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“Yes, I–”
“You married G.”
G? The blatant familiarity stumped her. Ana frowned, trying to place her. She knew that Russo was a prominent financier and venture capitalist in the Philly region. He’d come to her attention through the gold business. But apart from that, he was an enigma. He held no leadership role in the Family, no title.
So how had Celia met Gio?
Ana’s fingers smoothed over the silk of her gown uncomfortably. The fabric twisted in her grip when Celia queried, “How’s it been adjusting to G’s mad schedule?”
There it was again, subtle but pointed–a hint that Celia knew Gio’s schedule well enough to comment on. Discomfort and annoyance flowed through her.
“It has been a whirlwind, but just taking it one day at a time,” Ana said evasively, not rising to the bait.
Celia nodded, her eyes narrowing. “You adapted quite well to the Mancinis. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” At Ana’s silence, she dug further. “Your father was one of their soldiers, I believe? He must have been an honorable one for the Mancinis to adopt you after he was killed in action.” She pursed her bow-shaped lips in sympathy. “Do you miss them–your real parents?”
Ana’s jaw ticked.
“Oh, sorry if I’m prying.” Celia backed away, with that same insipid smile.
There was nothing she could say without deeply offending the woman, so Ana merely shrugged. Taking a deep breath, she eyed the security line ahead of them. There were dozens of people waiting to enter. Her bodyguard noticed her waiting and sprang to action, ready to escort her directly. But she quietly waved him away. For a moment, she had the insane urge to thrust herself into his arms and beg him to rescue her from Celia. But she restrained herself.
Just barely.
It would be incredibly impolite to abandon the woman out here, however tempting it may be.
“I wonder though…”
Please, stop.
Ana turned reluctantly to Celia, who pondered out loud. “You call Antonio ‘cousin’…but shouldn’t he be your brother? His parents are the ones who adopted you, after all.”
Everything in her shriveled at that insight. Ripping up a wound that had lodged deep inside her over many years.
“The Mancinis didn’t want to erase the memory of my father and mother,” Ana said stiffly. "So they told me to call them 'aunt' and 'uncle'." Her voice was biting, frosted over with not an iota of warmth.
The other woman seemed to have finally gotten the hint because she fell silent until she spotted some of her friends waiting in line.
After Celia left to join them, Ana let out a breath and summoned the guard to let her in.
The champagne glass was refilled a third time.
Dangerous, seeing as she hardly ever drank.
Even Gio seemed concerned as an usher guided him to his seat at their dinner table, watching as she gulped the third glass down. Though Celia had long since disappeared into the gala, the sting of her words and her annoyingly perfect appearance hadn’t faded. That woman knew exactly what she was doing by needling at her background and age-old wounds.
Of course, she knew who Ana was.
Merely the cousin–the niece.
Not a pure Mancini.
Ana was only ever allowed to be so close to her adoptive family, despite having little memory of her life before them. All because of Grandfather’s obsession with the Mancini bloodline. Ironically, everyone still referred to him as her ‘grandfather,’ despite his vehement objection to the title. It was too confusing for the Family. If Marta was her aunt and Antonio her cousin, how could he be unrelated?
But Grandfather didn’t care for logic. He preferred to consort with people like Vitello. Not her.
She peered at the bubbles in her glass, wondering when their effect would kick in.
“Everything went okay earlier?” her husband murmured in her ear, his arm settling on her chair.
