Page 63 of Dante

I glance at him, startled. “Oh. Yes, of course. Lorenzo texted me instructions on how to handle myself tonight.”

“Good. Little brother’s earning his keep.”

“Lorenzo’s a great guy. Both him and Luca. You’re lucky to have siblings.”

Thomas stops the car. And when he comes around to open my door, he flashes me a keep-your-chin-up smile of encouragement.

Though we’ve only shared general pleasantries, I sense Thomas realizes Dante can be a stern taskmaster.

I step out of the limousine wearing a practiced smile as cameras snap my picture.

Instead of smiling, Dante scowls, an expression keeping with his dark suit and don’t-fuck-with-me manner.

He radiates the kind of energy his great-great-grandfather would recognize. Salvatore would be proud.

Reporters shout questions, but as Lorenzo instructed, I ignore them and climb the stairs.

At the top, a tall man with silver hair and an expensive suit greets Dante first, then turns to me.

“Ah, so you’re the new Mrs. Ricci.”

I smile politely. “I am.”

“Gina, this is Robert Smith, the museum’s director,” Dante explains. “As soon as Silvio presented him with the idea for the exhibition, he worked tirelessly to put it together.”

“Tirelessly is the word,” Robert Smith says with a laugh. “It took forever to push it through with the board. But in the end, we won.”

“Congratulations. How did you do it?” I ask, still wondering how a museum like this agreed to mount an exhibition featuring a notorious crime family.

But I instantly regret asking the question when Dante’s hand tightens around my wrist.

“Ah, well, it wasn’t easy,” says Smith. “For years, I’ve wanted to feature the real salt of the earth in this institution. Salvatore Ricci was a bootlegger, it’s true. But as I told the board, without him and hundreds of others like him, this city wouldn’t be the powerhouse it is today.”

“True enough,” I agree.

Robert Smith smiles. “A warm welcome, Mrs. Ricci,” he says, holding my hand a moment longer than necessary. His eyes search mine in a strange way, as if he’s keeping a secret. “I hope you’ll enjoy tonight.”

“I’m sure I will,” I tell him. He finally releases my hand, and I step into the crowd.

Dante hangs back to speak with Smith further. It could be my imagination, but I’m almost certain they’re talking about me.

But what could they possibly be saying?

Looking around the room, I see this is certainly a glamorous event.

I recognize many of the Italian families from my wedding reception. Just as Antoine predicted, the older women wear conservative clothing. Dark colors, elegant cuts, understated but pricey jewelry.

And the younger women push the boundaries with shorter skirts, lower necklines, and higher heels.

But the aesthetic is all black, with the obligatory strand of pearls.

Many of the women wear their hair in a classic updo. Any of them could star in a Coco Chanel advertisement, all restraint and prestige.

And this quaint museum is the perfect backdrop with its crystal chandeliers, velvet sofas, and gleaming marble floors.

Ricci women stare and whisper as I pass, just as I had expected.

Not everyone has met me, and now I’m on full display.