Her companion is curled up next to her on the divan, his head cradled in her lap. She strokes his hair as though he’s a favored lapdog allowed to accompany her wherever she goes. Maybe she’ll tuck him away in her handbag later on. His eyes are closed and he seems to be fast asleep, but when I look closely, I can see those eyes crack open, just a fraction.
Together, the two of them look exquisitely elegant, a Caravaggio painting come to life. La Contessa’s dark eyes appraise Luca, looking him head to toe, and she says nothing.
Luca bows his head and gives a polite and formal greeting in Italian. I keep my mouth shut.
She drops the mask from her face, letting it dangle at the end of the holding stick.
“Do you think I don’t know who you are, Don Morelli?” she asks in a rich contralto, and it doesn’t escape my notice that her reply is in English rather than Italian. “You think I didn’t know you at once at the opera last night? A face like yours is memorable—as is that of the little bird who flutters around you.” Her eyes flick to me, and I feel compelled to remove my own mask. She gives a pleased littlehmand smiles.
I smile back.
Her black satin dress shines in the light as she shifts to set the mask down on a tiny side table, the diamonds at her throat and wrist all the brighter for the dark background.
“So, Don Morelli,” she says, returning her attention to Luca as her voice hardens. “Why are you here?” The young man in her lap rearranges his position slightly, his eyes slitting open to look up at Luca, at me, intrusions into the sunbeam of his lover’s attention.
“To offer my services,” Luca tells her.
“Services?” She yawns delicately, one hand covering her mouth and the other floating out, reaching for something in mid-air, though there’s nothing there. But all at once, there is: a waiter appears with a tray, on which is a half-full glass of champagne. La Contessa takes a sip, places the glass back on the tray, and the waiter and drink both disappear again behind a heavy fold of the velvet curtains behind her.
“May we sit down?” Luca tries.
“You may not.”
He grins at that. “Alright. Then I’ll be brief. I came because I heard rumors that there was a contract on your life. I wanted to warn you at the opera, but I was not afforded the chance.”
La Contessa strokes her necklace as she contemplates Luca’s face. “How fortunate for me that you were here tonight, to save me from this…assassin.”
He bows his head.
“I would appear to be in your debt,” she continues in what would pass for a drawl if it weren’t for the Italian accent. Her hand drops to comb through the black ringlets spreading across her lap.
“Not at all,” Luca murmurs gallantly.
La Contessa’s red lips curl up at one corner. “Let us speak plainly, Don Morelli. What is it that you really want from me?”
Luca tilts his head to one side. “I want you to cut off your business with the Clemenza Family of New York City.”
“Or—what?” she asks, her dark eyes flashing like her diamonds.
“Or nothing,” Luca says with a shrug. “I didn’t come here to threaten you. I came to ask a favor. I would be greatly indebted to you if you agree, because it would suit me in my business pursuits.”
She studies him, her bejeweled fingers stroking and stroking the hair of her pet, the sapphires and rubies of her rings flashing and dazzling even in the low light of the room. “Why should I agree?”
“Because I would like us to be friends. Friends are always more useful than enemies.”
“I have many friends already. Some of them very much dislikeyou, Don Morelli.”
“I can imagine.”
It must be the sardonic way he says it that makes her laugh. “Then you’ll know your request is not so simple as it sounds. You know,” she says, smiling down at her pet, “Andreas here has something of a crush on you, Don Morelli. Perhaps a few days and nights with him would be an appropriate thank you for saving my life instead?”
I step forward, my hands on my hips. “I beg your fucking pardon?”
Luca’s hand shoots out to grab my bicep. “What my husband meant to say, Contessa, is that I am a happily married and very monogamous man—”
“Hell, yes,” I put in. “Andextremelysexually satisfied.”
Luca’s fingers tighten on my arm. “—so I’ll have to decline.”
