Page 72 of Her Dark Salvation

I waited in the strained silence, unable to imagine the thoughts and emotions racing through his head. Over the past few weeks, I’d come to understand how important his business and his staff were to him. He treated DEI like an extension of his family, and I’d just given him proof that one or more of his family members had stabbed him in the back. Right under the nose of someone he considered a son.

When he finally turned back to face me, he exercised his exacting control; he dropped his arms, rolled his shoulders, and relaxed his jaw and forehead.

The impenetrable Marco DeVita stood before me once again. He’d walk out of this room and join his COOs like nothing happened. But I knew the extent of anger and hurt he’d just caged. He was a powder keg, ready to blow, and I hoped for his sake, and theirs, none of them were the fuse.

ChapterTwenty

Anna

The Range Rover pulled up to the curb behind a line of town cars, limousines, and cabs waiting for their turn to stop in front of Terme di Boston. There wasn’t a huge crowd outside the velvet ropes, but photographers, the local news, and a few passing tourists looked on and snapped pictures as the Who’s Who of Boston, decked to the nines in formal attire and equally dazzling smiles, were ushered inside.

My dress roused a healthy measure of exasperation and excitement, but more than anything, a warm flutter in my chest.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when my morning coffee was interrupted by a delivery man carrying a massive box from Nieman Marcus topped with a glittering gold bow. I’d stared at the box in confusion as I set it on my dining room table. Sophie had attacked the bow while I’d opened the unmarked envelope.

Your dress for tonight.

M

Of all the arrogant presumption…

I shook my head and smiled remembering the burst of indignation I’d had reading the card that morning. And how quickly it had vanished as soon as I’d peeled back the tissue paper.

My hand had flown to my mouth in a move reminiscent of an over-acted period drama. Blood-red material was buried within gold paper, and a Givenchy label announced the extent of my buried treasure. With shaking hands, I ran my fingers over the dress like it was a dream that might vanish under the reality of my touch. I pinched the thin straps, pulled the evening gown out of its box, and giggled, literally giggled, at the plunging neckline of the narrow bodice.

The gown was a work of art. The bodice tapered following the deepVof the neckline, and the soft, springy material was ruched from its bottom to the slit that travelled from the floor to mid-thigh. Equally daring, the back of the dress was missing, for lack of a better word. Instead, a short train of material pooled at the floor.

The dress was beautiful. I’d never worn anything so exquisite, and gooseflesh pebbled my skin in anticipation of wearing it for Marco.

Iwas beautiful. Anna Barone, a modern-day Cinderella decked out in Givenchy and arriving in her Range Rover carriage to meet her Prince Charming.

Well, maybe not that last part. Marco was about as charming as a lion in heat. But I couldn’t deny my life had changed since he’d been in it.

The wallflower professor would never have worn anything so daring and attention-grabbing, much less walk a red carpet lined with cameras. He knew that. The dress was a nudge, however presumptuous, and his encouragement tugged at my heartstrings. I was nervous as hell, but armed with Marco’s support and the confidence I’d gained over the past few weeks, I was ready to enter the gala with my head held high.

Vito inched us forward the final car length, and my palms started to sweat. Great. Classic Anna. I wiped them on my coat and wondered what I was going to do inside sans coat when my nerves kicked into high gear. I grabbed my clutch and took several deep breaths while Vito walked around the outside of the car to open my door.

“You’ve met the Don of Boston,” I mumbled to myself, “witnessed a shakedown at city hall, fended off an FBI agent, and interrupted a mafioso poker game in an illegal gambling club. You can handle a few cameras, Anna.”

The door opened and bright lights lit up the night, a bewildering blitzkrieg of flashes and brilliance. Vito offered me his hand, and I climbed out, teetering on the strappy heels I’d bought as soon as I’d seen the dress. The sea of lights and people and noise overwhelmed me, and I squeezed Vito’s hand worried if I let go, I might drown.

“You know boxing?”

I glanced at Vito, confused. “A little.”

“Get your guard up. It’ll protect you no matter what punches they throw.”

The sage advice in Vito’s gruff, familiar voice buoyed me like a life preserver. I nodded, released his hand, and lifted my chin with an air of bravado I didn’t have but did my dress justice. No one had to know my palms were sweating or that I was silently thanking God none of the cameras were pointed at me. I strutted toward the entrance, my feigned confidence my guard.

Out of the corner of my, I caught a glimpse of dirty-blond hair and a tan trench coat. Agent Johnson tracked me from behind the small group of photographers. I kept my eyes focused on the entrance, blocking the punch while maintaining my balance.

But my dream of flying under the radar was dashed halfway down the red carpet with a firm hand on my lower back. “Right on time.” Marco’s deep voice and the intoxicating scent of expensive aftershave and cigar smoke flooded my awareness.

Someone must have caught sight of my elusive boss before I did; one click and flash later and all the cameras were trained on us in a blinding array of attention. Marco stepped next to me, ignoring them all, and offered me his arm.

God, he was gorgeous. The silver streaks in his slicked-back hair glinted beneath the flashing cameras, and his black eyes smoldered above the harsh angles of his cleanly shaved jaw. The tuxedo’s sleek lines hugged his powerful frame, the designer cut made sexier knowing the hard body hidden underneath.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said as he led us down the red carpet.

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