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Reassuringly, he brushes a finger over my hand again. “Good evening,” he says. “We’re here for Isabella’s birthday party.”
The man shakes his head. “You have the wrong door. Try the front.”
“Tell Franko that Corrado’s arrived.”
The man frowns. “Never heard of you.”
“You’re too far down the ladder to have heard of me, which is why I’m allowing you to live and tell Franko I’m here. I will count to five. One.”
The three men close in, and I inch closer to Corrado.
“Maybe we could try the front entrance,” I whisper.
Corrado’s voice is calm when he says, “Three. I suggest not getting too close to her.”
The men around us chuckle.
“Four.”
“Please,” I whisper again. “Let’s go.”
Corrado tucks a finger under my chin and lifts my face. He searches my eyes for something, and his brows knit, but he nods. “Five. Michela here saved you. I might give her your lives. I’m done playing nice, so I will reach into my pocket and get my phone. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
Corrado pulls out his phone and presses an app with a serpent lying on a pot of gold. I have a good eye for detail when it comes to art, and the serpent on the door matches the design of the serpent on his app.
His entire screen flashes bright blue.
Four ringtones start blaring, and the men step back and pull out their phones. They stare at the screens until Corrado slips his phone back into his pocket. As one, the three men walk the few steps to the door and face the wall. The guy in front also joins them.
Corrado steps inside, and because I’m standing outside staring at the grown men facing the wall like misbehaving toddlers, he extends an arm toward me, palm up. “Come now.”
I give him my hand. He threads our fingers as we walk into a fine dining hall with tall ceilings and dramatic black stone marble floors lit only by dim vintage lamps.
Instead of walking toward one of the many tables or even to the bar at this end of the hall, Corrado leads us to the left and leans against a pillar. The shadows hide us from about a hundred finely dressed people already sitting at the tables watching a contemporary dance performance while enjoying their dinner.
I survey the room and recognize at least a few faces. “Hey,” I say over the music, but Corrado doesn’t hear me, so I rise on my toes and speak near his ear. “Hey, there are politicians here.” This close again, I can smell his masculine scent laced with fresh soap.
He turns so that our faces are inches apart. Hazel eyes hood and appear darker. The shadows fit him perfectly, making him more beautiful than he already is. I look away, but feel his gaze lingering before he looks away as well.
After a while, I ask, “Are we going to stand here all night?”
“Do you mind if we do?”
I shrug. “I guess not.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
A woman from polite society might’ve said no, but they’re all having perfectly cooked filet mignon with either shrimp or scallops. I haven’t eaten anything like that since before they picked up my twin for attempted murder.
“Do you have any allergies?” he asks.
“Seafood.” Sadly.
“Are they deadly allergies?”
I nod.
Corrado speaks into his phone. “You may come in. Leave the other three outside.”
