Her Consigliere

by Carsen Taite

  He nodded solemnly like they were done talking about silly weddings and were now getting down to business. “I know. Along those lines, I hope we can talk later. I have an exclusive opportunity I’d like to share with you and Don Carlo. An opportunity that could reward any bountiful generosity the don might be feeling on this special day.”

  “There is a long line in front of you. It will have to be very interesting.”

  “It is.”

  Siobhan was used to a bit more fanfare from people trying to get an audience with the don. Supplicants often tried to win her over by saying things like “trust me, it’s the greatest thing you’ll ever hear,” a promise designed to fail. Martin’s promise was bold and sure and devoid of flowery promises, and she rearranged her first impression and considered setting up a meet. “Perhaps I will find you later.”

  She walked off before he could pin her down. She was intrigued, but it wouldn’t do to let him think whatever information he had gave him an upper hand. She made her way into the sanctuary and slid into the pew assigned for immediate family just as the strains of the “Wedding March” sounded from the large organ in the balcony and the entire congregation shuffled to their feet.

  Celia beamed, all traces of bridezilla gone from her demeanor as she settled into her role as star of the day. Her dress was breathtaking, and she’d likely be featured on the society page as the bride of the year, attention that would only fuel her constant need for attention. Siobhan harbored no envy for she had no desire to be in the spotlight now or at any time. Sometimes she even craved the anonymity of life in a family that wasn’t ensnared with complicated relationships and fuzzy lines between what was right for the family versus what was right at all.

  After Carlo completed the time-honored act of giving his daughter away like the property she was, he walked back down the aisle and settled into the seat beside her, a signal to any who might be watching of the status she held in the family, whether she was a blood relative or not, lack of a matching dress be damned.

  “There will be a lot of business today,” he said, his face fixed on the front of the church and his lips barely moving.

  “I know. Martin Vedda wants an audience.”

  “The boy has big ideas.”

  “Big ideas aren’t always bad ideas.”

  Carlo gave her a subtle nod. It wasn’t an agreement to meet with Vedda, but his signal that he’d think about it. She wouldn’t push. Pushing had never worked even when she’d been a young child begging for one of the lollipops he used to carry in his jacket pockets for her and his daughters. Carlo Mancuso was the head of the most successful crime family in the region because he had the patience to wait for the best opportunities. When she was younger, she’d viewed his reticence to jump on new ideas as a sign of indecision or being overly cautious, but she’d been wrong. Everything Carlo did was meticulously considered, but he wasn’t risk averse. He’d always been willing to risk it all for the right opportunity, but he didn’t do so carelessly—a fact that separated him from many of the other organized crime families in Dallas.

  After the ceremony, she stayed at the church for a few minutes at Carlo’s insistence for a few “family” photos, but she ducked out before the photo shoot ended, knowing Celia didn’t want the family lawyer appearing in all of the real family photos. She was fine with the exclusion. Having her picture spread around the society page wasn’t a dream of hers, and she preferred to keep a low profile. It was much easier for her to slip in and out of light and dark when she wasn’t a local celebrity. She imagined young girls reading the wedding section of the Dallas Morning News, oohing and aahing over the featured spread, dreaming of having their own beautiful wedding with no idea of the angst involved behind the scenes.

  Back at the Mancuso mansion, Siobhan avoided the crowded valet stand and parked behind the guard house. On the short walk to the house, she ran into Michael, the head of Carlo’s security detail, who’d stayed behind to make sure no one entered the grounds who hadn’t been invited.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Collins. How was the wedding?”

  “It was a beautiful ceremony.” She injected the comment with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of awe. He looked at her expectantly, like he wanted to know more, and she dredged up a few more details to placate his interest. “The church was packed. There were lots of beautiful flowers. Father Daniel gave a lovely homily.”

  “The reception will be nice too,” he said with a big smile. “Everything is set up and ready to go. A fairy tale wedding, just like Celia wanted.”

  Siobhan didn’t bother asking Michael how he knew what Celia wanted. He’d had a crush on her since they were in high school together, but he knew Carlo would never permit one of his daughters to marry a man whose sole duty in life was to stand in front of a bullet meant for one of them. She wondered how Carlo would feel if Michael were interested in her instead.

  It was a silly question really. While Michael was a catch—handsome, built, and fearless—she craved someone who had the same level of ambition as she did, and Michael was more interested in protecting Carlo’s empire than building it bigger and better. Carlo obviously cared deeply about her safety since Neal had beefed up her personal detail since the incident outside of Francine’s dress shop. She had spotted Neal’s crew following her as soon as she left the church, a sure sign she was important to the family, but she occasionally wondered if her importance was more about the knowledge she had about the family business than any other worth her life might have. It wasn’t the first time she’d experienced a tinge of insecurity around her place in the family, and no doubt seeing all the attention centered around one of the real daughters was a splinter niggling its way under her skin today.

  “I’ll send some cake out for you,” she said. “It’s going to be a long night. I need you to be extra vigilant. Something’s going on, and no one should get in without an invite.”

  “Always.”

