Page 92 of Velvet Cruelty

“My sisters were given a splash of wine in their lemonade as children,” I tell her. “Would you prefer that?”

She takes a much larger sip. “You don’t have any lemonade. Only orange soda.”

Bobby laughs and she looks gratified.

Gretzky and Schnee serve the food. They’re not happy to be treated like waitstaff, but they know better than to complain. I dip my spoon into the broth and taste home. Oil and salt, cheese and pasta. I eat a few mouthfuls and look up to see January staring at me. She hasn’t touched her food. She looks even more uncomfortable than when Adriano fucked her mouth with a gun. I smile at her. “It’s good, bella.”

Bobby nods and even Doc grins. “You’ll never be allowed to leave now, Tits.”

January flushes and picks up her spoon.

We could keep her. It would be risky, letting her stay where Parker could so easily find her, but what is risk to men like us? And it might take time to make her trust us, but time isn’t an object. While we wait for her more prudish tendencies to be broken, we could eat together like this. The table laid out with good food and wine. We could laugh and relax, reclaim something that’s been lost to us for far too long.

Doc asks Bobby about the Czech ceramics he’s just sourced for a private collector in Hudson.

January perks up when he mentions blown glass. “I think I saw something like that at The Met last year.” She says it in a nervous rush, as though expecting us to punish her.

Doc smirks. “The only time I’ve been to the Met is to sell weed.”

January’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah, he was some doctor’s kid who wanted to meet in the European sculpture and decorative arts section…”

January listens with rapt attention as Doc tells the story. Bobby intervenes, correcting Doc’s errors and deflating his egotistic proclamations. I watch all three of them with a smile. My brothers are happy. Even Rossi doesn’t look so fucking miserable. It reminds me of being back in my Nonno’s house, surrounded by his friends and cousins and their wives, all of them drinking wine, and telling stories.

Gretzky returns with the meat course and it’s as good as anything my nonna ever served. I have to fight not to praise January. As with her beauty, my appreciation of her cooking has to be tempered or it will ruin her.

I notice her wine glass is almost empty. For someone who didn’t want any, she’s getting through it fast. There’s a glow in her eyes and her movements are more languid. I refill her glass.

We finish our second course and the mood becomes even lighter. As January, Doc, and Bobby laugh and flirt, I consider where we should take her after this. We could go back into the living room, but my bedroom has full-length mirrors and a minibar—and I want to see everything.

Bobby gestures at his empty bowl. “This was perfect, JJ.”

“Thank you,” she says. “The pastina was a little overdone.”

I can’t help laughing. “Are you sure you aren’t Italian, bella?”

January turns pink but I know she likes the question. “I suppose I’m used to my Zia Teresa giving me feedback.”

“A maid correcting your behavior? Did you get angry at her?”

She looks shocked. “Of course not. You can’t improve without correction.”

I study her over my wineglass. It’s a rare thing, a woman who can receive criticism without taking it personally. I think of my vow to send her to Gio. To let some other swine possess this jewel of a girl.

“Where’s Gretzky?” Doc demands. “I want dessert.”

January draws a breath. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t make anything.”

“I know you didn’t,” I tell her. “I had Harvey pick up some cannoli.”

She gives a shy smile. “That sounds wonderful. I love cannoli.”

“Good,” Doc says. “I’m going to handfeed you in my lap.”

January barely has time to react. There’s a loud rap on the door and Schnee comes into the room. “Sorry to interrupt. We have an issue.”

“What?” I say. The warm, date-like atmosphere immediately vanishes.

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