I swallowed as he took a step back and walked away from me.

“Name’s been with me ever since.”

“What about her?”

“Bitter and bisexual,” Adriana answered blandly, taking a sip of wine from her seat beside me at the island.

“How can you tell she’s bisexual?” I asked.

“She’s checked out Gianna’s boobs and Benito.”

I paused. “Well, her boobs are kind of distracting.”

My sister tilted her head, regarding Gianna’s breasts. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The penthouse was full of about twenty Russos I hardly knew. The women stood in a corner, talking amongst themselves, and the last thing I wanted to do was small talk. Adriana should have been getting to know them better, but she never did anything by the book.

Papà was speaking to Nico, who had just come out of his room freshly showered and dressed in a black suit. Mamma’s smile was fake—she was doing a poor job of feigning interest in Nicolas’s aunt’s conversation. And Adriana and I sat here, playing a game where we judged people by two words, only because Mamma took my sister’s phone—and therefore Angry Birds—and yelled at her to get off the floor.

So far, Adriana thought everyone looked bitter and had some kind of secret sexuality. I didn’t think she was giving this game her all.

She still hadn’t shared with me why she’d been so upset last night, and that could mean two things: she’d given it some thought and decided it wasn’t as bad as she initially believed; or, the one I was concerned about—she’d decided not to listen to his demands. How would Nicolas deal with that? My stomach tightened.

“Your turn,” Adriana said, picking at the label on my empty wine cooler.

At that moment, the door swung open and a groaned “Why?” escaped my lips.

Tony stood on the other side of the door with Jenny. Her blond hair was down, her dress was tight and navy blue, the same color as her eyes as they landed on us. “Ohmygod, hi! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you!”

Adriana rolled her eyes. She hated fake cheer, or really, just cheer in general. It wasn’t my favorite either, but I understood fake better than anyone.

I nudged my sister’s shoulder, silently telling her to be nice.

Jenny’s screech brought everyone’s attention to the door. Nico’s gaze landed on her while speaking to my papà. I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for him to glance away to finish his sentence, uninterested.

Tony headed to Benito and Dominic, who hung out near the minibar, and Jenny came straight to us. I tensed as my brother walked by Nicolas, and then let out a breath when there was no altercation. They only glanced at each other with indifference. I’d never understand men.

“I’m so happy for you, Adriana,” Jenny said as she reached us. “Your wedding is so soon.” It looked like Jenny wanted to hug her, but my sister’s expression made it clear she didn’t want to be touched. Jenny took an awkward step back after coming too close.

I tried to lighten the mood and smiled. “How are you, Jenny? I hear you’re graduating culinary school soon.”

“Yes, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as good a cook as Celia.” She said it loudly enough for my mamma to hear, who only pursed her lips and sipped her cocktail.

I swore Adriana muttered, “Suck-up.”

Truthfully, nobody liked Jenny.

Papà frowned when he saw her, and Mamma pretended she wasn’t here. My father’s reason was that she wasn’t Italian or connected to the Cosa Nostra, and therefore a liability. Jenny knew what my family was involved in, though she never let on she did. She wasn’t faithful to Tony, which meant she didn’t love him. In this life, there was only one reason a woman from the outside would stick around with a man she didn’t love: money.

Jenny was a gold digger.

A nice one, but a little gold digger, indeed.

Tony was paying for her classes, her apartment, and the diamond bracelet on her wrist.

I’d always tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but after seeing her very naked on Nicolas’s phone a couple nights ago, I realized I was wrong.

She grew up in the foster system, in a poor home. I couldn’t dislike her for trying to make her life better any way she could, but I didn’t like that she was pulling on my brother’s heartstrings for her own gain.

I never confronted anyone, though.

No one besides Nicolas Russo, anyway.

“Well, you’re definitely better than Adriana and I combined,” I said with a laugh. Nico’s gaze found me, lingering, and I swallowed. “You’ll have to give us some pointers some time.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Jenny exclaimed.

Two quiet knocks sounded on the door, and Gianna pulled herself away from a conversation with Valentina Russo to answer it.

When I saw it was Christian standing on the other side, I sat straighter in my chair. Brown hair combed back, in a navy suit and red tie, his countenance appeared welcoming. Only his icy blue eyes seemed to fit with the cold resonance he carried around.

Every woman in the room turned to stare—even my mamma’s eyes widened on him. They might as well have taken their panties off and thrown them at him it was so obvious. Nicolas’s gaze warmed my face, but I refused to look at him.

Once Gianna noticed who it was, her head rolled with annoyance, and she tried to shut the door on him.

With one hand and indifference, Christian easily kept it open.

Gianna turned to walk away, but he stopped her by grabbing her wrist, and then pulled her closer.

I watched, enraptured.

I didn’t want Gianna to be involved with Christian because I needed him, but there was something compelling about the dressed-to-the-nines agent and the walking fashion disaster that was Gianna. They were so different, and yet . . . maybe not so different at all.

Gripping her chin, Christian looked into her eyes with scrutiny. He shook his head with a slight grimace, before shoving her face away. Gianna muttered something that looked to be stronzo—asshole—and then stomped away on her stilettos.

Christian must have noticed she was high, but it didn’t look like Gianna cared at all what he thought. So, what was their relationship? Maybe she was his stepmother, too. She was married to a man three times her age, though I noticed she never wore a ring.

Adriana’s gaze landed on Christian, before she announced, “Perfectionist.” She paused, tilted her head. “Straight as an arrow.”

Well, at least that was on my side.

“Judges, lawyers, and politicians have a license to steal. We don’t need one.”

—Carlo Gambino

I WAS POURING A COUPLE fingers of whiskey neat when Adriana came up beside me. I eyed her as she grabbed the vodka decanter and then filled a tumbler three-fourths full.

She glanced at me, looked away, and then flicked her gaze back to me when she noticed my attention. “What?”

“Maybe try to hide your alcoholism from me from now on.”

“Let me continue my classes and I will.”

“Would you rather be safe, or happy?”

She blinked as if it were a much more complicated question. “Both, I think.”