“Twice in the car.” I smile up at him. “But I won’t stop you from saying it again.”
“Stunning,” he repeats, his voice dropping lower. “And mine.”
I scan the room, taking in the familiar faces. Montoni capos and their wives, other family members, high rollers who don’t ask too many questions about where the money comes from. “I wanted to see what this place feels like without my father. Itfeels…different. It belongs to my brother now. If he ever comes back from Italy.”
Cristiano should have returned by now. I’ve called four times since the funeral, and each call goes straight to voicemail. No response. No acknowledgment. Just silence.
The silence feels ominous.
Does he know what I did? Is he freezing me out? Or does he simply not care enough about his father’s death—or his sister—to bother coming home?
I push the worry aside and focus on the present.
I recognize two figures at a craps table near the center of the room. One is tall and masculine, his eyes very dark, and outlined with velvety lashes. He has his arm around a slender woman whose hair is as curly as her companion’s, but while his is a rich brown, hers is golden. She has a classic beauty that’s enhanced by a tight emerald dress.
I recognize them right away and a smile spreads over my face. My friend Lucy and her brother Damiano.
Damiano holds the dice close to Lucy’s lips, and she blows on them for luck. He murmurs something to her that I can’t hear, she smiles, and he throws the dice. He must win, because Lucy claps her hands in pleasure and presses a kiss to his jaw.
As he looks at his sister, Damiano’s eyes are filled with the softness of a devil gazing at his one weakness. The intimacy between them feels laden with significance.
On Lucy’s other side, another man picks up the dice, preparing for his turn. Saying something to Lucy, he holds the dice up, seeming to ask her to blow on them again for luck.
Damiano’s expression instantly turns cold and dangerous. He glares at the stranger like he wants to put a bullet in him, then draws Lucy closer, his hand splaying possessively across her waist.
Lucy gives the man a cursory glance, then turns her attention back to her brother. She’s tucked against his side, her body flush with his. Her fingers play with his tie as they talk softly to one another, like she’s not even aware she’s doing it.
It’s automatic. Natural. The kind of casual intimacy that comes from long familiarity.
Lucy looks up and catches my eye. Her face brightens with genuine pleasure, and she presses a kiss to Damiano’s cheek before slipping out of his embrace.
His dark brows draw together in immediate disapproval. When he sees it’s me who Lucy is approaching, he gives me a small, tight nod, but a muscle tics in his jaw.
I see Damiano’s overprotectiveness hasn’t lessened any since Lucy and I were in school together.
“Adora!” Lucy throws her arms around me, and I hug her back, laughing. “You look beautiful. Marriage clearly agrees with you.”
“Thank you. You look stunning as always. I love your dress.”
“This old thing?” She gestures dismissively at her emerald dress, but she’s pleased. “How are you? How is the police investigation going? I’ve been worried about you.”
No doubt the Barones have figured out that I’m the one who poisoned my father. Nothing gets past them. Lucy would never judge me, but I wonder what Don Carlucci is saying to his capos.
“They haven’t made contact since the hospital. I hope they’ve given up.”
“Good.” Lucy squeezes my hand. “You’ve been through enough. You deserve some happiness.”
“Thank you.” I glance past her to where Damiano stands watching us, his attention never fully leaving his sister. Vincenzo has stayed back, giving us space, but I can feel his presence behind me like a shield. “We should plan a girls’ night. Just the two of us. It’s been too long.”
“I’d love that.” But there’s something sad in her face. “Though I don’t know how many more chances we’ll have. Dad will probably want me to marry soon.”
“And will you?” I ask gently.
“Not if I can help it.” She glances back at Damiano, and something complex flickers across her face. Longing, resignation, something I can’t quite name. “I’ll never find a husband who will love me as much as my brother does. I know I’ll never love a man as much as I love Damiano.”
The words hang between us, weighted with more meaning than I think Lucy intends.
Before I can respond, the energy in the room shifts.
