Twenty minutes later, we exchange a cashier’s check for the keys and paperwork. I pay the cabbie the rest of what I owe him and he’s gone.
On the drive back into the city it isn’t easy to keep my foot from getting heavy. Once I’m in the city the stop-and-go traffic has me frustrated. I pick a hotel two blocks from Johnny’s condo.
In my hotel room I order up some food. As I’m letting in room service my phone pings with a text from Valdez, it’s a notice he’s hit my email with the results of the investigation. I open my email and double click on the file.
Sonofabitch.
***
Regina
I make it home with almost an hour to get ready for dinner. Johnny always has me on show for at least a half hour before the actual time of dinner. I hate how I’m just supposed to sit there nodding and smiling, not saying a word as the men sit around talking about death, beatings, and drug and gun deals like it’s no big deal.
Okay, it’s not often they discuss murder—usually they talk about how they want to kill someone but can’t because they have to make deals instead. The older men especially hate how things have changed.
At first, they hadn’t wanted to talk in front of me, which I had appreciated. Then Johnny told them that they needed to act like I wasn’t there. I had to make up for the time I had been away. This was my life. I was a mafia princess and I needed to know the life I was a part of. If my future husband didn’t want me to know, then it was up to him; for now he wanted me sitting in.
He said it when I’d been here all of two weeks. After he ordered the death of a man for skimming off the money he was laundering for Johnny. Ever since then, I’ve perfected a blank face as I floated away inside my head. Sometimes I thought of the books I was translating or reading; for the last few months I had been thinking of Richard and imagining the life we would have together.
Tonight, I know I won’t be able to stop myself from thinking of Richard. At least it will be just a lawyer and maybe the lawyer’s wife or girlfriend. Johnny never discusses business with them, so it won’t look odd if a smile escapes me.
I spray my hair to protect it from the heat of the flat iron. If it were up to me I wouldn’t straighten it at all. Except Johnny thought my hair looked better straightened. I did it so I wouldn’t hear him bitch. My hair is my one saving grace as far as Johnny is concerned. It’s long, down to the middle of my back. The color is so black it’s almost blue. When I don’t straighten my hair it curls just enough to be annoying, not enough to be pretty no matter how many times I try to follow the stylist’s instructions.
Opening the door to my walk-in closet, I sigh. I prefer maxi skirts with loose T-shirts or soft, silky blouses. When I came from Italy one of the first outings I had was a visit to a department store. Johnny told me I dressed like a peasant from the country. I left with a bunch of clothes I hated. They were all stiff and looked like they were for a wannabe executive.
&
nbsp; I pick a plain black velvet wrap dress that has a long skirt with a slit along the side of my thigh. I’ve worn it before and Johnny was fine with it. Since I can’t walk in heels, I pick out plain black ballet flats. I’m not great with makeup and Johnny wasn’t a fan of me wearing it either, so I stick with just mascara and lipstick. I finish with a careful application of Joy, the ridiculously expensive perfume I’ve fallen in love with. It was my mother’s favorite.
A last glance in the mirror is the same as always. I’m not bad; I’m not stunning either. I’ll never be one of those timelessly beautiful women that stop men in their tracks. I’m okay with that. Or maybe I should say I’m reconciled to it. A pang of unease hits me as I wonder again what will happen if I can’t lose the weight Richard wants me to. Glancing at the clock, I push down the concern—it’s time for me to make my appearance.
As I leave my room the doorbell goes off. Maria is already at the door. She opens it and I watch her blush. Interesting, I’ve never seen her do that, and there have been several good-looking men who’ve visited. With a giggle, she closes the door before she takes off toward the kitchen. That must be some new lawyer. The last one was eighty if he was a day with large, bulbous eyes. My eyes flick to the man.
