Page 27 of Tide of Treason
If anything, I was predictable.
And I had the biggest mouth of all when it came to the man with his name on Viviana’s marriage certificate.
“I don’t likethe way he looks at her,” I said to myself later that evening, combing Sophia’s hair. I knew full well the “he” I was referring to needed no further explanation.
Sophia squirmed, and I tapped her shoulder the way Lola did, the ‘don’t move’ silent but obvious. Settling, she watched me with wide, adoring eyes in the mirror as I worked at a knot with the brush.
“He has the same eyes.”
I kept my stare on the red ringlets. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re with him. You have the same eyes, Kay-Kay.”
I stopped brushing, and my gaze met hers. “What eyes,dolcezza?”
“Luci’s. They get all warm and pwetty.”
I smiled, although my heart was caught in a snare. “I’m sure it was just the lights.”
Sophia lifted a chubby hand to her reflection and touched her cheek. “When my papà looks like that, I know he wants to kiss mamma.” She turned around and beamed. “Does Luci wanna kiss you?”
Her words sent my belly tumbling. I looked at little Sophia and felt like a liar. Because I couldn’t explain to her that the look she saw was no indication of a man’s attraction. I couldn’t tell her that sometimes what looked like lust was actually hatred.
“No, baby. He wants to murder me.”
Sophia giggled. “Like in Pwetty Woman? When Edward got mad at Vivian?”
I set aside the brush and ran a finger over the tip of her nose. “Exactly like Pretty Woman.” I let her know the matter was closed. “Go find your mamma. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The idea helooked at me with anything but contempt made me feel stupid, so I spent most of my time away from Il Cigno.
In fact, I was still trying to scrub that stupid idea from my head four days later. Instead of wasting time in the city, I’d taken a trip down to the construction site of Papà’s newest casino—just a few doors down from the family estate. The foreman, my third cousin twice removed, escorted me through the empty halls, pointing out different aspects of the building and explaining the progress. The place was about three-quarters of the way done, and if all went to plan, it’d be open just in time for the Italian-American Festival.
The festival marked the end of Long Island’s slow season. Perfect timing, really; our flagship in Las Vegas had only been able to accommodate one quarter of our annual intake from the games. With all that money flowing through our hands, I’d be able to take off the white gloves I wore on a daily basis and dirty them up with a well-deserved vacation. White sand. Cold cocktails. Endless men I could toss to the shark infested waters of the Atlantic without anyone knowing I’d done it.
That last thought had me pausing, eyes lifting to thebalcony railing on the second floor. It was an open space, perfect for a high-stakes roulette table surrounded by beautiful people. Not because I thought myself a gambler, but because I knew a woman dressed pretty enough could coax even the most straight laced of men to bet more than he should have any right to lose.
I mused on what sort of woman could make Lucius lose.
The image was so clear and sharp and sickening, that I stopped in the middle of the unfinished space and closed my eyes. The foreman thought I was looking in awe at the architecture and proceeded to blather on about the design. I made a mental note (for Viviana’s sake) to keep the dress code of the casino strictly professional.
I walked through the rest of the building with a tight jaw and an equally tight grip on my patience, and I didn’t realise we’d stopped until I nearly knocked my third cousin twice removed over. He straightened his hard-hat, grumbling about how I should pay attention, and I forced my thoughts out of the gutter before I responded.
“You said you’re adding a private elevator here, but it’s a dead-end. What for?” I was staring at a space in the wall that would obviously be a private elevator entrance, but there was no reason for an elevator to reach this particular floor.
“I, uh . . .” No stranger to the Sforza ways, it was still shocking to hear him stutter. “Your cousin, Francesco, added it to the plans himself.”
For a heartbeat, I was reminded why I should always look at the construction site plans. Although, I’d been so busyin the last few months, I’d left all the minor details to Franky. A mistake I wouldn’t make twice.
“What’s below it?”
He swallowed. “Tunnels.”
After some interrogation, my third cousin twice removed explained the rest. The elevator was originally constructed to access secret passageways that existed beneath all of Nassau County. Back before the city was built, the tunnels were used by the Underground Railroad to help slaves escape, only, Franky had taken a certain liking to the tunnels after hearing a particular story from our nonna. I’d heard this story so many times as a kid from every Sforza under the sun that I barely even questioned where they went. I’d just accepted it as one of Papà’s many hobbies, and when I asked as much, I only received silence in the form of a guilty stare.
It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together—if you built something below the earth, it was because you wanted to keep it hidden. Nonna told Franky that one of our family lines, the di Santuorsros, had a side business in prostitution, and these tunnels were used to discreetly ferry the girls out of a particular bar. It must’ve tickled my cousin’s deviant fancy, because he’d not only taken measures to maintain and renovate the tunnels, but he’d also found a use for them himself.
“When you say Francesco added this to the plans, you mean, he ordered it.”
