on the arm of State Representative Henry Staton takes me by surprise, and I grab another glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray before downing it in one swift swallow.
She moves fast.
Carina boldly moves toward me with Staton on her arm. She looks dazzling with a red figure-hugging dress painted onto her skin, leaving nothing to the imagination, even with everything covered. Her hair flows down her back in silky, dark curls that I ache to plunge my hands into.
Every man on deck is focused on Carina. She knows the power she holds over the room. Boys normally like their toys, such as all the big aircraft around, yet Carina, with her swaying hips and coy eye, has captured the room.
Carina’s gaze never wavers from mine, and when she reaches me and Vigneault, she tightens her hold on Staton’s arm, pressing her breast into his arm. My fingers tighten around the stem of my new glass, wishing it was his scrawny neck.
“Henry, this is Luca, a local businessman.”
I fight a grin. Is that what I am now? Waylon excuses himself as a group of people approaches, leaving me with Carina and the eager puppy. Which reminds me… I glance deliberately around.
“Where’s your other dog, Carina? I don’t see Baccio.”
Her lips tighten. “Father insisted I leave him at the Palisades estate for the evening.”
Her fresh off-the-boat escort misses the insult. His gaze is too clear, his smile too wide. He has freckles, for God’s sake. I smile toothily. “Are we having fun yet?”
Henry holds out his hand. “Yes, indeed. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luca.”
I have pocketed my fair share of politicians, but Henry is new to our world and I haven’t approached him yet. Now he has my full attention for all the wrong reasons.
I take his hand and tighten my fingers around his, not releasing his hand. “What kind of business are you in?” he asks as I continue to hold onto his hand.
“Mm. I do all manner of things,” I reply. “Finance. Legal shit. Security.” I shake my head. “It’s been a bit rough out there lately.” I release his hand.
Henry gives a quick, polished smile. “Well, that’s what we are here to do. Clean up the streets.”
I lift an eyebrow, wondering if that’s his best go at a piss-poor logo. But I smile back. “What a fine job you are doing,” I compliment him.
“Come now, don’t be modest, Luca,” Carina says, and I shift my attention to her. I’ve avoided looking into her brown eyes until now. They simultaneously attract and repel me with the combination of hurt and challenge swimming in their depths. “Why don’t you tell Staton all about your business.” She says it teasingly, but there’s an undercurrent of defiance. Like she’s daring me to reveal myself.
“Some other time,” I grit out.
“Yes, another time. We have lots of people to talk to,” Henry informs Carina. She lifts her chin, a flash of disappointment in her eyes before she leaves on another man’s arm.
I watch them walk away and pause to speak with a couple. I think it’s the mayor’s son and his new wife. Carina laughs and smiles and ignores me. She places a slender, fine-boned hand on Henry’s arm, and her laughter dances across the space, and I can’t help but follow closely behind them, watching her every move. Even as I make my own small talk and accept another glass of champagne, I keep Carina in my sight.
Even when I do lose sight of her, I hear her laughter. She was always good at this. I’m aware that I’m showing my hand by tracking her like a besotted fool. Each time she glances around, she searches the faces of the crowd until her gaze lands on me. Only then does she return to her group. She knows I’m following after her, but I’m too worked up to walk away.
Hours of this dance proceed until the night comes to a close. I arrive onto the dock beside the ship, near where Carina and Staton have stopped. He steps away from her to talk to a group of reporters who have gathered while Carina leans against the railing and stares out over the black waters. As I watch, she pulls a cigarette from the small clutch she has draped over her shoulder and lights it, then draws deeply on it, closing her eyes against the breeze.
