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Juno eyes the boxes in my hands dubiously, but takes the desserts with a sniff. Down the hall, the rich aroma of roasting meat wafts from the kitchen. My mouth waters.
Caitlin emerges wiping her hands on a towel, face as sunny as always—well, these days, anyway. The sullen little brat who showed up at the wedding seems like a distant dream. “There you are! Was starting to think you’d been waylaid.”
Laughing, I rub away the grease streak on her cheek. “I would never miss out on your cooking. The club required a bit of extra attention today.”
We chat lightly as she finishes cooking, discussing her work at the garage, neighborhood happenings, Juno’s latest frustrations with the Irish mob bosses—surface topics, carefully skirting dangerous depths. But once seated around the heavy oak table, Caitlin studies me closely.
“So you seem…antsy tonight. Got a new scheme brewing?”
I nearly choke on a mouthful of roast beef at her astute observation. Juno smirks while Caitlin looks at me expectantly.
With feigned nonchalance, I dab my lips and offer a coy smile. “Perhaps I’ve just got a new quarry in my sights.”
Caitlin’s eyebrows shoot up as she leans forward eagerly. “Ooh, do tell! Who’s caught the eye of the infamous Ruby Realm queen?”
I wave her question away airily. “Just another lovely patron. I’ll have had my fill in a week or so.”
“Aren’t you tired of playing the field?” Juno asks. “Maybe it’s time you settled down instead of chasing every piece of—”
“There are plenty of delicious morsels yet to sample,” I interrupt brightly, keeping my expression pleasant through sheer force of will. “I’d be a fool to deprive myself of those many pleasures. We don’t all want to end up housewives,cugina.”
Juno’s eyes narrow. But before she can retort, Caitlin settles a staying hand on her arm. “All Juno means,” she says gently, “is that the right person, whenever they come along, could be really good for you. You deserve that joy, Alessa.”
The sincerity in her voice pierces me. “Just because settling down suitssome, doesn’t mean it suitsall,” I tell her, but I keep the venom out of my voice. I know Caitlin only means well. “I’m happy as I am. I like the game, sweetheart.”
Caitlin smiles. “Tell us about this new girl, then. I assume she’s extremely gorgeous and already completely enslaved by you?”
Ouch. “She will be. Soon. Her name is Natalie Moreau.”
“That one who bid a hundred grand for a night with you?” Juno puts down her fork.
“Yes,that one.”
“You know…there’s something different in your voice when you talk about her,” Caitlin observes.
“That, my darling, is called sexual frustration.” Juno rolls her eyes, but Caitlin laughs. “She’s rather… elusive. I guess you could say she’s become something of a challenge.”
“Elusive?” Juno echoes. “That’s not a word I often hear associated with your conquests.”
“True,” I admit with a smirk, “but that’s what makes her so intriguing. She seems immune to my usual charms and seductions, which…” I give a big, false sigh. “Only makes me want her more.”
“Alessa,” Juno says slowly, “youhavehad a background check done—haven’t you?”
“Who do you take me for?” I snap back, perhaps a little more defensively than I should. “Of course I have. Daddy said she checked out.”
“Hm,” is all Juno says.
Daddy said she checked out on the surface of it, but we’ve had some troubles lately with our protocols. There is some politicking going on internally in the Mancini Family, which means information is sometimes a little tricky to get hold of.
But Juno certainly doesn’t need to know that. That’s Family business, and none of hers.
“Why don’t we have some of those lovely desserts you brought, Alessa,” Caitlin says, diplomatically changing the subject.
We do that, and the conversation moves thankfully on. Soon enough I take my leave, my town car and driver waiting faithfully under the eye of Juno’s house guards outside.
But as the car moves off, I think about Juno and Caitlin’s well-meaning remarks that are still needling me, pricking that empty place within. As the brownstone disappears from view, I tell myself it’s only the wine and food sitting too heavy—and the irritation of a fox who keeps running when she should have been taken as a trophy already.
“Little vixen should know when to quit,” I mutter to myself.
