Chapter 9: The Dinner

The Falcone family dinner was held in the back room of a steakhouse, at a table for twelve with a white cloth that reached the floor.

Dominic sat at the head and put me at his right.

Nobody said a word about it, and everyone looked.

I wore a black dress he had sent to the hotel that afternoon.

The tag said my size exactly, and I had never told him my size.

I had decided to be annoyed about that later.

Silvio sat three seats down, in his grey cardigan, cutting a piece of veal.

Beside him sat Ethan.

He had a suit on and a fresh haircut, and he would not look at me.

His glass was empty.

The hand holding his fork was shaking.

"Mr. Regan is my guest tonight," Silvio told the table pleasantly. "He's been very helpful with an old matter. Boss, I hope that's all right."

"It's your table," Dominic said.

His voice was perfectly flat.

Under the cloth, his hand came to rest on my knee.

I almost jumped. I didn't.

"To new friends," Silvio said, and raised his glass at me.

The whole table raised theirs.

I raised mine because Dominic's thumb had started moving in a slow circle on the inside of my knee.

"A toast," said a man at the far end, "to the boss, who finally brought a lady."

Laughter went round.

Dominic's hand slid higher.

He kept his face turned to the man who was talking.

His thumb traced the inside of my thigh, and his fingers spread wide.

My breath went short.

I set my wine down very carefully.

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