Loretta the Slut—I mean, Loretta, Cooper’s sister—falls to the ground with an undignified yelp. While Cooper helps her up, I seize the opportunity to grab Enzo by his frisky arm and drag him away about ten feet until we’re on the dance floor ourselves.
“Listen up, Methuselah,” I hiss, getting right in his wrinkled face. “If you want to make it to ninety, you need to stay away from Loretta.” Although given his advanced age, that’s less athreat and more of a miracle he’d need divine intervention to achieve.
And let’s be honest, given my hit and Coop’s homicidal intentions, this man would be better off dead anyway.
Enzo blinks at me with a foggy expression. He mumbles something unintelligible, then points vaguely to his left before his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling. He clutches at his heart and gags in my face.
For a second, I think he’s having a stroke, possibly induced by all the blood rushing from his head to his nether regions during that hot-to-trot make-out session with Loretta.
He lifts a finger my way as if he’s about to set me straight—then, without warning, he crumples like a marionette that’s had its strings cut and face-plants directly at my feet.
Screams erupt around us as Enzo’s body hits the floor with a thud that somehow manages to cut through the blaring music.
I stand frozen, staring down at the motionless form of Lorenzo Bianchi, the man I was just ordered to kill, who has apparently decided to save me the trouble.
The crowd surges toward us, and somewhere in the chaos, I catch Uncle Jimmy’s eye. He gives me an approving nod, clearly impressed that I’ve just earned my double bonus.
But I didn’t do this.
At least, I don’t think I did.
Unless wishing someone dead has suddenly become an effective assassination technique—in which case, half the people I’ve stood behind in coffee shop lines should be dropping like flies.
This evening just went from “surprise wedding” to “surprise corpse” faster than Aunt Cat could down a glass of prosecco.
And somehow, I have a feeling that once again, I’m going to be the prime suspect.
CHAPTER 12
Screams explode in the ballroom here at the Velvet Fox Hotel, with the loudest being mine.
The tacky disco ball above spins wildly, scattering panicked light across Enzo’s body at my feet.
Dean Martin croons aboutamorefrom the speakers and it all feels like a sick joke right about now with the words garbled and distant through the chaos.
“BACK! Everyone back up right now!” Cooper’s voice cuts through the noise like a razor. His hand slices through the air, creating an invisible barrier between the crowd and Enzo’s crumpled form. “Give him some space!”
The parting crowd creates the requisite circle around us—me, Cooper, and the man who was supposed to be my hit but apparently couldn’t wait for me to get the job done.
Cooper drops to his knee and quickly presses two fingers against Enzo’s neck. The crowd holds a collective breath. Even the ice in the drinks stops clinking.
Cooper’s eyes meet mine before he looks up at the crowd. “He’s gone.”
The wail that follows pierces my eardrums like an ice pick. Loretta barrels through the human barricade with her red hairflying behind her like flames. She flings herself onto Enzo’s chest and her body convulses with sobs that are strong enough to shake the floorboards beneath my feet.
“My Enzo! My sweet sugar prune!” Her voice cracks as mascara-laced tears carve paths down her cheeks. “We were going to St. Tropez next week! I already bought a dozen bikinis!”
I take a half-step back and my heels wobble on the uneven floor. That’s when Loretta’s head snaps up, and her gaze locks onto me with such immediate hatred I can practically feel it searing my skin.
“YOU!” The word explodes from her lips, sending spittle flying. Her finger jabs the air between us, and her crimson nail is as efficient as pointing a weapon. “This is all YOUR fault!”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, as all around us the crowd gasps in unison.
“Everywhere you go, people drop dead!” Loretta’s voice rises with each word. And let’s face it, she’s not wrong. “You, Effie Canelli, are a living, breathingjinx!”
The words slice through me so sharp they could draw blood if they wanted. I glance down at Enzo—at his waxy face frozen in shock—then back at Loretta.
“To be fair”—my voice sounds oddly steady— “he was about ninety. The odds weren’t exactly in his favor.”
