24. Sara #2
Pantalone’s comment from a few weeks ago creeps into my head, but his insidious voice fades the longer Sara works the party. For the next hour, we keep a low profile, at least until I spot a few of the Contis lingering in front of an exhibit about ancient Egypt.
The whole brood is present, including Bianca, her sister Livia, and their father Aldo, the don of the Conti family. His hair is gelled back, and the width of his shoulders stretch the material of his suit. The sight of him, looking the same as he did in my mother’s photo, ices my blood.
Aldo speaks in hushed tones to an older man by a statuette of a hippo goddess, while Livia giggles with her friends, all of them holding sparkling pink drinks.
Bianca stands off to the side with several guards at her six, but the isolation fits with her reputation. I point everyone out to Sara, one by one. “The woman in the middle, in the red, is Bianca Conti. The Ice Princess.”
A server stops beside Sara with a plate of hors d’oeuvres and waits patiently while my girl scrutinizes them. At my words, Sara cocks her head to one side, presumably confused by Bianca’s glacial moniker.
I sidestep a passing couple and then stop near one of the pop-up bars. “She’s a capo-in-training, one of the only females in the family to earn the privilege, and the daughter of the current Conti boss. Believe me, the name suits her.”
With a smile to the server, Sara picks up a prosciutto-wrapped fig, tosses it in her mouth, and then sets her now-empty champagne flute aside. Once I clock the determined set of her chin and shoulders, my hackles go up.
She’s about to do something disruptive.
Sure enough, Sara pivots on her heel and heads directly for Bianca. The thought of the two of them together sends my heart crawling out of my ass.
“What the hell are you doing?” My hiss draws an alarmed glance from an old woman in a sequin dress, but I continue searching for somewhere else to watch whatever Sara is up to.
She weaves through the crowd with purpose.
Bianca clocks her instantly, her eyes flashing with interest. Fuck.
“Sara. You’re coming in too hot. Less nurse on her rounds and more rich girl with nothing else to do on a Saturday night. ”
The warning must register because Sara slows, her advance becoming more languid.
She greets Bianca with a demure dip of her head, and while I can’t hear a word, the two speak with enthusiasm.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Bianca Conti crack a smile.
I didn’t even think the woman knew how, though people claim the same exact thing about me.
I drift closer, taking my time lest one of the Contis notices my approach.
When Bianca throws her head back and laughs, I stop in my tracks, staring at the daughter of my enemy and the love of my life in growing horror. Sara’s supposed to be gathering intel, not socializing. I trust her with this, but the most dangerous thing you can be among our kind is memorable.
I’m so focused on Sara that I don’t realize Bianca has spotted me.
As soon as I meet her eyes, I turn away, clutching the serving tray against me like a shield.
The next thing I know, glass is shattering at my feet as I crash into another server.
Champagne splashes across my face and down the front of my stolen uniform.
The kid I collided with winces and grabs a napkin from the beverage table.
“I’m so sorry, bro. I should have been paying more attention.
” He’s rambling as he wipes at my cheeks and the front of my clothes.
The people nearest us are already averting their gaze, uninterested in waitstaff drama, but when I chance a peek back at Sara, I catch the eye of the Conti bruiser next to Bianca.
I can tell the moment he recognizes me beneath the botched makeup and sullied uniform. The atmosphere shifts as he stiffens and nods at someone behind me. Shoving the kid aside, I spin around to square off with two more hulking Conti guards.
The larger of the two, his nose crooked from too many lost fights, frowns in genuine confusion. “I don’t remember you being this ugly, Argento.”
I scowl. “Fuck off, Igor.” As much as I might want to, I can’t afford to cause a scene that would endanger Sara or blow any chance we have of digging up information about Enzo.
This little interception throws a wrench in my plans, but so long as they don’t realize Sara and I are together, everything should work out. Sara will be safe.
I let Igor and his surly companion lead me over to Bianca and her men. I’m careful not to acknowledge Sara, who’s pale and looking between everyone with wide eyes.
The Ice Princess mocks them all with her smile. “If I’d known you were this desperate for intelligent company, Dante, I would have sent you an invite.”
“‘Intelligent company’ is a weird way to say, ‘drooling morons,’ but to each their own.”
Bianca’s expression goes as cold as her namesake, and she jerks her head. Her two goons reach for me, but Sara beats them to it. Striding forward, she slaps me across the face.
“You son of a bitch!” Her shriek echoes through the hall, and I can sense dozens of eyes settling on us while a hush blankets the party. Eyes brimming with unholy light, Sara jabs a finger in my chest. “We just got engaged, and now you’re sleeping with my sister! Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Bianca Conti isn’t the only one gaping at Sara. Dumbstruck, it takes me a full minute to understand what’s happening. The Contis, for all their power, can’t do shit right now without showing their hand. Sara’s little improvisation just saved me from a back-alley beating.
When she goes to hit me again, I grab her by the wrist. She shakes her head, her golden curls flying free from her hairdo as she rants about betrayal and my inability to keep my dick in my pants.
I wince, the portrait of contrition. “I’m so sorry about her. We’ll…get going now.”
The guard with the broken nose comes forward, but Bianca places a hand on his arm to stop him. She angles her head at me, her expression contemplative. “I’ll be seeing you, Dante.”
I don’t stick around to acknowledge the frostbitten threat in her words. With a final waggle of my fingers at Igor, I haul Sara out of the museum while she rants at me in Spanish. I didn’t even know she knew Spanish.
A cloud of balmy night air hits us both, and Sara giggles up at me. I’m so spellbound that I don’t notice the man stumbling up the stairs until he slams into her. His head is low, and his dark clothes reek of alcohol.
As Sara teeters in her unfamiliar heels, I hook her waist for stability as the man mumbles drunken apologies. I jerk around, ready to shove my fist down his throat, but Sara touches my forearm.
“Leave him alone.” She laughs as if she can’t contain her reaction. “We’ve got better things to do.”
I manage to defy the almost irresistible urge to kiss her.
If we hope to avoid capture, then we need to get out.
I grab my phone and text Gregor that it’s time to go as Sara and I fly down the museum steps.
The limo squeals to a stop like something out of an Ocean’s 11 heist, and the two of us clamber inside in a tangle of limbs.
As we peel off, I glance back in time to see a figure in red at the top of the stairs, her painted lips twisted in an ominous smirk.