STOLEN SMILE

CATERINA

"Black as the devil, hot as hell, pure as an angel, sweet as love."

-Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

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WE STOPPED AT HER OFFICE, and when I saw there was pizza waiting for me on the coffee table, I groaned.

Jenn let out a breath of amusement and headed past me to her desk, where she spent the next hour on the phone. It could have been longer, though I wouldn't know, because with my stomach full and the toll the sun had taken, I fell asleep on the couch. It was a light sleep, where I could still hear her deep and newly comforting timbre in the background.

Three hours later, I awoke to an empty office.

Slightly disoriented, I blinked and then pulled my hair out of its ratty ponytail. I finger-combed it and slipped my heels back on before heading to the door and into the hallway. The card tables were still, the basement silent except for a few soft male voices.

I stepped into the main room and noticed Lorenzo, Lucky, and Luca at one of the far booths, each holding a hand of cards. I wondered how one went about playing poker with a cheater in each seat.

I didn't see Jennifer anywhere, and suddenly grew an itch to check out the club upstairs. I was going to have a rule-breaker for a wife, so maybe I needed to go out of my comfort zone and learn how to get on her level. On the balls of my feet so my heels didn't click, I walked to the staircase and slipped out the door.

The place was elegant yet comfortably decorated. A wide dance floor made of panels blinked from purple, blue to yellow. A long line of red plush chairs sat around lacquered, round wooden tables, with a mirror taking up the far wall. A staircase led upstairs to where I imagined the VIP rooms were. I hoped Jenn didn't allow shady things to go on in there, though that was wishful thinking.

After another moment, I decided to head back downstairs before they noticed I was gone. As I took a step to leave, I realized I wasn't alone.

"So, you're the lovely Caterina."

I froze.

The voice was unfamiliar, though I'd learned I was a top choice on any gossip list lately, so it wasn't surprising he would know me.

I turned around and met an uncultured yet refined gaze, as though the two battled amongst themselves. Ruthlessness spilled out of his Armani suit, yet his easy looks, urbane wardrobe, and relaxed carriage belied it. I imagined he was a chameleon, effortlessly taking form of whatever façade he wished.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I've had the pleasure."

His quiet laugh sounded like low musical notes left to die on the wind.

"No, you wouldn't. I'm only a second son."

While the significance of his statement should have become extinct in the twentieth century, I understood what he meant. I was living proof of the Cosa Nostra's old-fashioned ways—my wedding right around the corner.

As a second son, he wouldn't inherit much, not the title nor the business, and he would always be expected to work for his papà and then older sister. He would be forever second best and overlooked.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He scratched his jaw, amused, and then I thought he muttered, "No wonder he liked you."

I didn't know the man to question him, though the past tense of that statement—liked—piqued my interest. I shouldn't be conversing alone with a man I didn't know, but it wasn't like Jenn would let someone she didn't trust into her club, would she?