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His hand grips my thigh as he says it. Then his fingers move in between my legs. My eyes widen before I can stop it. Nobody sees me, or at least I don’t think they do. But my breath catches as as the tips of his fingers start to explore my folds.
All four men’s eyes turn to me. My chin is quivering and I can’t stop it. A shake starts in my chest. All I can do is look back at them and stay as still as I can.
If only Bruno would do the same.
Quietly, Carlo chimes in. “There’s someone with a gripe looking for almost anyone you can think of.”
Alessio’s mouth bunches. “Pretty fucking medieval, though. Practically decapitated the whole family.”
Carlo says, “Armando’s the capo now?”
Bruno nods. “Armando.” His eye glints as he presses. With no change in his expression, he goes on. “Due respect, but I mean… Come on. Armando?”
“I…” I stop myself. But too late. Everyone around the table falls silent. I feel all their eyes on me.
The don booms out at me, “You what?”
“I’d like the salt and pepper please.” My voice skids like it’s on ice. I hardly get the words out.
The don scowls. “Don’t Benedettis have table manners? You’re here five minutes and already you want to insult Jaggers’ cooking?”
Now I know that if I don’t finish the limp and tasteless dish, if I leave one trace of watery pomodoro and too-dry pasta, I’ll be straight into the teeth of a rage from the don. A full-blown a tropical storm. And knowing the goop was prepared by that ‘Call me Jaggers’ woman makes every bite even more of a chore.
Would I be more likely to survive a poison if I chew the food, or if I just swallow it whole?
The don fixes me with a bloodshot eye and growls, “Alessio, you’re taking the Benedetti pussy?”
With something like a repressed wince, Alessio nods.
“Her family is going to be there,” the don goes on with his eyes still on me. “So, if we didn’t take her, it would only make her look more interesting. This night is about our position, this family’s prestige. We don’t want any distraction. So, I agree. Take her. Show her off. Maybe rub her family’s noses in it some. That we’ve got her.”
Bruno’s voice has a mischievous lilt. “Should we make a show?”
Now his fingers are inside me. I take a long breath, as slow as I can.
The don frowns. “Like dress her up, you mean?”
“Yeah.” Bruno shrugs. “Put her in something expensive. Something with a little class.”
“Nah.” The don waves a hand. “Let her wear whatever trash she’s got with her. She’ll only be showing herself up. Not us.”
After staring at me, he finally addresses me. “Don’t wear anything showy. Don’t attract attention. In fact…” As he looks me over yet again I feel like I’m being examined like a questionable fruit in a grocery store.
“You’ll be fine like you are.” He wets his lips as his eyes finally make their way back up to mine. “I don’t need you to overdress.”
Bruno smirks as his fingers push.
I stand. Too fast. The chair fall behind me.
Unbearable chuckles follow me out of the room. If only to silence them and make the taunting noise stop, I slam the door hard behind me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My red stretch jersey Magda Butrym ruched halter neck dress is a sensual, form-fitting sheath. I’d sooner do stealth wealth in my Nita Strapless wool midi dress with a pair of Jimmy Choos, but I’ve established that subtle doesn’t register on the Fortuna radar.
A plain liquid gold chain flows over my clavicle with a bumble-bee pendant. Shiny, elbow length black satin gloves complete my response to the don’s, ‘Don’t change, you’ll be fine like you are.’
He said, ‘I don’t need you to overdress.’
