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His quip causes me to glance around uneasily. Is everyone truly watching me?
Oh God. Some of them actuallyare.
I notice one man in particular, staring more intently than the others. He is standing off to one side of the room next to a blonde-haired woman in a long red dress. I feel vaguely uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but when I meet his gaze, he turns and says something to the woman, and they wander off together toward the dance floor.
False alarm. I must have been mistaken about the man’s interest. I guess.
I turn back to Rossi, frowning. “Are you here for Rio’s business meeting too?”
His gaze sharpens, and unease fills me. Have I just inadvertently given away something I shouldn’t have?Oops.
“Business meeting?” he says. “I was not aware one was scheduled for tonight. Who is in attendance, if I may ask? Other than young Gregorio, of course.”
“No idea. This is the first time I’ve been allowed out of Rio’s estate.” I can’t help the slight bitterness that coats my tone. “There is no way he’d let me in on any of his business dealings.” Then I realize how that may sound. As if Iwantto get involved. “Not that Iwantto, mind you,” I add quickly.
Rossi studies me for several seconds. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But suddenly, the twinkly eyed uncle persona seems far away, and the calculating and possibly violent crime boss appears very close to the surface.
My breath shortens as visions from all the Mafia movies I’ve ever seen flash through my mind. The quick-fire turn from civility into violence. The way ordinary people are going about their ordinary business, and then suddenly they are gunned down in a sea of blood and gore.
Like Dave and Shelley.
Though that was on Rio’s orders, not Carlos Rossi, but still… Same world. Same potential for danger.
I clutch tightly at my champagne glass and swallow hard.
“I believe you are telling the truth,” he says at last. “You are not so interested in stepping into the family’s shoes after all.”
“Uh-huh. Yep. I mean, nope. I’m not.” I nod like an idiot, and keep nodding, even as he takes his leave.
“It was lovely to see you, Bianca. We will meet again soon, I am certain.”
“Sure. Great.”
Carlos melts away into the crowd, and finally I can breathe properly once again.
As I turn away and take a couple of shaky steps in the opposite direction from Rossi, I notice again the couple who were staring at me earlier. They are still on the dance floor, swirling and twirling like others around them, but there is something about them that raises my hackles.
The woman’s dress is strapless and figure-hugging, her hair swept up into a neat chignon. He is in the obligatory tux, and on the surface, they fit in perfectly with this crowd. But there is something watchful in their expressions as they look past rather than at each other. And his hand on the curve of her back seems…well, brotherly rather than intimate.
I wonder what it will be like when Rio takes me in his arms for the requested dance.Ifhe does. Especially after he finds out I accidentally let slip about his meeting.
One thing’s for sure—there will be nothing brotherly about Rio’s embrace.
My husband was correct in one thing. I am inundated with people coming up to introduce themselves. It seems everyone wants a piece of the famous Mafia businessman’s wife. Or at least, they want to satisfy their curiosity about what it was that drew him to me in the first place.
My money, I want to scream at them, over and over. My name. My family’s empire. And now he has it all, and I have no idea if—or rather, when—he will decide to discard me by the wayside.
Instead of screaming, I smile and nod and murmur polite responses to the various questions everyone fires at me. How did we meet? How long have I known him? Was it a whirlwind courtship? When was the moment I realized I was in love with the infamous Rio Agosti? Am I aware he is a suspect in a number of serious crimes?
That last couple of questions were asked by an older couple who clearly aren’t on Rio’s payroll. A headache clutches at my temples, and I stifle a groan. I need to get away. I need space.
I need my old life back again.
I murmur an indistinct apology and hurry away toward the powder room. When the door shuts behind me and I scan the anteroom and find it empty, I heave a sigh of relief.
Thank God. I need a few minutes to catch my breath. I cross to the farthest mirror and take a seat at the cushioned chair, positioned for those who wish to touch up their hair and makeup. I simply sit here, staring at my reflection and wondering who the hell is staring back at me.
Bree Walker is gone. I have to face that fact at last. There is nothing of the innocent, young girl left, except perhaps tucked deep down inside of me. I am Bianca Carlotti—for now, Bianca Carlotti-Agosti—and I have to figure out who that is and how I can find my new normal moving forward.
