came running up to me. “Ericson is here!”
I let go of Nicoletta. Of course, Ericson was here! Why wouldn’t he be? Everyone else in Chicago seemed to be content to show up—invitation or no.
Alessandro went to step forward but I caught his arm. “I will handle that.” I jerked my chin to Ophelia. “Don’t let Nicoletta near Eloise.”
Eloise was being carted off by a nurse, but her eyes promised retribution. Ophelia tried to distract Nicoletta with her piano but the matriarch of the Rocchetti family refused to take her eyes off the French woman.
I sighed through my nose and went off toward the entrance, my husband by my side.
No one dared approach me with Alessandro beside me. In fact, they stepped away, casting their eyes down. Anything to stop the future Don of the Chicago Outfit from noticing them.
The contrast almost made me laugh. When I was alone, people rushed up to speak to me, but with my husband, I could have very well been a leper.
I didn’t particularly like one more than the other. But I did prefer having Alessandro’s warm presence beside me, large and protective. And terrifying.
My skirts swirled with my strides but flew to halt when I dug my heels into the ground. Before me, talking to some of security, was Mayor Alphonse Ericson.
“I do not remember inviting you,” I said calmly. To my surprise, Alessandro kept quiet, his hand pressed to my lower back.
“I am the mayor of Chicago,” Ericson hissed.
“You say that like it means something,” I replied. “You are not king, merely a representative of some people who decided they didn’t have any other plans on voting day.”
Ericson flushed in anger. “You cannot kick me out. The scandal could ruin this little side-project of yours.”
The charity was not my side-project. In fact, at the moment, my side-project was wondering how I could kill Ericson and get away with it.
“You are here without invitation. I do not think my reputation is the one that would take the hit,” I said.
A few curious onlookers had stepped closer, making this a lot more public than I wanted it to be. Not inviting Ericson would cause for some gossip, but my support of Salisbury had always been public enough that hopefully kicking out the mayor wouldn’t gather too much attention.
Hopefully, they just saw it as a political issue.
“I am—”
“Trespassing,” Alessandro said smoothly, always prepared to play the bad guy and save me from doing it. “Leave on your own accord or ours. But you will go.”
Ericson may not be afraid of me, but he was afraid of my husband. I saw him pale slightly at Alessandro’s rough tone and begin to contemplate his options. Either way, he would be humiliated—he should have thought about that before he showed up uninvited.
Obviously, Ericson was taking too long to make his decision. Alessandro waved a hand, and soldati formed from the shadows. They stepped close to Ericson but made no move to grab him.
The mayor’s own security turned white at the sight of them.
Mayor Ericson straightened, trying to claim back some of his dignity. “I only came by to say hello,” he said stiffly. This was all for show; the look he gave me as he turned to leave promised revenge.
Get in line, I wanted to gloat, but held my tongue. Instead I just smiled.
That only seemed to make him angrier.
When Ericson had left, I kissed Alessandro on his rough cheek. “Thank you,” I murmured. “That could have gotten very ugly and very public quickly if you hadn’t frightened him.”
Alessandro squeezed my back, making no move to wipe the lipstick I had left on his face off. “Of course, my love,” he said. “Hopefully, next time, it will get ugly. These things are so fucking boring.”
Despite all the people leaning in, I laughed, the sound bouncing off the lights and walls, almost louder than the sound of Nicoletta’s piano playing.
T he day it began to snow, Alessandro decided he was taking us away for the weekend.
“Is this really the time to be leaving Chicago?” I asked when he told me the news. “Your father and brother are still vying for the throne, Ericson is causing trouble, and the FBI are so quiet it’s scary.”
“Exactly why we need a holiday,” he told me. “It’s just for three days, my love. If you really cannot handle not being a mobster wife for seventy-two hours, then we will come home early.”
“Hilarious.”
However, I was glad for the break. The end of November signaled the