Holy shit, everything in me stutters to a stop as I take him in. He is a black-haired, blue-eyed Roman god come to life in a cut-to-fit black silk suit. Below his broad forehead, a sharp nose looks like it’s been broken and reset at least once, maybe even twice, yet the slight imperfection doesn’t detract in the slightest. Oddly, it only adds to his appeal. I’m annoyed at the shadow of a beard along his jaw hiding his beautiful face. His mustache and beard frame wide, sensually molded lips perfectly. Dimly, I’m aware he’s tall, six three or six four. He’s also wide, a wall of muscle, yet not so much he’s bulging out of his suit. Our eyes meet and I’m plunged deep into the churning ocean of his intense blue eyes. I can’t look away, can’t blink.
My first thought was Roman god, yet the longer I stare into bluer than blue eyes, so at odds with his glowing caramel skin and black hair, I can’t get the idea of an angel out of my mind. A fallen one with wicked thoughts clear in those eyes. Is my mouth seriously watering? Then he sends all the air out of my lungs with a woosh when he smiles, flashing two deep dimples in each cheek. I have no idea how I stay standing. I think I’m smiling back, I’m not sure.
I blink when my eyes begin to water, opening them to find he’s inches away from me. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. Are his lips as soft as they seem? Those lips curve into a deeper smile, a knowing smile. “Dominic Sabatini, and you are Regina.”
He says my name with the Italian pronunciation, rolling his tongue on the re, then stressing the e sound the i becomes. I haven’t heard it that way since I came to New York. I’m sure that’s why it causes a violent twist in my tummy, not the way his dimples flash as he stresses the e sound. It’s a question that’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
Sabatini, the name sounds familiar. Usually the lawyers have bland old white guy names. He’s holding out his hand for mine, and I give it to him without thinking. Electricity zips through my entire body, so strong it verges on pain. He feels it too; his eyes widen as they catch and hold mine. I’m enveloped in heat so intense I wonder if it’s going to leave a mark. Fear of this unknown shakes me out of the heady moment. I try to tug my hand away, only his smile is gone as his grip tightens. Oh god, the core of me is melting in a way I’ve never felt before, didn’t know could happen. Closer, he’s getting closer. Even with my fear I can’t move away from him. Everything in me is desperate for him to fulfill the promise in those eyes.
“Dominic, I see you’ve met my Gina.” Johnny’s voice is loud, close, and shocks the both of us out of...I don’t even know what. Dominic drops my hand, instantly I’m cut free from my mooring, drifting painfully alone. “Come in, come in. Can I get you a drink? Scotch?”
Johnny’s hand is on my back, guiding me into the formal living room. I collapse into the closest chair. “No scotch for you, Johnny.” The words are out automatically—he doesn’t do a good job of following doctor’s orders. I’ve caught him sneaking scotch before. “Can I have a brandy, please?”
“How many goddamn times I gotta tell you to call me—” He catches sight of Dominic and mutters, “Fine.”
I don’t usually drink anything other than wine, but right now I feel like I need something stronger. The burn of the brandy yanks me out of the haze clinging to me. I keep my eyes down, shocked by what happened, what’s still happening. His eyes are on me, I feel them as if he were touching me. My skin is hot, tight, so sensitive the fine velvet of my dress almost hurts.
“Gina, your father tells me you work for a publishing house doing book translations. How do you like it?”
His voice is deep, rich and smoky; it sends a shiver along my spine. I can feel him urging me to look at him, only I don’t dare. “Regina,” I reply sharply. It annoys me when people call me Gina. Yet one of the thousands of reasons I can’t stand Johnny for, is his refusal to call me anything but Gina no matter how many times I asked him not to. “I like it. It’s a great way to get to read books for free and even get paid for it.”
“Reading, all she does is read all day. She doesn’t clean or do any cooking. She can’t cook. She doesn’t even visit her Nonna.”
“Your mother doesn’t want me to visit her. She calls me a bastard every time she sees me,” I remind him. I hang my head in embarrassment—Johnny is on his usual roll of what a disappointment I am. Next will come how fat I am and my lack of fashion sense. Then suddenly he’s not. The air vibrates around me, I look up to find Johnny and Dominic Sabatini in the depths of a stare-off. Stunned, I watch Johnny drop his eyes first.