Mercenary (Gangsters of New York #3) - Bella Di Corte Page 0,55

married to the famed opera singer Rosaria Caffi, but they had an arrangement. They fooled around with other people. Rocco made me an offer, and I turned him down. It was not something I was comfortable with.

I could have told Rocco about Junior, but I did not want to involve them. I did not want to owe them. Anything.

It did not feel like we were in the car long before we pulled up to La Scala.

I turned in my seat. “The opera?” I should have known. We were listening to opera music on the ride.

Corrado nodded. “It’s a special night. There’s a certain dress code—women in gowns and men in tuxedos. The proceeds from ticket sales go to a charity.”

That made sense. The Fausti famiglia were big on charitable events. The fancier, the better.

Corrado left the car running as he got out, and Adriano came from behind and slid into the driver’s seat. Corrado only trusted Adriano and Nunzio to watch or park his cars.

“This is something out of a dream,” I said as we walked hand in hand into the theater. The air was cool, and I could smell the history floating in it. It was like opening a very old book in a chilled room. I wondered what story it would be telling tonight.

“L’Europa Riconosciuta,” Corrado answered after I had asked. “It was the premiere performance when the house first opened in 1778.”

We were running late, so we took our seats right away. Nunzio sat on Corrado’s side; Adriano sat on mine. No one could get close to us.

My eyes took in the boxes along the walls. They were lined in red velvet, and the details on the outside were done in gold. I narrowed my eyes some. In the box directly across from the stage, I thought I recognized Rocco and Rosaria, along with Uncle Tito and his wife, Lola.

I glanced down at my program. Rosaria’s younger sister, who was also a soprano, was starring in the show. They were one of Italy’s finest opera families. I thought maybe the couple next to them was Brando, Rocco’s older brother, and his wife, Scarlett. She was a famous ballerina. They had a picture of her in the hallway on the way to the theater.

I looked around just before the lights went dim and the show started. I wondered how many of these men were like my husband.

I did not think on it long, not when the music seemed to steal my attention. At the sound of her voice, I grew cold, but inside, I felt warmed. The entire production was nothing like I had ever experienced before.

My eyes were glued to the stage.

My husband’s eyes were on me.

Every once in a while, he would take my hand and place a warm kiss over my wedding rings. Especially when one touching scene made me cry.

Before long, it was time for intermission. The halls were packed with people, but at least there was not a wait in the bathroom. Rosaria stood next to Scarlett, fixing her makeup, but I did not stop to make conversation. I had enjoyed talking to Scarlett once or twice, but Rosaria had never grown on me.

I stood outside of the bathroom for a second, looking for Adriano. He usually stayed close to me when Corrado was not. I tried to stand on my toes, even in heels, looking for him, but I did not see him in the crowd. I did not see Corrado, either.

As I searched the many different faces, my eyes crashed with a man’s who was standing across from me. He was dressed in a suit. It seemed like he was waiting for someone, but he never moved from his spot. He kept staring at me.

My heart started to race, and I gripped the dress in my hands, my knuckles straining.

Where was Corrado? Adriano? Nunzio?

A group of women leaving the bathroom together were walking close, but not close enough that they would notice me if I slipped close to them. I glanced over my shoulder as we walked, weaving around more foot traffic, and the man followed.

I picked up the pace. So did he.

I was walking so fast that it could have been considered a slow jog. He was not far behind. He weaved in and out of people.

“Ah!” I slammed into a chest. Two strong hands gripped my arms, and I almost flung them off until I realized who it was. “Rocco.”

“Alcina,” he said. “What are you doing here?” he asked