“Franco.” Tommaso nudged the man. “Meet your Zia Carina, her son, Enzo and his wife, Gemma.”
Franco’s gaze barely flickered in my direction before focusing on my mother. “Zia Carina. My father speaks of you constantly.”
I almost snickered. Had he forgotten his grandfather exiled her from this house? Franco made it sound as though my mother was a humanitarian hero.
Carina smothered a sneer. “I’m sure he does.”
Franco then extended his hand to me.
I met his grip with force, tightening enough to prevent a casual shake. A silent display, a demonstration of my lack of enthusiasm for meeting him.
Franco’s eyes flickered, registering the pressure, but ignored it, his gaze sliding back to Gemma with a polite nod. “Enzo. Gemma.My pleasure.” He peered at the woman on his arm, his eyes shining a possessive gleam that couldn’t quite mask the boredom flickering beneath. “This is Sofia, my wife.”
Gemma extended her hand for a shake, but the woman leaned in instead, kissing both her cheeks, then mine. “Welcome.” Her bee-venom lips stretched further, making her appear even more unnatural.
“And here are the twins,” Tommaso nodded, gesturing to the teenagers who both smirked with the casual cruelty of the rich and bored. “Emilio and Alessio.”
We greeted the boys in the same manner.
Carina latched onto her brother’s arm, smiling with genuine delight. “You have a beautiful family, Tommaso. Oh, how time flies. I’ve kept the photos you sent me.”
So she’d kept in contact with him all these years. Had their father known? Probably not. My grandfather no doubt expected complete ruthlessness from Tommaso as underboss. The man must be rolling in his grave knowing we’d entered his house. I’d reassure his troubled soul… by staying no more than an hour or two, max. “Excuse us, we’ll be off to get our drinks now.” Hooking Gemma to my side, I ushered her away from Franco’s leering stare. My jaw clenched. I tasted metal, the familiar precursor to losing it. “Please tell me you have a shawl or scarf in that ridiculous purse?” My voice was barely level.
She snorted and swung her mini pochette. “You mean inthis?I hardly fit my lipstick.”
I gripped her shoulders, her breath hitching as I steered her in front of me, using my body as a shield.
“Enzo,” her tone rose an octave. “What are you doing?”
“Walk to the bar, Gemma.” My curt tone conveyed no patience. Once we approached the stand, I maneuvered her so she faced the party, with only the female bartenders having a clear view of her back. I seized the two flute champagne glasses the staff handed and offered one to her. “You have a walk-in full of new dresses. Butthisis what you chose?”
She coughed on her champagne, dabbing away a bead of moisture on her lip. “Excuse me.You’rethe one who arranged for the fancy boutique. Compared to the other options, this here happened to be the best on offer. And for the record, I have standards. Everything I tried on either had a plunge neckline, or a slit higher than my hip. Trust me, at least this gown,”—She waved a hand along her attire—“covers more than exposes.”
So, she chose this dress on purpose because the other’s revealed more skin? I downed my champagne in one go. Well, curse me! I bit my inner cheek. I should’ve vetted Rosetta’s boutique myself. “Well…” I battled to articulate a sentence, “from now on… I’ll… I’ll let you choose gowns online,” I spat out the hopeless reasoning in a broken rush.
She snickered and sipped her drink. “Let me choose my own clothes?” Her monotone betrayed her mockery. “Oh wow, Enzo, youspoilme.”
I swallowed the clipped rebuke welling in my throat, not in the mood to create a scene. After all, this was my fault.
More guests arrived, and a waiter ushered us to our table inside the grand marquee. The air inside buzzed with a low murmur of conversations, punctuated by the clinking of crystal and the scrape of cutlery against fine china. We sat at the same table as Carina, surrounded by faces I didn’t recognize, all fawning over my mother. Gemma ate in silence, her gaze darting around the room, a nervous energy radiating off her. Sofia engrossed my wife in deep conversation, eliciting a small smile from her.
A lone pianist tinkled a melancholic tune in the corner, barely audible beneath the din. Tommaso approached, clapping me on the shoulder like a long-lost friend. I answered his questions regarding business and mumbled an excuse for Lucio’s absence. Guilt gnawed at me for parading Gemma through a den ofwolves. All for what? Did I not trust her home alone, or did I selfishly want her by my side?
“Ah, Carina.” Tommaso straightened and waved a passing Carina over. He pointed to a young man in the crowd. “Mario Moretti’s son. Can you believe it?”
Carina blinked at her brother. “Moretti? They’re still connected to us? Even after what happened to their father?”
“Of course.” Tommaso lifted one shoulder in a shrug and chuckled. “He’s my new henchman. The kid has grit… like his old man. God rest his soul.”
Why did he sound as though it was something to be proud of? I leaned back in my seat, feigning disinterest, but my gaze followed Tommaso’s to the young man. “What happened to his father?” Morbid curiosity piqued my interest.
My uncle’s lip curled over his clenched teeth. “Vito, the scum, showed no mercy. Let’s just say there wasn’t much left of Mario once Vito was finished. He…”
The horrendous details should have made me flinch, or at least tighten my throat, but I probed further. “Why so brutal? I mean, did Vito have a reason?”
Carina peered at me. One dark brow bounced. “Mario betrayed Vito by joining us.”
“Even so.” Tommaso shook his head. “Vito needed no reason. He was a vicious killer, no better than a rabid dog.”
