"We're always delighted to support such a good cause," I say, though I have no idea what exactly this evening is in support of.
"Allow me to show you to your table." He heads down to the front of the room, close to the stage where instruments are set up for a band to play later.
As we follow Alberto, Gabriele's grip on my hand becomes increasingly tight until it's almost painful. He stops dead, going unnaturally still. I glance at him and notice the pallor in his cheeks. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
"This is not our table," he says curtly.
"Well, no, Signore Volante," Alberto says. "The board felt that such a generous benefactor should be seated…."
"No." Gabriele cuts in firmly. His tone attracts curious glances from the people around us.
I touch his arm lightly and smile at Alberto.
"What my husband means to say, Alberto, is that this is my first outing in Rome and I'm a little shy. Would it be possible to relocate us?" I turn and scan the room, finding a table tucked away at the back, far from the doors and close to a fire exit. I point to it. "That one, perhaps?"
"Well, I…."
"Make it happen." Gabriele uses his best Mafia Don tone and Alberto shrinks.
"Yes, of course, Signore. Whatever I can do to make your wife more comfortable."
I flash Gabriele a look that I hope tells him whatever's going on with him, I'm here. He squeezes my hand, then relaxes his grasp. I wriggle my fingers, grateful he didn't break any of them.
As Alberto leads us to the table I requested, he chatters on about his wife, who's also on the board at St. Pietro's. I smile and nod as if I give a damn how many events she hosts in a year.
Feigning interest in self-absorbed people is something I learned at my father's table. He taught me the importance of listening more than talking at events like this. Observation is everything.
"Know your enemy, Katya," he urged me when I was just a child. I never imagined that one day that enemy would be him.
When we get to our table, Gabriele relaxes. I let go of his hand and walk around the table, taking note of the names on the place cards. I pick up the cards for Donatella and Antonio Di Santis. Lucky them, they're getting an upgraded seat tonight.
I hand the cards to Alberto and stand by my chair until Gabriele pulls it back for me.
As Alberto scurries off, Gabriele takes his seat. Knowing he'll want to keep me safe, I've positioned him between me and the door while I'm closest to the emergency exit.
"We're sitting with the Vicentes, the Kellers and the Marinos," I tell Gabriele as he accepts two glasses of champagne from the waiter. "Do you know any of them?"
Gabriele nods. "The Vicentes are an older couple, harmless but crashing bores. Do not get onto the topic of cruises. The Marinos are in cheese."
I laugh at his phrasing. "In cheese?"
He grins for the first time tonight. "Their company produces parmigiano."
"And the Kellers?"
He shakes his head. "I don't know them."
Tension creeps into his voice and I begin to understand. He doesn't like being around strangers. No doubt he dreads their reaction to his scars.
"Well, that's fine. They're all the way over there." I wave toward the other side of the table. "We don't need to get to know them."
I look up as the first couple joins us, Giorgia and Silvio Marino. They both greet Gabriele with polite reserve and me with undiluted interest. We're making small talk about Russia when the Vicentes arrive. I warm to them instantly.
Dario Vicente is a retired cardiologist and his wife, Carolina, is a former university professor. Both bestow genuine smiles on Gabriele and remark on how long it's been since they last saw him.
"I've been busy," he says apologetically, a sign he actually likes the couple. "But my wife is keen to meet new people so we may make more of an effort."
"Quite right," Dario says. "Such a lovely young creature should not be hidden away."
