“No.” Our drinks arrive, and Luca hands the waitress a ten-dollar tip, turning her polite smile into a real one. “You’llgive Tara a call. She’s your sister. Better coming from you.”
“But you’re the Boss,” I point out.
“Damn straight,” he says, and gives me a fiery look. “And you’re my left-hand man.” He nods at the wedding ring on his left hand. “So I trust you’ll do as I say.”
“Your wish is my command,” I murmur, lust sparking between us. “And vice versa, baby. Your sternest commands are most definitely my wish right now. Should we go back to the room after lunch?”
“Why not?” Luca gives me a smirk and a sexy promise lies in his glance. “Since it’s our second honeymoon and all.”
“Here’s to us,” I say, clinking my glass against his.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Luca
All seems to be quiet back home. Fuscone’s disappearance hit the news pretty quick, but his body will never be found. Aidan and Father Benedict have come back from their vacation. I asked whether the priest had already run to the Feds to spill his guts, but Angelo said that a man-to-man discussion with Father Benedict—plus a generous donation—has ensured his silence.
For now.
Aidan, apparently, is still flushed with gratitude at what he calls “saving his life”. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to him, Angelo tells me with what passes for amusement, that I was only worried about saving Finch.
Finch has been in contact with Tara, and she's heading out here in the next few days. But tonight is Sonny’s dinner, and he's told me that he's invited a few friends of ours along.
“Does that mean he's going to kill us?” Finch asks anxiously as we dress for dinner.
“Unlikely.” I wonder if I should be wearing something this fancy given that Sonny’s idea of formalwear seems to be snakeskin boots. But Finch has insisted we both wear tuxedos, and I trust his judgement when it comes to fashion much more than my own.
When I see Finch is still concerned about tonight, I explain further. “If Sonny wanted us dead, we’d be dead and buried already.”
“Right…but that doesn’t mean one of the other guys won’t kill us.”
I ruffle his hair, just to piss him off. “It’ll be fine. Trust me, if not Sonny Vegas.”
He slaps my hand away from his head, frowning, and goes to rearrange his hair. “Are you saying I shouldn't bring my gun?”
“Oh, hell no, you bring your gun. But make it the .22 so it doesn't look like we're expecting trouble.”
* * *
The dinner is being heldin Sonny’s penthouse, and when we arrive inside, it feels like half the showgirls in Vegas are also packed in, along with their feathered headdresses. Light slams off their glittering outfits and just about blinds me until my eyes adjust. All I can smell is perfume and lipstick. But there are plenty of barely-dressed men as well, wearing sequined booty shorts and little bow ties. Sonny greets us like long-lost friends, shouting above the noise, “I hope you enjoy the eye candy. Not my personal taste, but I like to make sure my guests are taken care of.”
I grab Finch’s hand and pull him to my side. He grins up at me. “Don't worry, baby, I only have eyes for you.”
“It’s notyoureyes I’m worried about,” I mutter, seeing one well-oiled guy give Finch an appreciative up-and-down stare, until he realizes I’m watching him. He averts his eyes and takes off to the other side of the room.
Tonight Sonny has surprised me by wearing a three-piece suit, and I'm glad I listened to Finch about the Tom Ford tux. Sonny introduces us to all the other guests. Bosses from Los Angeles, Sacramento, San Francisco, San Diego; a representative from Washington state; and one guy who lives across the border in Baja California. Everyone is carrying tonight, and not trying to hide it. Finch seems nervous, but it gives me a sense of security. Ifeveryonein the room is armed, it’s a level playing field.
No one talks business at all while the pre-dinner drinks are being served, and I'm grateful I have Finch with me, because he's much better at small talk than I am. I actually enjoy talking to Livio Bracca from San Francisco, and note he seems just as interested in the half-naked men around him as I might be if I didn’t already have the hottest guy in the room.
Bracca gives me a wink. “I wouldn't want the Commission to know, but you and I have more in common than you might have known. It's different out here. Sonny Vegas is cool about everything.”
“He's an equal opportunity killer,” Finch suggests, and it makes Bracca laugh.
“Hey, at least you'll know it ain’t homophobic if he whacks you.”
“What a comfort,” I say drily.
The pre-dinner drinks go on for a while, but at last Sonny declares the meal is served, and the entertainment seems to melt out of the penthouse.
