Page 9 of Venomous Vows

They’re all friendly and show me the ropes of where things are, how to plate the courses the way Mr. Bernardi likes them and gossip a bit about what’s going on in each other’s lives.

It’s not until Abigail taps me on the back that she tells me the salads are ready to be served. The only rule is not to hold long conversations with the guests. Just drop off the salad plates and grab any refills they might need but keep it moving.

Easy enough.

Loading my arm with fancy dishware, I push through the kitchen door and enter the enormous dining space.

A massive chandelier hangs over the longest wooden dining room table I’ve ever seen. It’s full to the masses, men lining each side of it and talking amongst themselves. I can’t imagine having this many people in one place for dinner.

I don’t think Ilikethis many people to have a dinner party of this magnitude. However, I remember Abigail’s words about keeping up with the pace, so I begin depositing salads and keep to myself.

It’s not until the last dish is placed down that I feel a heaviness settle on me and I’m immediately on guard. Something pulls my attention to the end of the table and it’s there that I freeze in sheer awe and horror at who sits there all comfortable, present, and grown up.

Adrian Bernardi.

His wide shoulders almost fill the whole back of the chair as he leans against it, running the back of his index finger along the bottom of his lower lip and looking back at me as if he’s seen me from the first moment I strode in the room.

I thought about him being here tonight.

But I didn’t think it would affect me like this. I thought he’d be among the group of men in attendance tonight, doing whatever it is he does during one of these things but notheadingthe table.

That means something entirely different.

Especially here.

I dare not search around the table for his father, pivoting back toward the kitchen like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Something is off here. This isn’t right.

Shoving the kitchen door open, the girls are bustling around to get the next course ready, but my question can’t selfishly wait.

“Abigail,” I call out, finding her preparing the mussels and clam arrabbiata. “Where’s Mr. Bernardi?”

She glances over her shoulder at me with narrowed brown eyes. “What do you mean? Isn’t he out there?”

“No, I mean, Mr. GiovanniBernardi.”

Abigail drops a clam aimlessly onto the plate and turns to face me. Her expression is equally confused and empathetic. “Honey, he died about three years back.” Then she drops her voice a bit so that only I can hear. “He was murdered.”

I instantly feel like shit.

For not knowing. For mentioning him several times during my conversation with Zane as if he were alive and well.

I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t tell me, but I have an inkling that it has something to do with Adrian and my past.

We’re not each other’s biggest fans.

Never have been.

Never will be.

“You okay?” Abigail asks, placing a gentling palm on my forearm. “Do you need to take a break?”

I shake my head, but I do.

I don’t want to be here. Yet, I have no choice but to be.

Zane told me that I would be speaking to the boss man about my sister, but that’d mean…

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