  He didn’t ask any questions, and that both comforted and bothered her. If she ever fell in love, it would be with someone who wanted to know every detail of this life, be in the thick of things, and revel in the details. Though Carlo tried to shield her from the not entirely legal details of his business, that was more about her law license than keeping her in the dark. Besides, she’d never been a perfect soldier, following orders without question and, while she respected such people were necessary, she didn’t understand how a person could be wired not to dig deeper.

  Siobhan entered the house through the back door that led to the kitchen. The massive room was whirring with activity, and she paused for a moment to take in the scents and sounds of her childhood.

  “Siobhan, come taste this.”

  She looked across the room at the tall, lean older woman waving a wooden spoon in her direction. Victoria Donovan was the head chef at the Mancuso mansion, and she was strict about who she let into her kitchen, but she’d known Siobhan since childhood and had always welcomed her into this space. She strode over and obediently tasted the spoonful of risotto Victoria placed in her mouth. “Yum, the lemon really brightens it. That’s delicious.” She ran her tongue around her mouth and closed her eyes. “Tastes familiar.”

  “It’s a variation on your mother’s. I’m the only one who knows her exact recipe. Or so she said.”

  “Then it must be true. Besides, you know she guarded her recipes like gold.” Siobhan gripped the edge of the counter as a surge of sentiment rushed through her. For a moment, she was back in time, standing in the kitchen, tugging on her mother’s apron and begging her to read her a story, only to be told she had one more thing to do and then she’d be free.

  “Her presence lives on, you know.”

  “I do.” But it wasn’t the same. Siobhan released her grip and stuffed down the rest of her feelings. “I should go.”

  “Busy day?”

  She heard the tone beneath the words and knew that Victoria meant more than the wedding festivities. All of the staff at the hous
e knew she was the don’s confidant, but Victoria seemed to be the only one who realized it was a burden as much as a blessing to be in the inner orbit of such a powerful man. “Yes, but busy is good.”

  “It is until it consumes you and you come out the other end with no life to show for it.” She pointed to the door. “Weddings aren’t simply for the bride and groom, you know. There are lots of eligible prospects here today.”

  Siobhan smiled to cover her annoyance that Victoria’s solution to her getting a life was to find someone else to consume her time and attention. She pointed at the rows of warming trays ready to be filled with the wedding feast. “Speaking of busy, I should go and let you get back to all of this.”

  She strode off before Victoria could give her another knowing look or a probing gaze. She didn’t need her approval and she wasn’t sure why she’d sought it. Victoria had been her mother’s best friend, but that didn’t make her a mother substitute, and she was too old to foolishly pine for parental love.

  By the time Siobhan burst through the doors leading to the enormous courtyard where the reception had been staged, she’d placed her emotions back in check, but Victoria’s words echoed in her mind. She’d heard the silliness about how everyone cried at weddings and they were the perfect place for connecting with someone else, but all she could think about was she never wanted to be so tied to someone she couldn’t break free, and weeping in public was a perfect path to ineptitude.

  She spotted one of the many bars and headed that way. A young blonde dressed in a tuxedo shirt smiled broadly and asked what she wanted to drink.

  “Jameson. Neat.”

  The blonde frowned and looked down at the bottles lining her well, pushing some aside and pulling some out to read the labels. “I’m not seeing anything called that.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She was more disturbed that this girl didn’t know what Jameson was than the fact the bar didn’t appear to be stocked with her favorite whiskey.

  “I’m sorry, it looks like we don’t carry that one.”

  “Is everything okay here?”

  Siobhan turned and locked eyes with Royal. She should’ve been prepared to see her here after Robert had brought her to the house, and maybe if she’d shown up dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, she would have. But no, today Royal was pulling her best James Bond impression in a tuxedo that looked like it had been custom-tailored to her delicious body. She struggled to contain the low growl inching up her throat. “Depends on what you mean by okay. It appears your bartender here has an almost fully stocked bar.”

  Royal’s head whipped to the blonde. “What are we missing?”

  “Jameson.”

  Royal stepped behind the bar and nudged the blonde aside. She reached down low, pulled a bottle out, and held it over her head. “One bottle of Irish whiskey, at your service.” She handed it to the blonde, stepped out from behind the space, and faced Siobhan. “Anything else I can conjure up for you?”

  Siobhan hesitated before responding and let the suggestive retort fizzle into noise of the room. “I’ll take that in a glass with a shard of ice,” she said, daring Royal to deign to wait on her.

  Royal didn’t seem fazed by the challenge. She poured three fingers of whiskey into a heavy short glass, cracked an ice cube on the bar, and plucked a sliver and dropped it in the glass. Their fingers touched when she handed it over, and like the first time they’d come into physical contact, the result was electric. Royal motioned to a space a few feet away and Siobhan led the way.

  “You look surprised to see me here,” Royal said when they were out of the bartender’s earshot.

  She was surprised, and she shouldn’t be since Robert had brought her to the house just the other day. She had personally reviewed the list of vendors, but only to make sure they were supporting the businesses that were loyal to the family, not to check out the names of the individual workers—that she left for Michael. But surprised or not, seeing Royal again was exhilarating. “You’ll find I’m rarely surprised. It’s my superpower.”

