I dropped my gaze from his.
“I wish you could. You have no idea how much I wish you could. Don’t for one second think that it’s easy for me knowing the woman I’m falling for is feeling alone and scared while living with another man.”
I glanced up; however, instead of meeting Max’s face, I met Vincent’s, who stood feet behind Max with his hands clasped together behind his back. His eyes slit with a seething anger.
Fear washed through my body as Max spun around. He braced his shoulders and rested his hands on his hips.
“Dinner has been served,” Vincent said.
“I’ll be right there.”
“Just as long as you are aware that I don’t like to be kept waiting, Miss Ford.” His heel dug into the tile floor as he spun and strode from the foyer toward the dining room.
As I brushed past Max, he grabbed my arm. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered.
“I know. I’ll just tell him the truth. I mean, the truth is always the truth, is it not?”
Max traced chin with his fingertips then his lips brushed against my forehead. “Please know that I meant what I said.”
A knot caught in my throat as I inhaled a deep breath and nodded.
“You should go. Vinny will be angry if you make him wait, but I’ll be in the kitchen if anything happens.”
With his last words, he marched away from me while I made my way to the dining room.
Flames flickered from the two lit candelabras sitting on the table. The softened light casted shadows all over the walls as my shoes whispered across the hardwood floor and onto the elegant, light patterned rug. It’s off color hues a contrast to everything else in the room.
My rump slid onto the luscious, velvety maroon cushion across the table from Vincent. My heart thumped. Each beat pounded in my ears as the nervous energy pulsed through my veins.
“I hope you like what is on the menu tonight. I had the chef prepare something special for us in honor of the celebration.”
“And what exactly are we celebrating?”
“Your success, of course.”
He lifted his glass to make a toast. The calmness in his tone clawed at my nerves and the smirk on his face stole my breath as I fetched the water glass in front of me. The water inside nearly spilled from my trembling hands as I took a sip and set it back down.
“Mr. Giovanni, I need to speak with you about something.”
“Yes, I agree that you do.”
“About the other night—”
Arthur strode into the dining room, interrupting my thought as he carried two plates of salad on a silver tray. He set mine down in front of me. Our eyes met and his unspoken concern flickered in the brown hue.
I gave him a slight nod. “Thank you, Mr. Phelps.”
“Would you care for pepper?” he asked.
“No, thank you. Not tonight.”
With a slight bow, he strode over to Vincent and set another salad bowl upon the table.
“Would you care for pepper, Mr. Giovanni?”
“Yes, please.”
My body flinched with each twist of the pepper grinder and I closed my eyes until I heard Mr. Phelps leave and the door swing shut behind him.
“So you were saying, about the other night?”
My eyes met Vincent’s gaze and my shoulders slouched in my chair from the weight of the words sitting on the tip of my tongue. I set my fork upon the white linen tablecloth and smoothed out a crease at the corner. My fingers trembled. My heart pounded.
“I don’t know where to begin, but I want you to know I never met Mr. Maranzano purposely.”
“I see. So what did happen, then?”
As I recounted the events of the night, Vincent studied my every syllable as though he searched for any hint, any notion that I had spoken a lie.
His eyes slit with skepticism as he not only ate his salad, but fetched the glass of wine in front of him and gulped several sips before he returned it to the table.
“I received a phone call regarding the shipment you said you delivered. It wasn’t until then that thought to speak to Bones because it was my understanding there hadn’t been any problems.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was just scared. However, what Bones told you was a lie. I didn’t meet with him. I didn’t conspire with him. I don’t even know him.”
Vincent rested his elbows upon the table and clasped his hands together. He said nothing, not a single word in response.
Did he believe me? Did he think I was lying?
Arthur entered the dining room once more carrying another large silver tray that he set down in the middle of the table.
Two silver domes covered the two plates, one of which he set in front of Vincent and the other in front of me.
Vincent unclasped his hands and whipped the folded napkin in the air with a flick of his wrist, laying the cotton square of material across his lap. He lifted the silver dome from his plate and closed his eyes as he inhaled the rich aroma.
“Have you ever had Petti d’anatra all’arancio Siciliano before?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“It’s one of the best ways to prepare duck. My grandmother made it for me often when I was young boy in Sicily.” He motioned for me to remove the dome from my own plate. “By all means, Miss Ford. Please, enjoy.”
My fingers trembled around the knob. With my stomach in knots, the sickness swirled, threatening to wretch at any second.
How was I ever going to choke down this meal?
As I lifted the dome, a glimmer of crimson blood reflected in the candlelight against the silver and a puddle oozed out from remains of a severed hand that lay upon the plate.
My shrill scream echoed through the room as I shoved my chair backwards, dropping the dome onto the floor. It bounced with a loud bong and teetered on its side.
I leapt from the chair and stumbled, falling to the ground with a hard thump. As I tried to regain my balance, my knees buckled. I covered my mouth and spun away, crawling until I reached the wall.
Max bounded into the room and lunged for me. His eyes wide, his lungs heaved as he knelt beside me.
