I can't help but chuckle. "And let’s pray they buy our truth.”
She turns, her movements graceful as a cat. Her delicate fingers smooth my lapels, and I feel a familiar warmth spread through my chest.
"Are you certain about this, Gianni?" she asks, her voice soft but firm. "Once we step downstairs, there's no going back. I could stay upstairs."
I cup her face in my hands. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life. You’re back by my side, Genoveva. Sooner or later, people must know. Besides, we’re going to need all the allies we can get should an enemy accidentally learn of your existence."
She nods, a small furrow appearing between her brows. "And if they don't believe us? If they still can't—"
“There is no reason why they won’t believe us,” I interrupt, my tone brooking no argument. "The alternative is too absurd.”
Genoveva's lips curve into a smile. "It is, isn’t it?" she agrees. “For them, it’d be easier to believe what we say than to think there was an underworld you brought me back to life from.”
The thing is, I want to agree with her, but there’s a strange, wistful look on her face when she speaks of the underworld. It sets me on edge and I bristle at the serene look on her face.
“Come,” I say, giving her my arm with a frown. “It’s time, and we must get going.”
She takes my arm without question, and together, we head into a night that could play out in a million different ways, each of which could prove to be dangerous if we aren’t careful.
As we step into the hallway, I can hear the murmur of voices from below. My jaw tightens. Let them talk. Soon, they'll have something else entirely to gossip about.
We pause at the top of the grand staircase, and I feel Genoveva's hand tighten on my arm. I glance at her, noting the slight tremble in her lower lip.
"Ready?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and nods. "Ready."
We descend. My footsteps are heavy and purposeful, hers light and barely audible. The chatter below dies down as we come into view, and all eyes turn towards us. I scan the crowd, noting the mix of fear, respect, and curiosity on their faces.
But something's off. Their gazes slide right past Genoveva as if they’ve forgotten who she was. I feel a flicker of unease in my gut, but I push it down. It's all part of the plan, I tell myself. They're just in shock.
I grip Genoveva’s arm tighter. A few men and women waver in their attention, their gazes flickering briefly towards my elbow, which Genoveva gently rests her fingers over.
"Don Montagna," Capo Ricci greets me as we finally reach the floor, his voice oily with false warmth. "My family and I are honored to attend this lovely gathering.”
I nod curtly, waiting for him to acknowledge Genoveva. He doesn't.
“We’ve had such lovely times here,” he continues. Then, he sighs with sadness and walks away.
“Perhaps he didn’t recognize me,” Genoveva whispers in my ear. I turn to her and lean closer. “Or perhaps he’s already drunk,” I offer.
We both laugh.
“Talkin’ to yourself now, Montagna?” Frankie’s a jovial voice says from behind.
I turn to see the Italian with the potbelly.
"To my wife, Signora Genoveva," I prompt, my tone sharp. I then step aside to watch his reaction, realizing I’d been blocking Genoveva from his sight.
Frankie's eyes widen slightly, darting behind me as if searching for something. "I... of course. Signora," he says at last in the direction of Genoveva. Then, he gives me a fleeting, near-petrified look and scurries away.
I could feel Genoveva stiffen beside me, her nails digging into my arm. Somethingfeltwrong. He didn’t ask about her or seek any explanations.
“Perhaps he got spooked,” Genoveva offers helpfully.
“Perhaps,” I narrow my eyes and watch Frankie now join a group of men. With exaggerated hand motions, he recites a tale, and then, all four men look in our direction, only to pretend they weren’t when they notice we were watching.
“I’m telling you,” Genoveva reads the situation. “They’re first going to be shocked. Tonight, everyone will pretend like nothing’s happened.”