Page 71 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
I rest a hand on his arm, feeling the crackle of electricity surge through my fingertips. “You don’t have to wait for me, Andreas. I’m a big girl and it’s safe in here. Go and mingle. I’ll come find you.”
His jaw grinds and he grunts quietly, but he nods and continues into the drinks reception.
I freshen up then make my own way to the function room. Giant chandeliers hang from high ceilings,casting the room in twinkling glimmers of crystal. A small band plays classical music in one corner. It feels elegant and aristocratic—not the kind of circle I’d ever imagined a mafia boss to move in.
I recognize a couple of people from previous dinners and nod to them in greeting, then a warmth covers my right side, making me turn.
“Here.” He holds out a coupe glass filled with pale lemony bubbles. “French 75.”
“My favorite,” I whisper, taking it from him. The glass is so delicate I’m petrified I might drop it. “How did you know?”
His eyes dance beneath long lashes. “Wild guess.”
Yeah. I’ll be speaking to Trilby about this.
We both turn our backs to the wall and look out over the room.
“It’s a beautiful venue. Is there anyone in particular you’re hoping to speak to this evening?”
He takes a slow sip of whiskey and shakes his head. “Right now, it’s more important that I’m seen.”
On cue, a councilor I’ve seen at a previous event approaches us. He’s putting on a convincing enough act but I’ve seen an expression like his before—it’s a combination of awe, fear and the desperate desire to survive.
“Mr. Corioni, how wonderful to see you again. You may recall I supported Governor Grayson with his campaign?”
“I do,” Andreas says, calmly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Ah well,” the man says. “These things happen don’t they?”
Do they?I glance up at my husband whose expression doesn’t budge. I would lose a million times playing poker with this man.
Andreas’ voice remains smooth. “I hope not.”
“Oh, I mean it’s just one of those things. Yes, it’s a shame, but life must go on, mustn’t it? Boston needs a new governor, after all. I’d be happy to support whomever you feel deserves that role, Mr. Corioni.”
Wait a minute, he’s asking who my husband wants Boston to have as a governor? Then it dawns on me—Andreas really does own this city. People in power fear him so much they want to be on whatever side he’s on, whether it’s right or wrong.
I take a sip of my drink, then turn to my husband.
“I’ll leave you to talk business. I’m going to have a look around.” There are some beautiful paintings hung around the walls—I find those far more fulfilling than a surface conversation about politics.
Ten minutes later, I’ve found an obliging partner with whom I can talk about art, the business of galleries and a certain Trilby Castellano. His name is David and his husband is apparently a huge fan of my inordinately talented sister. I decide I like him even more when he furnishes me with another French 75.
Finally, a political event I can actuallyenjoy.
I’m mid-sentence when I hear large, heavy footsteps round the corner, but they’re coming so fast I don’t havetime to react. A thick hand wraps around David’s arm and he’s yanked backward.
“Who are you?” The aggression in my husband’s voice makes David bristle in fear, and a cluster of people who’d been walking past turn around and walk hastily back in the direction they came.
“Nobody.” David holds his hands up, fear fracturing his perfect brow. “I’m nobody, seriously. I was just talking to your wife about… um…”
“The Monet exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts,” I interrupt. “I mentioned I’d like to take my sister. David works there.”
My husband’s glare thickens. “David?”
I want to stamp my foot and say “Yes, the man has a name” but the look on Andreas’ face tells me that wouldn’t be wise. So, instead, I thread my fingers through his, shoot David an apologetic smile that hopefully says our conversation isn’t yet over, and pull Andreas into a long, empty corridor.
Once we’re out of earshot of other guests, I spin around to glare at him. “What was that about? You just rudely interrupted a perfectly pleasant conversation.”
