Page 41 of Consort of the Crime Queen

Her answering smile lights up her whole face, and I know I made the right call.

Later that evening, I adjust the collar of my crisp white shirt before shrugging on a black blazer, the silhouette nipped in at the waist over black satin pants. The sound of Aurora's footsteps draws my gaze to the bedroom door. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her. A pale pink cocktail dress clings to the alluring curves of her body, ending just above her knees. She's swept her waves up on top of her head, giving her several extra inches of height. Dark liner rims her bright eyes, her lips a playful red. She smells of something rich yet delicate—woodsmoke mixed with vanilla.

"Well? How do I look?" She gives a coquettish twirl.

"Incredible. I'm going to want to tear that off you all night. Perhaps you'd better change?—"

She laughs. "The car will already be waiting for us," she mock-scolds, and takes my hand. "Come on. This is almost like a date, isn't it? I can't wait!"

A date. Yes. I…suppose it is.

I've never had a date before. I'm pretty sure Aurora never has, either. I like the notion that our first dates are with each other.

During the drive, with Rocco—my most experienced bodyguard—behind the wheel, I catch Aurora admiring the Chicago skyline, the city lights washing over her lovely features. She chatters brightly about the extravagant galas she glimpsed on society pages growing up. Under my taciturn demeanor, I'm pleased to see her so openly excited. I know these freedoms help temper the cloistered world at Elysium.

And hell, at least this gala is at night, when I'm functioning at my best. A brunch would have been out of the question. I think I've reached my limit of re-tooling my sleeping, starting to rise around one p.m. these days. Aurora finds it acceptable, though she still retires earlier than I do, and gets up earlier, too.

We pull up to a discreet gold-plated door along Lake Shore Drive. Valets in crisp uniforms usher us inside after checking the invitation Rocco holds out. He shadows us carefully, and he's not the only protection in the building tonight—I was worried at first that taking a guard along would make me too noticeable, but I can see that's not at all the case. When we reach the function room, I think there must be a score here for Juno Bianchi alone, obvious with their New York suits and heavy accents as they talk amongst themselves, then glare around the room. I don't see Juno herself, though, not yet.

The soaring ceilings buzz with elegant socialites and politicians from Chicago's upper crust. Aurora stares around wide-eyed, dazzled by the extravagance. I keep one hand resting lightly on the small of her back, hyperaware of the envious glances thrown my way as we weave through the crowd.

"Ah, Hadria! So pleased you could make it." Johnny appears with his charming golden-boy grin, and this must be his daughter Alessa at his side, a curvy brunette with bright green eyes. Despite myself, I'm impressed by her poise as we're introduced. She has her father's easy charisma, her smile wide and charming. And there's a shrewd intelligence in her emerald eyes that suggests a savvy businesswoman.

"But you must excuse me," Alessa says at last. "As hostess, I need to spread the love around. Make sure you bid high, ladies!"

There's a charity auction tonight, and I half wondered if it might be a money-laundering scheme for the Bianchis. But Lyssa's background check on Alessa de Luca showed that she really does do a lot of charity work, and is now looking to expand one of her charity ventures—Anna's Kitchen—into Chicago after some solid success in New York.

"Enjoy yourselves, ladies. The silent auction is just starting if you're interested in contributing to the cause. I'm going to see if our mutual friend has arrived yet." With a nod, Johnny also melts back into the crowd.

"I've never seen so many celebrities outside of magazines," Aurora breathes as we stroll through the gathering. She rattles off several names that mean nothing to me. My focus is on discreetly surveying the room, taking stock of the attendees. Most appear innocuous enough—I spot a few familiar political faces. Chicago's police chief in full dress uniform, laughing heartily beside Judge Callahan.

No Imperiolis or Imperioli-aligned guests. That's good to know.

A passing waiter offers champagne from a polished silver tray. I pluck two slender flutes, handing one to Aurora. She sips gingerly, nose scrunching adorably at the dry bite of the bubbles. We eventually wander into the bustling auction hall just as bidding commences on a Degas landscape. I observe silently as sums quickly soar into six digits. When the auctioneer approaches seeking a donation, I scrawl a cheque for one million without blinking. Aurora inhales sharply, pressing closer against my side.

"That's more money than most people would earn in a lifetime," she whispers. I simply smirk, enjoying her awe.

As the extravagant auction continues, a flash of crimson draws my gaze across the hall. Juno Bianchi holds court at a table of elegant socialites, sitting next to a striking redhead I presume is her wife.

Johnny de Luca appears at my elbow again, making me start a little. I can see how effective he must have been as a working mafioso. "Up for a private tour?" he asks me casually. "You can leave Aurora here. She'll be well looked after."

"She stays with me."

"Come now, Natalie will keep an eye on her." He gestures to a blonde hovering nearby. "This is Natalie Miller, Alessa's partner." I eye her dubiously. Johnny adds, "She's highly trained. Ex-FBI."

I raise an eyebrow. "That hardly inspires confidence."

The woman—Natalie—offers a wry grin. "Very ex-FBI. I'll keep an eye on things. Promise."

Aurora touches my wrist, a subtle intimacy that makes my breath catch. "You need to start trusting someone sometime," she murmurs, "and I can handle myself." Her full lips quirk up on one side. "I did brain Nero with a lamp, remember?"

The comment startles a huff of laughter from me. I signal Rocco to come closer and shadow Aurora instead. Then, with great reluctance, I finally nod. Johnny guides me towards a dimly-lit corridor, his footsteps soundless on the carpet. I cast one lingering glance back at Aurora before slipping into the gloom.

Johnny leads me through a maze of hushed corridors to a small, secluded reading room. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, save for where elaborate oil paintings hang lit by subtle accent lighting. Two deep scarlet wingback chairs frame an ornate marble fireplace carved with lions.

"Make yourself comfortable, she'll be along shortly," Johnny says before slipping out, door snicking softly shut behind him. I remain standing, fingertips trailing over leather spines as I peruse the shelves.

Aurora likes reading—fiction, though. Most of the books in here are about history or business or studies of ancient war. I wonder if she'd like a better library at Elysium. The one we have now is all non-fiction. I make a mental note to ask her on the way home.

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