Chapter One
Luca
“Dude, you look like fucking Zorro.”
Alessandro holds a big-ass tray of chiocciole between us as he makes this proclamation. His brown eyes are wide, and he looks earnest, because Alessandro is an earnest kind of guy.
Still, I’ve gotta roll my eyes because they’re not behind a black mask. “It’s a bandana, not a mask, Alesso. And it’s over my mouth. I’m a train robber.”
He shakes his head, trying not to smile and failing, which makes his vampire teeth protrude over his lower lip. “You sure about that?”
“Sure I’m sure. Who are you—the Sesame Street guy?”
“I’m Count On It, cause I’m gonna get with something tonight, you can count on it.”
I laugh, and Alesso gives me an abashed grin. He jerks his chin over his shoulder and says, “There’s some ribollita that needs to go to the big table in the dining hall.” He nods at the swinging double doors that separate the kitchen from the hall. “The table has tall green shit and a bunch of tissue-papery white flowers. Leo fucking disappeared after he brought the empty tray in here, and the sterno flame is kinda exposed. I’m worried someone’s gonna catch their shirt on fire before we can drop another dish on top of that flame.”
I nod, walking around the counter behind Alesso to grab the stainless steel tray, weighted with ribollita. I clutch the hot serving dish by its edges and start toward the doors. “I gotcha covered, Count.”
He says, “Thank you” in what he must think is a Transylvania voice. It’s not even a little bit convincing, which is why I laugh.
I’m still grinning as I start down the long hall that runs alongside the dining room, adjoining ballroom, and several big rooms labeled “parlors.”
For this masquerade-themed festa, which runs from 9 p.m. to 1 in the morning, we’re at one of the ritziest buildings in Tribeca. Alesso said it’s owned by the Arnoldi family, and I’m sure he’s right. This is the wedding reception for Clarice DeBourn, the younger sister of Roberto Arnoldi. Yeah, that Roberto Arnoldi. Which makes Clarice the daughter of the infamous Lamberto Arnoldi.
Rumor is he might be in the building at some point tonight. It was also rumored he might walk the bride down the aisle this afternoon at her second wedding.
I just got here, so I haven’t really heard any of the new gossip. But even my mother had heard the news—and she was pissed. Lamberto, walking his divorced daughter to a priest in a church.
I try not to laugh at that as I make my way down the hall. I have to say “excuse me” half a dozen times as I move through a group of like nine women. I tip my head back when one catches my eye, giving her a smile. She looks good—but she’s old enough to be my nonna.
The woman beside her pulls a feathery pink mask away from her face, waggling her white eyebrows, and I laugh as I pass them.
“Look at that train robber,” I hear one of them say.
I move under an archway into the vast space of the dining hall, and my throat tightens a little. It’s not nervousness so much as claustrophobia. The room is almost as big as a high school gymnasium, and it’s packed with bodies wearing gowns, tuxes, and masquerade shit. The flowers smell, the perfume smells, the food smells…plus the talking, laughing, shrieking… I can hear music come from the ballroom. It’s orchestra-style and loud as fuck, with all the whiny violins and trombones.
I look for the table Alesso described and spot it right away, beside a big ice carving of…a naked woman. I frown at the thing, but yeah, that’s definitely a nude lady with pointy tits rising out of a crystal trough of…is that champagne? Why the hell didn’t Alesso use her for a point of reference?
That gets me laughing again—so much that I almost drop the ribollita. I squeeze between a group of girls and guys around my age, keeping my head down in case I know someone; it’s possible, given where I go to school now.
Finally, the fucking chafing dish is in its spot, covering the blue flame, and I take a second to look at the ice goddess.
I’m thinking of how I’ll rib Alesso when I see him in a minute. So although my gaze is aimed at the arched doorway leading back into the hall, I’m not really looking. But then someone steps into my frame of vision who looks like…
What the fuck?
I stop in my tracks and watch as the tall guy in the hall turns fully away from me and then steps into the shadows.
I make a beeline for the next arch down. The dining room is lined by arches like this all the way down its left side. They open into the hallway—so if I go through the next one down, I might be able to come up from behind him and—
Fuck! The hall is jammed with people again. I can see a group of men moving toward the ballroom, flanked by women and a waiter or two, but they’re too far away now to make out faces.
I take another second to try to chill the fuck out before pushing through the kitchen’s swinging doors. I tell myself I’m crazy. He wouldn’t be here. Not in a million years—for so many reasons. The fact that I’m seeing him, that my brain has got him showing up where I am, even though I know that he’s in Red Hook right now…
I don’t want to think about what that shit means, so I shoulder through the kitchen doors, where I almost collide with a big dude—like, giant-sized. He frowns at me. I’m wearing black pants, a white dress shirt, and a black bowtie—the clothes Alesso’s uncle makes us wear for these gigs—so even with the train robber bandana, I don’t think it’s hard to guess what I’m doing in the kitchen.
He gives me a nod, murmurs something into an earpiece, and passes through the doors.
As soon as he’s gone, my friend Leo steps around a support column—done in gray tile, just like the rest of this space—and bugs his eyes out at me.
“Dude, he’s here.”
“Uhh, huh?”
Leo’s eyes pop open wider—one is blue, and one is brown—and he waves his arms. “Roberto Arnoldi just got here and Lamberto is in here somewhere, too. That was Roberto’s guy asking me to bring up dinner for him. He’s in one of the libraries. He thought I was Luigi because—” Leo tugs on his jacket, which has Alesso’s uncle Luigi’s nametag. He laughs, sounding slightly deranged. “Do you want to take it up there?”
“What, you don’t?”
“Shit, no!”
“You scared to go up there?”
“Nah, man, I’m not scared.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Leo shrugs. “I don’t know man.”
I shake my head again and glance around for the plate. “Well, where is it?”
“I haven’t made it yet.”
I hesitate. If Roberto recognized me, that could be bad, but…I pull the bandana up over my face more.
“Would you recognize me, Leo, if you saw me around?”
“I’d think you were Zorro.”
What is with these guys? “Zorrto wears an eye mask.”
Leo shrugs, and I groan. “Make the plate. I’ll take it up there.”
I was probably a foot shorter when I had my run-in with Roberto. It’ll be fine.
Leo spazzes as he fixes the plate—really more a platter—and I try to talk him down without laughing at him. By the time I’m headed out of the kitchen, Alesso is coming back in.