“What happened? What did you do to her?”
“Leave us, Catalano,” Vincent demanded.
“Oh come on, Vinny, she doesn’t know anything about those stolen crates.”
“Leave us.”
Max rose to his feet and stood his ground. He braced himself against his boss with his fists clenched—a boldness I hadn’t seen in him before and from the look on Vincent’s face, neither had he.
“I’ve always done as you asked, always done my job, and been loyal to you and the family. However, this . . . this I won’t allow. I’m not leaving this room. She’s an innocent woman, Vinny. And she was thrown into something she didn’t ask for.”
Vincent’s eyes twitched then slit with fury. He ignored Max and squatted down in front of me, brushing my hair away from my face.
“If I haven’t made myself clear before, people don’t steal from me. Do you understand me? Because if they do, I make sure that they never do it again.”
“I didn’t steal from you.”
“Luckily for you, I believe you. As you can see Bones didn’t fare as well when he came to plead his case and blame his mistakes on you.”
I glanced at the hand lying on the floor with blood pooled around it. My whole body trembled against the wall and as I adjusted my weight, Vincent grabbed my chin, drawing my eyes to his.
“But know this; I don’t give third chances, Miss Ford. If anything else happens to make me doubt you, I will chop you up into so many tiny bits that no one will ever be able to piece you back together in order to identify you. Do I make myself clear?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Get her out of here.” As Vincent stood, Max bent down and wrapped his arms around me. His embrace so tight I felt his growl toward his boss rumble through his chest.
>
“And Catalano, I expect you in my office after you take Miss Ford to her bedroom.”
SIXTEEN
SEVERAL VOICES RESONATED from downstairs as I slipped the satin elbow length glove over my trembling arm.
Another one of Vincent’s parties, another night of sauntering around a room full of people I didn’t know or care to know.
Yet, this night was different.
This night I knew a truth that no one else knew. Blind and ignorant to the crimes of their host, the guests chatted and laughed as though they didn’t have a worry in the world.
Of course, they didn’t. It wasn’t their hand chopped off and served up for a main dish.
I shook the horror from my mind and gazed upon my reflection in the mirror. Once again, another stranger stared back at me, trapped in a life that was slowly suffocating her.
I slipped my feet into heeled shoes. The soft leather hugged my soles and warmed my toes as thunder and lightning boomed and cracked outside my window.
Cool night air chilled the windows along with the uncomfortable air in the room that not even the fire blazing in the hearth could fight.
A knock rapped against the bedroom door.
“Come in.”
Arthur entered the room without shutting the door behind him. “Mr. Giovanni and his guests are waiting for you, Miss Ford.”
“I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Very well.” He heaved a deep sigh.
I met his gaze through the reflection of the mirror. Concern and worry sparkled in his eyes with a difference that twisted in my gut. Something else plagued him. Something he didn’t know if he desired to divulge. A trouble that haunted him more than my own troubles haunted me.
“Is something the matter?” I asked.
His eyes darted to the floor and he bit his lip as though he fought the urge to deny my question by simply shaking his head.
“Arthur?”
“I’m afraid that Mr. Giovanni is not in the greatest of moods tonight.”
“I see.” I inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly, remembering the outcome of his not so great mood last night. “Can you see if Max has a moment to speak with me before I go downstairs?”
“Mr. Catalano isn’t here.”
My heart skipped. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mr. Catalano isn’t here. I haven’t seen him all day, actually.”
“He hasn’t been here? Hasn’t called?”
“No.” His voice barely a whisper, and yet, his tone rang with a volume that trembled through the core of my body.
Why wasn’t Max here? He’d always been here before, was always around, always wanted at Vincent’s side, the second in command, as Ester once informed me.
I marched toward the door and shoved past Arthur as he stood with his head hung and shoulders hunched.
My own worry stole my breath and I trotted down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time toward the celebration in the parlor.
“Hello, Miss Ford,” a man’s voice uttered behind me as a hand grabbed my wrist.
I spun around and yanked myself free from Ducky De Luca’s grip.
“Good evening, Mr. De Luca.”
“You seem like you’re in an awful big hurry.”
“I’m looking for Mr. Giovanni. Have you seen him?”
“I haven’t seen him since I arrived. Perhaps he’s in the parlor with his guests.” Ducky stirred closer to me, his body inches from mine. “If you can’t find him, though, you’re more than welcome to join me for a drink.”
Like that will ever happen.
“Ah, yes, um, I’ll keep that in mind, if I can’t find him, I mean.”
Before he could say another word, I trotted off to the parlor, unable to shake the goose bumps flecking my skin.
Upbeat saxophones and trumpets blared from the record player while clouds of smoke billowed from the doorway.
I wiggled past a few scantily clad women laughing and chatting near the parlor doors, ignoring their blather about their beautiful pearls and high priced shoes as I entered the room.
Several men lounged amongst the luscious cushions of the couch and chairs as they indulged themselves with cigars in one hand and glasses of whiskey or scotch in the other.
