Chapter 22
DANTE
“Another espresso, Mr. Ricci?”
Ciro stands before me in one of his impeccable, perfectly pressed black suits.
“No.” I set down my phone and prepare to head to the office. Then I reconsider.
“Actually, yes,” I tell my manservant. “This morning is cold and stormy. Another espresso sounds right.”
He inclines his head and turns toward the machine. The kitchen is warm despite the winter weather battering the windows of our penthouse.
Rain streaks the glass, blurring the gray cityscape beyond.
As I wait, I remember the way Gina sighed with satisfaction as she fell asleep in my arms last night.
I felt an odd sensation as I embraced her. She’s mine. All mine.
Above all, she’s mine to protect. Not just physically, but emotionally. And I haven’t been doing a very good job of that.
I should tell her what last night meant to me. What all the moments of our marriage have meant to me.
But I know the words won’t come. I don’t know why I want them to, honestly.
Gina remains a puzzle to me.
Though my marriage to Gina had been arranged to only unify the East and West Coast families against the Russians, it also served to reunite Gina’s mother with the Ricci family again.
A small mercy, though I doubt Gina’s mother sees it that way.
Twenty years is a long time to be exiled from your own blood.
A not-so-fortunate-part is that even though the East and West coast families are united, the Russians remain an even greater threat.
According to my sources, the Petrov family are accelerating their intent to storm our ports.
They’ve already bought off half the union stewards at Port Newark. And they will stop at nothing until it’s theirs.
“Good morning,” Gina says brightly, pulling me from my thoughts. She enters the kitchen in flannel pajamas covered in white bunny rabbits.
The sight of her, hair tousled from sleep, face still soft and unguarded, strikes an emotion in me I can’t recognize.
“Gina, please put on a robe. We are not alone.” I speak in a stern tone I instantly regret.
She freezes, her cheeks flushing pink as she glances at Ciro.
“I’m sorry, Dante. I’ll be right back.” She turns and goes back to her room.
“No need for formality on my part, Signore Ricci. I’ve only known your wife for a short time, yet she is like a daughter to me.”
“Espresso, please,” I say, reminding Ciro of his place.
He nods and returns to the machine without another word.
“This better?” Gina asks when she returns a moment later in a white silk robe. With her long golden curls, she looks like the lead in an angelic chorus.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” she says, coming forward and kissing my ear. “Very well,” she adds in a whisper.
Her breath warms my skin. She hasn’t yet bathed, and I delight in the sex-soaked scent of her from last night.
My cock twitches.
I have the impulse to bend Gina over the kitchen island and take her again. Just when I’m about to tell Ciro to leave, I turn to find him serving Gina breakfast.
“Ah, you remembered,” she says as Ciro sets a small silver tray before her. It contains a cereal bowl, an elegant glass pitcher of milk, and a miniature box of Lucky Charms.
“Moving up in the world of breakfast cereal, I see.”
I’m unable to suppress my smile.
She blushes. “Yesterday Ciro surprised me with the variety pack. All my favorites.”
I look at her over the rim of my espresso, keeping my expression serious. “Which charm is your favorite?”
“The shamrock, of course.”
“Good choice.”
Gina shoots me a surprised look. “You know Lucky Charms?”
I shrug. “I was once a child.”
She tilts her head. “Hard to believe. I can’t imagine you were ever one of those kids I see in supermarkets, screaming for their favorite cereal.”
“Screaming was never my style, not even then.” I set down my cup. “What will you be wearing to the museum exhibition tonight?”
“You’re taking an interest in fashion?” Gina asks, her voice a tease.
“Only when it comes to you. The VIPs of the family and our city connections will be present tonight. It’s important.”
“You don’t trust my sense of style?”
“Judging by your preference for bunny rabbit PJs and choice of breakfast cereal, no.”
We both laugh.
“To answer your question, I’ll be wearing a dress Antoine chose for me. Quite proper I assure you.”
Gina takes a spoonful of cereal and fishes out a red, heart-shaped marshmallow.
“But I don’t quite understand why the Museum of the City of New York is honoring your ancestor. Wasn’t Salvatore Ricci rumored to be the biggest mobster of his time?”
“Not rumor. Fact.”
“Even more perplexing,” says Gina, looking up at me. “As far as I know, cities don’t honor their gangsters. At least in America.”
“Choose your words carefully, wife.” My voice drops. “Salvatore Ricci wasn’t a gangster any more than America’s founding fathers were gangsters. It’s all in the way history paints them.”
Other women would not question me further.
But Gina persists.
“With due respect, it’s odd to think of a museum exhibition celebrating crime.”
“You’re giving it the wrong frame. The exhibition celebrates innovation. Without Salvatore and men like him, entire industries wouldn’t exist in this city today.”
I watch her process this.
“Salvatore brought organization to chaos. He gave thousands of immigrants work, protection, and a future when no one else would.”
Gina nods. She gets it. At least she’s beginning to.
“Your great-great-grandfather sounds like a great man. I hope to learn more about him tonight. How did this exhibition happen? Did the museum reach out to you, or did you give them the idea?”
“It was all Silvio’s doing,” I tell her. “He has ties to the museum director, Robert Smith. You’ll meet him this evening.”
Before Gina can ask any more of her eternal questions, I stand and nod. “Until tonight.”