The Valentini family’s penthouse was like those little nested Russian dolls. Every layer of it was luxurious, but more of the same pristine, exquisite sterility with a touch of color or splash of ostentatiousness that screamed money.
This layer, a grand dining room with attending kitchens and gathering salons, was a study in cream and gold with large windows showcasing the city’s majestic northern half. The view was dominated by skyscrapers framed by the faint peaks of the Alps in the distance. And like the layers above, there was a splash of color. This time the color was a deep royal blue in the velvet cushions of the ivory seating.
Mario’s father must like blue. I logged that for later reference and searched for any familiar face in the crush. There were over two dozen in attendance because the long table had place settings for thirty guests with its gold trimmed fine china, gilt-toned dinnerware, gold chargers, and fresh camellia centerpieces staggered every four feet down its impressive length.
Mario slipped his arm under mine. I almost switched the position back, but he captured my hand with his and leaned in. “This way I don’t telegraph weakness, and you are guarding my side.”
That made tactical sense. Although with my hand trapped so well, I couldn’t do more than nod and smile while he made introductions. Luckily, most of the guests noted his possessiveness with a nervous smile and perhaps a knowing wink or two.
“Who’s the show pony now?”
Mario smiled, and a small laugh leaked out. “You look beautiful tonight. It’s difficult to resist parading you in front of Father’s guests.”
The muted sage gown was one of the more elegant pieces chosen for me. But I regretted that I hadn’t gone with something more flashy. I was outclassed by the embossed damask wallpaper.
Or that necklace…I’d never seen diamonds that big in real life. The woman wearing it was practically a secondary attraction in her deep amethyst velvet gown and supermodel sleek looks.
A flash of red snagged my attention. It attracted Mario’s as well. A striking woman in crimson satin strode toward us as if there were no one else in the room. Her eyes were fixed on me. In them, I could almost see the ways she wanted to dismember me.
His grip on my hand got a little tighter. “Stay at my side.”
In spite of his hissed warning, he plastered a smile on his face. “Dianora, it’s a rare exception to see you at my father’s home.” His words didn’t match the guarded tone.
My heart rate picked up, likely triggered by the predatory way she scanned me from head to toe. Without more than that introduction, she hated me. Why?
“Hardly rare. Your father welcomes me and my family at his soirees. It is you who eludes capture religiously. I’m certain that’s a skill which has kept you alive lately.” Her smile flashed wickedly before she continued. “And this particular event is rife with rumors about your latest indiscretions. I can’t wait to see what kind of…entertainment… there is in store for us tonight.” Her lips puckered into a little moue, telegraphing disappointment more than excitement.
She is a liar, my intuition whispered.
And worse? There was a history between Mario and Dianora. One I couldn’t begin to prepare for because the “entertainment” had already begun. I could practically hear the out of tune strains of a macabre circus playing in my head.
Would it be awful to flash the ring? Yes, it totally would.
But that didn’t stop me from placing my left hand over Mario’s too-tight grip on my right hand. It made a cozy sandwich with my only piece of jewelry as armor to guard him from her evil clutches.
Her eyes dipped and noted the emblem in the flat oval of gold. Instantly, the skin around her eyes tightened and her eyes narrowed. One eyebrow went up as she met my eyes. “You work fast.”
Mario moved between us. “When Death smiles in your face, you learn how to move quickly.”
Almost willfully, she relaxed and smiled. “That is nothing new. You make dancing with death a habit, dear Mario. That’s not a wise choice.” Her outstretched hand brushed his arm as she pretended to offer him a different path.
Her words were uttered with an air of superiority and familiarity I couldn’t hope to match. Ever.
“Allie, my bride, this is Dianora Conti, heir to her family’s fortune after the untimely demise of her brother, Adelmo. An unfortunate event barely even a week past. Yet she wears red tonight.”
That told me a hell of a lot in very few words.
“And Dianora, this is my wife, Allie, formerly Jacobs, of Chicago. She’s one of Albert Pulaski’s grandchildren. Did your father once work with him? I seem to recall he may have held some capital in an overseas conglomerate. I personally know Adelmo had dealings with that company since. Perhaps you two have common business interests?”
Dianora’s eyelids lowered, shielding her thoughts. But that didn’t matter. The way her chin went up at the mention of her brother, again, didn’t speak of grief, unless she was in the anger phase.
Considering the carefully bitten words being shot back and forth between Mario and her, that could be true.
Her white teeth caught the overhead light as she forced a smile. “You shield yourself admirably, Mario. But all the riches in the world won’t stop my father’s vengeance. He’ll want to see his son’s killer dead. No foreign relationships or family heirlooms can protect you from what is coming. And now that I have heard from your own lips that my dear brother discussed business with you before he was murdered, well… Father will need to know that information, won’t he?” Her smile grew more poisonous. “What is the price on your head at now, I wonder? Was it, fifteen million? Or perhaps twenty?”
Mario hadn’t taken his eyes off her. I didn’t dare move because this was a battle of two apex predators. I was simply the human gazelle caught unawares between them as they squared off. It had been foolish to flash the ring. In that silly act of jealousy, I hadn’t staked my claim, I’d stepped into the line of fire.
11
