We both looked around the ballroom of the hotel hosting the reception. The Abellis stayed on one side of the room, while the Russos congregated on the other. The most enthusiastic pair was Luca, who leaned against the wall, chewing on a toothpick and staring at the other famiglia, while Nadia Abelli, the party police, flipped through a Vogue magazine. Even the kids watched each other like the others weren’t vaccinated.

“Lively bunch, aren’t they?” I said.

“Honestly, I’m just glad they’re being cordial. For a while, I was sure Papà and Nico would end up killing each other before the wedding.”

“Ohmygod!” The shriek came from behind us.

Elena closed her eyes before pasting on a smile and turning around to greet Jenny, her brother’s cheating girlfriend and one of Ace’s ex-flings.

“Oh no, I’ve just remembered I’m parched,” I dead-panned.

“Of course you have,” Elena muttered through her smile.

I drifted toward the beverage table, not the bar. If I couldn’t even remember who had taken me home the other night, I needed to stay clear of alcohol. As for my growing suspicion that it had been a certain Russian, and considering the way he’d taken care of me . . . well, I didn’t even want to think about it. Especially since less than two weeks ago, he’d insinuated I was easy, a boring lay, and had low self-esteem in one hit.

My gaze unwillingly searched him out for mere self-protection. Everyone knows where their enemy is in the room. He was either schmoozing some socialite in a dark corner or he wasn’t here.

“Gianna! I thought that was you.”

I turned to see Samantha Delacorte, AKA the Most Superficial Woman in New York City, beelining straight to me.

I forced a smile. “Samantha, how nice to see you.”

She air-hugged me, leaving a cloud of sensual perfume I could hardly see through when she pulled back.

“I’m not wedding-crashing, I swear,” she said. “I saw you from the lobby and wanted to say hello. Honestly, Gianna, it’s been too long. Are you . . .” She looked me up and down, grimacing at my blue halter tutu dress. “All right?”

I copied the sickly-sweet tone of her voice. “Honestly, I’ve been so busy—charities, weddings, tickets to the race tomorrow—I must have forgotten to keep in touch. I am so sorry.”

“Oh no . . .” she started.

I blinked.

“I sure hope Vincent didn’t forget to invite you to our trip tomorrow. The end-of-the-summer Bahama trip on his yacht?” She put a hand on my arm, fake pity shining in her eyes. “I’m sure it was just a mistake. I’ll talk to him—”

“No worries, Samantha,” I said blandly, sizing up the room. “I’ve found I’m allergic to the sea.”

“Bummer.” She pouted.

My gaze stopped on the bar, and I stared longingly.

“Well, Vincent, a few others, and I are up in the penthouse suite watching the game. Go, Yanks! You should stop by after this . . . eventful little party. I’m sure Vincent wants to see you, no matter what he says.” The sympathy in her eyes barely concealed her satisfaction.

To be honest, I was a little stung Vincent hadn’t reached out to me at all. But I knew it was for the best—there could never be anything between us like he wanted. I did miss his friendship, however.

“I’m not going to be able to make it.” I pouted. “I made plans with my cat weeks ago.”

“Shame. Well, don’t be afraid to stay in touch. We all go through periods of depression, you know.”

She air-kissed me on the cheeks and then drifted away.

I sighed.

Took a sip of the punch only the kids were drinking.

Tapped my heel on the floor.

This no-alcohol-and-drugs vow was working out just fine—

Val stopped nearby and shook a pack of cigarettes at me with a raised brow.

“Oh, thank God.”

I set my punch on a random table and followed her out the door.

“You wanna know the gossip I just heard in the ladies’ room?” she asked as we sat on a bench outside the hotel doors and lit a cigarette.

“No.”

“It has to do with Christian.”

I might hate him, but I still wanted to unravel him like a cat with a ball of yarn.

“Continue.”

She chuckled. “You know Jacie Newport—blonde, tall, disgustingly perfect—a member on the ACA charity board?”

I nodded.

“Well, I bumped into her in the bathroom—literally, mind you. She used to see Christian years ago, I remembered, and so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to find out just how he operates.”

I crossed my legs and leaned back. “Please, tell me you’re not still interested in him.”

“A woman would have to be dead not to be interested, Gianna.”

“Just call me Elvira,” I muttered.

“Pretty sure she wasn’t undead, but I get your point.”

I wanted to tell her Allister was Russian. Italians didn’t have a great affiliation with Russians here in New York. The Cosa Nostra and Bratva didn’t clash often, but when they did, it was a time us women sat around wondering if our husbands would come home. If I told her, maybe it would turn her off. Though, for some reason, I kept it to myself. I didn’t want her to know his secret. It was mine.

“Anyway, turns out the fed doesn’t stick around with the same woman for long.”

I scoffed. “That’s all the gossip you got? I could have told you that.”

“Well, surely, you didn’t know he’s only with the same woman a very specific three times.”

I frowned. “Like, three dates?”

“More like, three times between the sheets.” She smirked. When I still looked confused, she added, “Three romps in the sack? Three rolls in the hay?” I blinked. “Playing hide the pickle? Doing the horizontal hustle—?”

“Are you saying he only sleeps with the same woman three times?”

“I’m truly impressed with how quickly you put that together,” she said dryly.

My mind whirled.

Tap, tap, tap.

The rhythmic tapping of his finger, the adjusting of his cuffs, the turning of his watch, it all played in my head on a reel.

God, the man was more disturbed than I had thought.

“What if they never get to sex? Does foreplay count as one of the times?” The vision of his head between my legs and my fingers interlocked with his flashed through my mind.

She chuckled. “I don’t know. Trying to figure out if you have two or three turns left?”

“Please. You’re the one who wants him, not me.”

“Mmhmm.”

I ignored the sarcasm in her voice.

Silence settled between us for a moment as we both took a pull on our cigarettes.

“Speak of the devil,” she muttered.

My gaze followed hers down the sidewalk to see Allister walking toward us. His eyes were already on me, filled with a magnetism that made everything beyond broad shoulders and straight lines disappear.

“And who is he with?” Interest laced through her voice.

I finally noticed he had a companion. The stranger was dressed like a model in a magazine, in a charcoal suit and skinny red tie, but his eyes shone with the darkness only a member of the underworld could exude. He was handsome, but that was inconsequential compared to the intrigue that screamed with each step he took.