Page 42 of Consort of the Crime Queen

And then a hidden door set seamlessly into the bookshelves swings silently inward. A woman steps through, a little shorter than me, but not by much in her skyscraper heels, with a shiny black bob, lips painted a deep blood red to match the color of her sheath dress.

She emanates effortless authority. We stare at one another in cool assessment for a moment.

I wonder what she thinks of me.

Finally she inclines her head in tacit approval. "Hadria Imperioli. We meet at last." She settles gracefully into one of the wingback chairs, beckoning me to do the same. "I must admit to being intrigued after hearing Johnny's reports. Chicago could use some new...stabilizing blood."

I raise a brow at that. "Stabilizing?"

"Mmm. There's so much potential here, yet it's been so fractured lately." Her dark eyes sharpen. "I hear you recently had a spot of unrest yourself when your lovely wife was taken."

I stiffen. "Aurora is…not my wife."

"Oh?" One sculpted brow lifts delicately. "My mistake." Juno sighs, smoothing an invisible crease from her tailored dress. "The thing is, Ms. Imperioli, I prefer conducting business in a climate of civility and order. Much easier that way." Her eyes flick up to my face once more, and she weighs how her words are landing. "Were things to settle things down here, I believe we could have a very fruitful rapport. I know that Johnny thinks so, and I am always very interested in his opinions."

I incline my head slightly in acknowledgment. Message received. "I think you'll find that Chicago will stabilize—as you put it—in the near future."

"I hear you intend to take over the Imperioli Family."

She's blunt. I like that. "I do," I say with conviction. Maybe a little more conviction than I actually feel. Because lately…

But for the first time, Juno gives a smile. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. "It is no small thing, as a woman, to take over a Family with such a masculine history. But I'm sure you will make a very fine leader."

I look down with a small frown. "If my ambitions were elsewhere," I say slowly, and then I look up to see her reaction, "would that impact any potential friendship between our houses?"

Only a slight flutter in her eyebrows betrays her surprise. After considering, she says, "No. I don't believe so. I am not interested merely in the name of a Family. If the Styx Syndicate continues on, I don't see why it should make a difference. As I say, all I care about is stability. I want to know that there is potential for steady growth."

I nod. "That's good to hear."

She smiles again, giving me a curious up and down look. "You are an interesting woman, Ms. Imperioli. I'm glad Johnny asked me to meet you."

I stand as she does. "Likewise."

I put out my hand, and she takes it, clasping it warmly. "Do send my regards to Ms. Verderosa. You two make a striking couple. And if not your wife yet—perhaps some day?" She laughs at my rapid blinking. "It's nice being married," she says in a stage whisper. "You should try it. Some day," she adds, and then nods her farewell before leaving through the hidden door once more.

I stay in the room another five minutes, mulling over her words.

Aurora is chatting happily with Natalie and Alessa de Luca when I return to the function room, the color high in her cheeks from a few more glasses of champagne, I believe. She beams at my approach, and tells me happily all about the work of Anna's Kitchen.

"That sounds amazing," I say sincerely, looking down into her earnest face. "Perhaps we can donate regularly."

"I'd love that," she says. "And maybe I could come and volunteer!"

"Maybe," I agree, though the truth is, Chicago will have to be—as Juno Bianchi put it—stabilized before I let her do anything so regularly.

We stay a little longer for appearance's sake and then I escort Aurora out to the waiting car, the lakefront gleaming under the moonlight.

Back at Elysium I shed my jacket and roll up my shirtsleeves, content in the comfort of home. Aurora appears in the doorway of the bedroom, limned in lamplight. Wordlessly she comes to me, guiding my hands to the back of her dress. I oblige, slowly lowering the zipper to reveal inch after inch of smooth golden skin. The dress slides to the floor, pooling in pink silk at her feet. Then she is in my arms, warm and supple, an anchor pulling me home amid turbulent seas.

And later, when I lie spent beside her, fingertips tracing lazy spirals over satin skin, I think again about tonight; about Juno's words to me.

It's nice being married.

I've never thought about it before. It was never a part of my life's plan. And what difference would it make, really, to have some piece of paper affirming our love for each other? Ridiculous.

Still.

I suppose there must be benefits to marriage if Juno Bianchi is so content in her own.

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