Page 73 of Above ’N’ Beyond

Laughter greeted them, along with Vivaldi piping from speakers in the ceiling. A waiter dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and bowtie carried a tray of crystal flutes filled with bubbling Champagne.

In front of the fireplace, a circle of men surrounded Paola. Bella couldn’t hear what she was saying, but everyone—Tony and his boys and four men she didn’t recognize—listened with rapt attention.

“She certainly knows how to command an audience.” Bella couldn’t contain the bitterness in her tone.

“You and Jax need to be on your best behavior.” Jimmy gave her waist a little squeeze. “I mean it. Don’t provoke your aunt again.”

“Is that an order? I’m not a dog.” She glanced at Jax. “Sorry.”

Jax snorted, as if acknowledging her apology and accepting it.

Jimmy’s voice softened. “It’s a friendly warning. One you need to be continually reminded of.”

Tony’s face brightened as he caught sight of them. “Jimmy! Bella!” He waved them over.

As they approached, Bella whispered, “Who are those men?”

“Good question,” he muttered under his breath.

“I see you brought Jax.” Paola handed her flute to Marco then leaned over to pet Jax between his ears.

“Shake hands.” Jax lifted his paw to Paola, who laughed and shook his paw. “Now, give our hostess a kiss on the cheek.” Jax hesitated a moment, then stretched his neck to touch his nose to Paola’s cheek.

“Magnificent.” Paola clapped her hands together, startling Jax, who slunk away and curled up on the rug in the farthest corner of the room he could find.

Bella rolled her lips inward. Her aunt was clueless, completely oblivious to Jax’s body language. Paola might be infatuated by Jax, but Jax did not return the sentiment.

Paola raised a bejeweled hand in the air, signaling for the waiter. When Jimmy and Bella had flutes in their hands, Paola raised her glass. “Welcome to our guests. Signors Rossi, Gallo, De Luca, and Bruno.”

Yeah, right those are their names. Those surnames were some of the most common in all of Italy. It was equivalent to calling them Misters Smith, Johnson, Williams, and Brown. Whoever they were, Paola was being extremely discreet about their identities.

“This is my niece,” Paola said, “co-owner of Bianco’s Bistro.” Bella’s stomach churned at her aunt’s emphasis on the word co. The men nodded enthusiastically, as if they’d already heard of the Bistro. “And this is Jimmy Santoro.”

While Jimmy shook hands with the men, Bella slipped away quietly, heading through the dining room straight for the kitchen where she intended to conjure up the strongest martini on the planet. Her presence at this mockery of a family gathering was ludicrous, and she didn’t understand why she’d been commanded here in the first place.

A hand landed on her shoulder, forcing her around none too gently. “Don’t you dare walk away,” Paola whispered with all the venom of a pit viper. “Family representation means everything in this business, and you will respect that.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Bella’s eyes flared at her aunt’s gall. “You want me to pretend we have some kind of family solidarity going on here when nothing could be further from the truth? If you want my solidarity, sell me your share of the Bistro, then I’ll happily attend whatever so-called family functions you want me to.”

Paola’s lips thinned. “Make no mistake. I’m done talking with you about that.” She leaned in so close Bella could count her aunt’s nose hairs. “Don’t ever embarrass me like that again. And wear a different dress next time. This one’s too tight on you.” Paola spun and returned to her guests.

With clenched hands, Bella pushed open the door to the kitchen, ignoring the hired staff working the party, and fixed herself a vodka martini, shaken, not stirred—James Bond’s favorite cocktail.

Balancing the drink in her hand, she reluctantly returned to the living room. Rather than join the main group, she pretended to be interested in the platter of nuts and olives on a side table. As she leaned over, the antique necklace Jimmy had given her swung away from her chest.

She clasped the necklace, rubbing her fingers over the purple gemstone. Almost instantly, the anger she’d experienced moments ago dissipated, and she smiled. It was probably too soon for Jimmy to be in love with her, but the beautiful piece of jewelry had come from a place of caring. Of that much, she was certain.

She glanced to where her aunt stood in the midst of all her guests. Not even her aunt had ever given her such a beautiful gift, and she was Bella’s family.

Family my ass. The more she thought about it, as the years had passed, her aunt had begun to treat her less and less like family and more of a hired hand. Sometimes—like tonight—it even seemed like Paola just plain resented her.

Inwardly, she sighed. Playing by the rules would never get her back the Bistro, and she’d been a fool to think that had ever been possible. Which left her no choice. If she was going to act like a spy, she might as well drink like one.

She swallowed a long slug of the James Bond martini, praying the alcohol would hit her bloodstream quickly enough to help get her through the rest of the night.

“Drowning your sorrows?” a voice said. Marco watched her with a sympathetic expression on his face. He clinked his Champagne flute with her glass.

“Maybe,” she admitted and took another sip.