Chapter 24
GINA
It takes several long moments for the room to settle after Dante finishes speaking.
People cluster in small groups, their voices low but urgent.
Some of the older men speak in Italian, but everywhere I look, people stare at Dante—some with reverence, others with barely concealed fury.
Angie’s statement about this ending in blood chills me to the bone.
I can’t wait to get Dante alone and ask him what this means. Is it truly a declaration of war?
Fortunately, the open bar soon does its work. Once people have a gin and tonic or a glass of wine in hand, the edges smooth over. Almost.
Eventually, the museum director returns to the podium, his smile practiced and smooth.
“Well now,” he says, waiting for the room to quiet. “Before we adjourn for the evening, I have one more announcement.”
He gestures toward the wall behind him, where a canvas stands on an easel covered by a burgundy cloth.
“Silvio Ricci has generously donated another work of art to the exhibition, one that will hang side by side with the portrait of the family founder. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a portrait of Silvio Ricci himself.”
He pulls the cloth away with a flourish, and the room gasps.
I probably gasp the loudest.
It’s my sketch—the caricature I drew at Silvio’s dinner party last night, now professionally framed.
While the guests applaud, two gentlemen take the portrait and mount it on the wall next to Salvatore.
Robert Smith speaks once more. “Though the artist of Salvatore Ricci’s portrait has been lost to time, we have the name of Silvio’s artist. And she’s right here in the room, Mrs. Gina Ricci.”
“Your caricature from last night!” Angie whispers beside me.
“Gina, would you please come up and say a few words?” Smith asks.
I glance at Dante. His expression is unreadable, but he gives me a slight nod.
I force myself to walk to the front.
“Hello, everyone,” I say, offering a small wave. I take a breath, steadying myself.
“I’ve studied caricature art most of my life.
The goal of this art form is to take the most distinctive element of a person’s appearance or personality and exaggerate it to capture what makes them recognizable.
Silvio Ricci was an excellent subject, and he accepted my sketch in the spirit it was intended, with humor and grace.
I am honored that my work now hangs beside that of your great ancestor. ”
Applause ripples through the room once again.
When I turn to leave the podium, Robert Smith stops me. With him is a distinguished-looking man in a blue blazer who wears his long grey hair in a ponytail.
“Mrs. Ricci, I’d like to introduce you to Professor Irving Washington. Irving, this is the young woman I told you about earlier.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I say politely, though I recognize his name and image from somewhere. Possibly one of my art courses. What can this all be about?
“Mrs. Ricci, as soon as your uncle Silvio showed me your caricature, I was struck by your sketching ability. You have exceptional talent. Where have you studied?”
“I never studied caricature art in a formal way, though I do have a diploma in art history from UC Irvine. I’m self-taught. Why?”
“Your husband mentioned that you’re keen on attending the Academy of Visual Arts,” says Robert Smith. “Professor Washington teaches there, and I’m on the board. If you’re still interested, we’d be happy to have you enroll in a special program we offer for graduate students.”
Dante remembered?
I search for Dante in the crowd. All this time I thought he was ignoring me, he was really considering my request.
“I’m overwhelmed,” I tell them. “I don’t know what to say. Do I need to take an entrance exam? Send my UC Irvine transcript?”
“Nothing of the kind, my dear,” says Professor Washington. “If you accept our offer, you’ll be placed in a special program. Graduate students work on a class project with ‘real world’ applications.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that the Academy of Visual Arts prides itself on having graduate students leave the institution with practical experience. You’ll choose a project, and I’ll be your advisor throughout the semester. Interested?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Good,” says Professor Washington, taking a card from his pocket. “Call me. We’ll set up a time to meet next week. I’ll arrange for a student to give you a tour before we get together.”
“Thanks so much, Mr. Smith, Professor Washington,” I say, accepting the card with a nod as I take my leave of them.
Angie was right. Dante does love me, he just has a quiet way of showing his affection.
I weave through the crowd to get to him. “Dante, thank you so much,” I say, taking his hand. “I was just offered the opportunity to attend the Academy of Visual Arts. And I know it’s all your doing.”
“You deserve it,” he says, his iceberg expression melting slightly as he squeezes my hand.
I look around us, ensuring that what I want to ask about his “declaration of war” won’t be overheard.
But before I can pose the question, he excuses himself to speak to a group of men.
I’m still thinking about that when someone bumps my shoulder.
“Congratulations, Gina,” says Lorenzo. “Your portrait is amazing. Who knew I’d have such a talented sister-in-law?”
“Thanks.” I try to force a smile, but Lorenzo doesn’t buy it.
“You don’t seem entirely thrilled,” he notes.
“Well, I’m a little worried,” I confess. “What was Dante saying in that speech?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “It was just a speech.”
“It sounded like more. Look, I’m pleased that Silvio likes my caricature enough to have it mounted alongside the family founder. But I feel like he’s using it to make a statement about his position in the family.”
Lorenzo shakes his head. “Gina, you’re new to the organization. Don’t try to understand it all yet. You will, in time.”
“Do you think this means some kind of inter-family war? On top of this Petrov threat?”
I’m about to mention my shooting lessons tomorrow, but remember that Dante warned me to keep it to myself.
“Gina, relax,” says Lorenzo, putting his hands on both my shoulders.
“Calm down. Like I said, this life is new to you. Me, Dante, and Luca have been living with inter-family feuds and hostile enemies all our lives. And guess what? We’re all still alive. Feel better?”
“No,” I say with a smile. “But thanks for trying.
Lorenzo’s phone buzzes, and he turns away to answer the call. I try not to pay attention until I hear Mary’s name.
“Thanks for the heads up,” he says, looking shaken as he disconnects.
“Was that about Dante’s late wife?”
“Brace yourself,” he says with a sigh. “You know how Mary died, right?”
“Angie said she was drunk and hit her head on some rocks after a party.”
“‘Correct. But a tabloid planted a story that Dante had killed her," Lorenzo's voice drops.
“Dante thought he’d nipped it. When Vanity Fair planned to turn the rumor into a feature, he paid the publisher off to kill it.”
Lorenzo pauses. “The latest issue just hit the stands. Story’s in it. Dante’s face on the cover.”
I gasp and look again for Dante in the crowd. Whether he’s heard the news or not, it’s hard to tell.
“What evidence do they have?”
Lorenzo shakes his head. “None. Just scattered interviews with people pretending to know the truth. But someone with more influence than us made that story come alive again.”
He narrows his eyes at Silvio. “I’d better tell Dante.”
I watch him walk over and see the two brothers talk.
A shiver runs through me. I’ve never dared believe the rumor. But what if the story of Dante killing Mary is true?