  “The implication being I will get to spend more time with you in order to be able to recognize this superpower is not a fleeting trait.”

  Royal’s eyes glinted with amusement, and Siobhan knew she should put her in her place, but all she wanted to do was bask in the attention. Royal’s focus was different from most of the women she met who were more concerned about bowing and scraping than challenging her. She appreciated the difference, but letting Royal know that would give her too much power. “If you want to spend time with me, you’ll have to find a way to become indispensable.” She held up her glass. “Some way besides locating the missing Jameson.”

  “Goals.” Royal grinned. “I can work with that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to personally recheck all of the bar setups to make sure your favorite whiskey is readily available.” She took a step away, but then stopped and turned back, pointing at the drink in Siobhan’s hand. “If you need another, though, I hope you’ll find me so I can give you a perfect pour.”

  Her eyes smoldered on those last words and Siobhan was certain “pour” was code for more. A lot more. Siobhan watched Royal’s back as she walked away, and for a second, she was tempted to tell her to stay, but she didn’t have time to indulge her personal fantasies today, and this place was too public for her to let down her guard.

  She downed the rest of her drink, set the glass on a nearby table, and glanced around the reception. The tents had filled with wedding guests and the revelry was well underway. Celia and Tony had just entered the room and were about to have their first dance, after which she would duck out and head to the don’s office for the first of many meetings the shield of this social event allowed him to have without the danger of being observed by the federal agents who constantly dogged their business.

  She watched the ostensibly happy couple skate across the dance floor, Celia looking like a butterfly and Tony like a caterpillar not quite ready to come out of its chrysalis, and she predicted Tony wasn’t going to last long in the overpowering presence of Celia, who would pose as the doting wife but would dominate his every move with her status as the don’s daughter, and her desire to curate her life to fit the picture she’d painted for herself. The pressure from his new wife would be as daunting as the pressure he would have to perform as the newest member of the Mancuso family. Part of her job today would be to introduce him to his new role.

  “The don is ready for you,” Neal whispered in her ear. “And thanks for not losing us on the way back here from the church.”

  “I’m saving my race car driving skills for a day I can really be alone. Today is not that day. Let’s start with Tony before he gets too deep into the bourbon. Give me ten minutes with the don and bring him up.”

  She edged away from the crowd and walked back into the house, avoiding the kitchen and the memories it held. But as she made her way up the back staircase, she spotted the linen closet on the landing and remembered spending an hour behind the door, in the dark, while she waited for Dominique and Celia to find her. She’d been too young and naive to realize they would never come looking for her near the servants’ quarters, but her mother had explained that no matter how close she and the Mancuso girls might be, there would be times when their worlds would diverge, and she would be left on the outside.

  “Which is why you have to be strong and fearless, cara. It’s the only way to survive in this world. You make decisions based on survival, and you hope that someday you’ll be safe and secure.”

  Years later, Siobhan remembered her mother’s words, the way her eyes flashed with determination when she spoke them and the firm cadence of her voice. She’d vowed then to heed the advice though she hadn’t fully understood what she meant. She knew now.

  She shook her head to clear away the memories and gripped the stair rail. She’d taken another step when she heard a voice call her name, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Royal standing a few feet away looking at her wit
h a curious expression. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

  “I’m always working,” Royal said, “but sometimes I’m working somewhere new, which means I don’t always know where I’m going.” She shrugged, her expression sheepish. “I seem to be lost.”

  Siobhan spent a moment analyzing Royal’s words before she decided they were genuine. Besides, she knew better than most how easy it was to get lost in this house. She pointed down the stairs. “Down one flight and take the hallway to your left. It’ll lead you to a door that exits the side of the house and you’ll be back at the party.”

  Royal nodded slowly. “And what about you?”

  Siobhan smiled. “I’m not lost.”

  A flicker of something crossed Royal’s face and she closed her eyes for a moment, like she was thinking. When she opened them, she returned the smile. “I suppose I need to get back to the party.” She turned and started to walk back down the stairs. Siobhan watched her go. One step, two steps…By the sixth step she couldn’t resist the urge to call her back. “Wait.”

  Royal turned slowly and met her eyes. “Yes?”

  “Come with me.” She stared at Royal, willing her to not ask questions, to trust whatever she had in store. Most people who worked in the don’s orbit would jump at the chance to do whatever his consigliere asked, but Royal took a moment before responding, which made Siobhan both curious and respectful.

  “My pleasure,” Royal said. She flourished her arm. “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Eight

  Royal’s heart pounded as she followed Siobhan up another flight of stairs, but it had nothing to do with the exertion of the climb. Where was Siobhan taking her? Siobhan had a reputation for assignations, but part of that reputation was not repeating the same act with the same woman, which could be a problem if they were headed toward an intimate meeting right now. She’d have to either find a way to delicately wriggle out of the situation or give in and convince Siobhan she wasn’t her typical fare in order to stay close enough to do her job. Wharton never should’ve whored her out on this job without a safety net, and she added this “favor” to the long list of reasons she was ready to be done with undercover work.