Before I shouldered my way through the crowd, her hand pulled me back. “Thank you,” she said, standing on her toes to kiss me. It was the sort of kiss that happens on impulse— kind of shy but full of conviction. It made me smile. “I love when you dance with me.That’sthe best part of tonight.”
“Scarlett,” I said, her name the last word I’d ever want to speak.
“Yes?”
“You are the best part of every one of my days.”
“Your nights, too?”
“You own them,” I said in Italian.
We kissed again, and this time I grabbed her ass before leaving her to Guido’s care. “Take care of my wife,” I reminded him.
“Con la mia vita,” he answered.With my life.
“Oy vey!” Scarlett said, exasperated, but with a grin. Then she set him into position and let him move her on the floor.
I dodged through the thick crowd, occasionally stopped by a few people, and then ordered two cold waters, champagne, and whiskey neat.
Everett bounded up to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, a few friends surrounding him. An expensive cigar stuck out of the side of his mouth, bouncing with the rhythm of his speech.
“This is Scarlett’s husband, Brando Fausti.” He introduced me to each man, all in designer suits, and we shook. “What did I tell you? Braw, ah?”
Everett pretended to give me one to the gut. Judging by the smell, he had seen a lot of men about a lot of dogs.
“Brando and his brother, Rocco, just took on a boxer. Primo Bruno is the name. The man has a left hook!” Everett looked around. “He’s here tonight. Somewhere.”
The conversation soon turned to Primo Bruno, and Everett waved Rocco over as the men started to inquire about Bruno’s sponsors, and whether or not we’d be interested in adding some to the team.
Bruno and O’Sullivan walked up then, only adding to the men’s eagerness to put up money that was collecting dust in their collections.
“Sir—” The waiter offered me our drinks. I told him to set the waters down on the table where Violet sat with Mitch, but I took the other two.
The chatter going around came to a pause when Sheriff Stone walked up, his nephews tagging along. Brandon stood on one side, Scott on the other.
Everett seemed surprised to see them, but he hid it well. Sheriff Stone shook hands and introduced his two nephews. One of the money men filled them in on our conversation.
Sheriff Stone took a pull of his beer. “It’s about time you reached some potential,” he said, nodding at me. His tone was friendly but with a definite undercurrent of insult. “Took you long enough.”
He patted the man next to him on the shoulder, as if this disguised compliment was stellar. The man smiled, but it seemed out of politeness.
Rocco rubbed his lip, the urge to pounce as strong as his presence next to me.
“That’s what makes a man a man, am I right, fellas?” Everett said. His eyes were almost narrowed on the sheriff. I could see my wife in the feature—the sort of ruthlessness that comes with knowing your worth and not backing down. “He came from nothing and evolved into something. He turned conviction into profit. What he made from an honest day’s work, he invested.”
All of the men raised their glasses to me. I lifted mine in return.
“That’s what we like to see,” Darius, one of Everett’s wealthy buddies, said. “Drive. Hunger. There’s nothing more impressive than a hungry man who knows his worth and is willing to work for it.”
On that note, Darius threw the conversation back to Primo Bruno. Sheriff Stone cut him off.
“Conviction, is it? No. I’d say it has more to do with the family name.”
“What is wrong with our name,Sheriff?” Rocco said, downing the rest of his whiskey.
The three Stones smiled.
“When it causes an innocent man to lose his job, I’d say everything.”
