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The music pumps inside the gigantic double doors leading to the reception hall. Sia and I speak casually behind the staircase, sipping champagne – well, faux champagne for her. I’ve already scoped the guards, who think they’re suave coming in and out of the reception at intervals. Carlo Barone has grown into a paranoid, fat fox.
Before we left the suite, I dabbed a bit of water on both of our foreheads to simulate that we’ve been drinking and dancing. Enough guests have been plodding in and out of the room to take their bathroom breaks, and as two guys from the groom’s side head back toward the reception, we swoop in.
“Crazy party in there, right?” I smile so hard my eyes squint, keeping with their drunk swagger.
“Oh, the best. Claudia’s father has the taste of kings. My boy, Jimmy, traded up, you know?” He elbows me.
“I’m not weighing in, there. Sounds like a trap.” I cover Sia’s ears. “But you’re right,” I whisper.
The two guys laugh, and one of them opens the door for us to enter.
The reception room is enormous – a tad brighter than I would’ve hoped because of the DJ lights, but the corners are still nearly pitch-black. A part of me wishes they went with a live band to better drown out a silenced gun shot, but this can definitely work.
I spot Carlo in the exact seat Donny said he would be in. Directly to my right – I dare not even shed a glance. Only my trained periphery tells me. I’m laughing and spinning Alessia as we break away from our two humble escorts who got us in, no questions asked.
The dance floor is full, despite the grandeur of the room, and Alessia plays her part beautifully, despite her obvious nerves. No looking up. No gaping or gawking. Same rules apply as when we first entered the Plaza yesterday. The room has to think we’ve been here the whole time. Asking me questions and pointing would be a giveaway we can’t afford.
I notice our table in the back is empty but for one other couple. The man is rubbing his girlfriend’s feet. Probably bad shoes, or something. I hope they get back to it so Alessia and I can regroup. Fuck it. They’re groom-side. It’s alright if they know we’re late.
Sia reaches for my ear. “Am I allowed to talk to them?”
“In passing. I’m trying to seclude us, but they act as a good diversion, to be honest.” I pat a guy on the shoulder when I bump into him – purposely – to play the part of nice, unassuming guy. Our table-mate notices, and I reach to offer my hand. “What an event. It was terrible that our flight was late. John D’Amico. This is my wife, Aubrey.”
Alessia is blushing… why? Because I called her my wife?
It did kind of feel nice, if I’m being honest. But there are pressing matters at hand.
Donny promised that the table seating would be mixed, and that the couple we’re pretending to be are strange out-of-towners that distanced themselves from the groom’s family long ago. But I swear there’s a hint of confusion in the guy’s eye.
I tell myself not to be paranoid. He’s a nobody.
“Oh my gosh, you too?” Alessia steps in and points at the shoes on the floor. “I tell myself every time I’ll trade dazzling for comfortable, but we both made the same mistake tonight.”
The woman laughs a heartily. “See, Benny! I’m not the only bimbo!”
“How was the first course? Good?” I jump back in, only to back right out. “I’m starving. If you don’t mind, it was a pleasure meeting you. Have fun out there! See you on the floor.”
I’m slightly off my game. My thoughts keep going to Alessia and my child she’s carrying. So much lingers on a single shot across the way.
As I take my seat to eat my meal, everything slows down in my mind. My heartbeat thumps in my ears like Poe’s Raven. Through a crowd of dancing bodies, my hawk-eye spots him. Carlo. Seated with his fingers clasped over his belly, leaning back in his chair, talking business with some mobster at his side.
He’s heard of me. He knows me. Not sure if my picture is on his wall, but it might as well be, considering I’ve taken out more of his allies than any of the other hitmen combined.
“What are you thinking?” Sia asks me in a low voice, playing like she’s flirting.
“We’re going to get you a drink, get you dancing with everyone in that circle. Then, on my signal, you’re going to drop your glass in the middle of everything.”
She tenses up. That’s not good.
“What?” I ask.
“N—nothing. It’s all just hitting me at once.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, getting annoyed.
“I’ve heard stories about Carlo back when. He’s a bad man, right? Tell me he’s bad.” Alessia’s voice begins to quiver.
I knew this was a bad idea. “Can you handle this, or not?”
