Phantom

September 22, 1944

She shouldn’t be here.

Angelo’s too busy grabbing Genevieve’s gloved hand and placing a gentle kiss atop to notice my pointed glare. However, she takes a second too long to drag her thunderstruck gaze away from me before smoothing her expression into a soft smile.

It seems my friend forgot to mention a key detail about inviting the Salvatores’ new accountant. I was there when John took the oath of omertà, yet it didn’t cross my mind that Angelo would invite him to tonight’s festivities.

More still, I recognize that dress. It belongs to Angelo’s sister, Lillian, though I can’t deny how ravishing it looks on Genevieve, as if the seamstress stitched it just for her. If I wasn’t too busy panicking that she’s in a very dangerous domain, I’d steal her away and fuck her in it, only to rip it from her body with my teeth.

John’s detective friend, Frank Williams, stands on the other side of her, and he boldly glowers at Angelo for his flirtatious ways.

“Genevieve, Frank, this is Angelo Salvatore and his good friend, Ronaldo,” John introduces, motioning toward the two of us respectively.

I meet his stare, but he quickly looks away. Whenever he’s in my presence, I know he can feel my hatred for him rolling off me, and I make no effort to hide it.

The only reason he still breathes is because I’m deeply in love with his wife.

I hold out my left hand, palm up. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before grabbing hold of it. Holding her stare, I slowly place a kiss over her knuckles, enjoying the way she works to swallow. In those few short seconds, the world around us blurs, and the music fades into white noise, leaving just the two of us alone. At that moment, it’s only her and me. No mob boss. No husband. No witnesses to our sinful love affair.

Then I release her, and our surroundings come rushing back. She quickly tucks her hands to her sides, taking what seems to be her first breath since she first laid eyes on me.

Frank turns his burning stare in my direction, his upper lip threatening to curl. The man hates me, and the feeling is mutual. I shoot him a wink, provoking him. I’d love nothing more than for him to flip a wig. It would provide me with the perfect excuse to pop him.

The man is as corrupt as a detective can get and is also the one responsible for getting John into his bad gambling habit to begin with. A point of contention between him and Angelo as of late.

Frank insists he didn’t know John would get so bad, yet he kept bringing him back to the tables anyway, knowing that his best friend was digging himself deeper and deeper in the hole. Frank knows what happens to the men who owe Angelo money and can’t pay up, especially because he’s the one solving their cases after they’re whacked.

Something that never quite made sense to me.

Why would Frank push his best friend into the line of Angelo’s gun?

The question has burned me up inside since the moment Frank discovered John was a made man. He appeared disappointed by that news and had even picked a fight with Angelo about it, claiming John wasn’t to be trusted to handle the Salvatores’ money and that he’d put the entire operation at risk.

A declaration that had Angelo questioning my advice, which had my trigger finger twitching. Luckily, John is an ace and has done the opposite of Frank’s claims. Already he’s introduced a more streamlined method of laundering Angelo’s money through the multiple businesses he owns. Not only has he cut down on time to clean the money but he’s also increased Angelo’s profits.

“I trust the three of you will join in on the festivities?” Angelo prompts.

Frank rips his stare away only for it to land on Genevieve instead. He watches her closely as she eagerly engages with Angelo in conversation.

As I’ve said before, she’s a charming woman.

She falls into a relaxed candor, complimenting Angelo on his beautiful home and even asking him about the artist who painted the scene on the foyer’s ceiling.

She’s a natural, and without even realizing it, she holds all four of our attentions with ease, all of us completely beholden to her.

“My husband is aware of my eclectic taste in decor. Much to my mother’s dismay, I loved reading Edgar Allan Poe as a girl,” she explains, a light laugh tinkling from her throat as she affectionately squeezes John’s arm. It takes effort not to pull her toward me, then fire a bullet off in the man’s skull. He doesn’t deserve Genevieve’s hanging on his arm as if she’s a prize he won. He doesn’t deserve her at all. “I fear my love for all things gothic never went away, and I’ve made myself a bit of an outcast.”

“Oh, gobbledygook,” Angelo bellows loudly, waving a dismissive hand and howling theatrically.

I shoot him a quizzical look, tempted to laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him use the term gobbledygook, and it sounds ridiculous coming out of his mouth.

“I’m afraid it’s true!” Genevieve insists, wearing a bright smile and lighting up the entire damn room. “I tell ya’, some of the women think John here is Count Dracula. I’m ashamed to confess that I may have confirmed he was when I overheard them gossiping about it, and well—” She stares up at John sheepishly, and he smiles down at her, deepening my annoyance. “Now they think Seattle is being terrorized by vampires. Little do they know, I loved Mary Shelley growing up, so he’s more like Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Is he?” I drawl lazily, attracting her reluctant gaze. She’s tried her best to avoid my burning stare since I kissed her hand. “Your monster?”

Her smile slips for the briefest of seconds. Then she clears her throat, recuperating quickly. “He certainly has the head shape for it, don’t you think?”

John shoots her a chagrined look, and another obnoxious roar booms from Angelo’s throat. While I’ve seen him finish a few glasses of whiskey already, he’s certainly not sauced. If I allow him to keep it up, he’s going to attract his wife’s attention, and Carmella is a sharp-tongued viper. She also has a history of pointing a gun at a bird or two, convinced they had lain with her husband.

Truthfully, they probably had, but Angelo is skilled at lying through his teeth.

“John, Genevieve, Frank,” I address, pulling their attention away from the conversation. “I’m afraid Angelo and I have some business to attend to and a few other guests to entertain. But please, enjoy the party and indulge in as many refreshments as you like.”

I grab hold of Angelo’s arm and damn near drag him away.

“You trying to get that woman iced?” I growl beneath my breath, releasing his arm quickly.

“Oh, come on, Carmella is too preoccupied with the gossip and champagne to notice,” Angelo defends. “My two sons are leaving me tomorrow to head back overseas. I’m only drowning my sorrows. Do you know how hard it was to convince Congressman Caserta to pull some strings so they could come home for a week? The only reason he allowed it was because I nearly lost my life at his son’s restaurant. A place that guaranteed my safety.”

He’s rambling, and I know it’s because he truly is heartbroken to see his sons leave. The worst part is not knowing if they’ll come home again.

“Well, no reason to make it worse by enraging your very possessive wife,” I remind.

He sighs. “You’re right. Though I’m a little annoyed you prevented Paulie from stealing that woman away. I daresay she would’ve been a delight to have around.”

“She wouldn’t have survived long with the way you’re acting,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “I can understand why you’ve taken a liking to her, Ronnie. Just don’t cause trouble with John. I’d hate to have to punish you for sabotaging my favorite accountant.”

I say nothing and instead direct him to another guest. He’s swept away by a conversation while I stew.

It takes a matter of moments to find Genevieve on the dance floor, John’s arms wrapped around her.

He wears a large smile, content knowing that Genevieve belongs to him. And while he may never be wise to who she actually belongs to, I think my girl could use a reminder.