Deep in conversation about lively nights with whores, guzzling hooch, or winning thousands in poker games, their boastful excitement mirrored how someone would speak of the World Series, a fabulous restaurant, or some other special event in ones’ life with admiration and devotion to their sinful acts.
A few other ladies dressed in far less clothing than the two at the door, giggled at the bad jokes and degrading banter while either sitting in the men’s laps or perched like canaries on a corner of an end table or on an arm rest of the couch or chair.
The entire scene played with more of a hedonistic difference than from the party several days ago as though depraving amusement and games of perversion fueled everyone’s mood.
Each smiling face was nothing more than a blur and their mindless chatter and empty, cackling laughter echoed off the hollow walls that began to close in upon me.
I fled the room, shoving past the two women a second time as I escaped down the darkened hallway and into the dining room. My pace halted by two figures nestled in the dark corner.
With his back toward me, Vincent paced in front of a seedy-looking man dressed in a black suit.
“I can’t find him, Mr. Giovanni. He’s not at the apartment or the warehouses. I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Well, you better find him. Catalano is not to see the light of day tomorrow, do you hear me. I want him taken out tonight.”
Taken out? Tonight?
I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the gasp fighting to leave my lips.
The unknown man’s eyes darted toward me and narrowed as his lips curled with a snarl, exposing his yellow stained teeth.
Vincent’s shoulders stiffened at the sight of the man’s reaction and he spun around to face me.
“Ah, good evening, Miss Ford.”
His casualness haunted me and the sheer emotional void in his eyes left me short of breath.
I retreated a few steps, just mere inches from the doorframe to the hallway with two options before me. Either I flee this house in this very moment or I pretend as though I hadn’t heard what he said.
A pendulum of emotions swung back and forth. No matter what I did, someone would pay the price if I chose wrong. Not to mention, I doubted I would make it to the front door alive.
“Good evening.”
With my eyes fixed upon his, my feet rooted in the doorway. Silence fell upon both of us as though we both danced around thoughts and questions that only the other could answer, and yet, we didn’t dare ask.
“May I get you a drink?” He slithered toward the table and before I could answer, he scooped up a glass of water and outstretched his hand.
I glanced from the water to him then shook my head.
He returned the glass. “You look gorgeous tonight. Although, I suppose you always do.”
“Well, that’s only because you always pick out the most beautiful dresses for me to wear.”
He chuckled. “Clothes can make the man . . . or in your case, woman, although, it’s easy to choose a dress knowing that no matter what you choose, the woman will make it even more beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
The man behind him cleared his throat, the elephant in the room that neither of us seemed to want to acknowledge.
Vincent’s tension further tightened through his shoulders. His eyes shifted sideways as though to glance over his shoulder without actually moving his head.
Footsteps thumped behind me and the heat of another body, just inches from me, warmed the skin on the back of my neck. The scent of the familiar cologne whispered against my nose, a fragrance I’d smelled every time I was in the presence of Ducky.
Vincent clasped his hands behind his back and clicked his tongue. “Ducky would you
please accompany Miss Ford to the parlor. I require a moment alone with Sal to see to a rather important business matter before I join my guests for the evening.”
As fingers wrapped around my arm, I jerked away from them.
“I’m actually not feeling well, Mr. Giovanni, which is why I came looking for you. I think . . . I think perhaps I should just retire for the night.”
“Do I need to send for a doctor?”
“No, no, I just have a rather painful headache.” To further my excuse, I brushed my hand against my temple and pretended to squint from the light. “I’m sure a night’s rest is all I need. I shall have Mr. Phelps bring me aspirin and perhaps I’ll take a long bath before I go to bed.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“Yes, I’m sure and thank you for the concern. I apologize for the interruption. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Suspicion flickered in Vincent’s eyes as he studied my every movement with an intensity that punched me in the gut like an imaginary fist.
“No apology necessary, I assure you. I hope you feel better and I shall see you in the morning.”
With a fake pained nod, I hobbled from the room. As soon as I reached the stairs, out of their line of sight, I fled at a brisk pace. My thundered footsteps at a near run by the time I reached my bedroom. I shoved open the door so hard that the wood collided with the wall with a loud thud.
My sweaty fingers ripped at the material of my dress until it landed on the floor in a heap. The pearl buttons clanked against one another as I scooped it into my arms, flung it across the bed, and then slipped into the one dress I did own, my mother’s, that had been shoved into the back corner of the closet.
Tonight would be the last night I’d resemble a Hollywood starlet. Tonight would be the last night I’d play the role of a dress-up doll because of someone’s lust for black mail.
I tiptoed down the long hallway, leaving the room I’d called home for the last couple of weeks. Not a long time, by any measure, but long enough to know I never wanted to return.
My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach as stepped off the last stair into the empty foyer.
Guests still laughed and chatted as the party continued in the parlor room, their drunken banter barely audible over the record player blaring at high volume.
As the Liquor Flows Page 15
