Page 3 of Letters From Victor

Without looking at me, Dorothy asked, “Who is it we’re meeting tonight?”

“Frank Evans,” I answered.

“And what does Frank do?” Dorothy’s monotone didn’t match her questions.

“Insurance,” I replied, watching the play of emotions on her face—or rather, the lack thereof.

“An insurance man?” Dorothy arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I thought you preferred to associate with people with more…influence.”

I chuckled, the sound low and humorless. “Frank may not be the most exciting dinner companion, but he has his uses. His firm insures some of my most valuable properties. It pays to keep him happy.” I adjusted my tie. “Besides, Frank is…impressionable. With the right persuasion, he could be a valuable asset to our business.”

Dorothy let out a small, humorless laugh. “Ourbusiness? Since when do I have any say in your affairs, Victor?”

I clenched my jaw, biting back a sharp retort. “This dinner is important, Dotty,” I said, my voice low and measured.

She finally turned to look at me, her dark eyes cold. “Play the sweet, charming wife. I know the drill.”

I ignored her jab, instead focusing on the glittering lights of the city as we drove through the heart of downtown. Staring out the window as our drive passed in icy silence, my mind drifted to the dinner ahead and the potential opportunities it presented.

As Gino pulled up to the restaurant, I noticed Frank Evans and his wife already waiting outside. Frank looked every bitthe unremarkable insurance salesman in his ill-fitting suit and nervous smile. But his wife caught my eye. She was a vision in an elegant black dress, her blonde hair catching the light like a halo. The neckline of her dress accentuated deliciously ample breasts. She was tall, slender, and carried herself with stunning poise.

I exited the car and walked around to open Dorothy’s door, offering her my hand. She took it reluctantly, her skin cool against mine. We approached the other couple and plastered on fake smiles.

“Frank, good to see you,” I said, shaking his hand and clapping his arm. “Do introduce me to your vision of a wife.”

Frank cleared his throat nervously. “Mr. Cardello, this is my wife, Barbara.”

Barbara extended her hand gracefully. “A pleasure to meet you both.” Her voice was like honey—smooth and alluring—with a soft, airy quality, like a film star.

I took her hand, bowing my head to place a chaste kiss on her soft skin. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Evans. I must say, you look absolutely stunning this evening.”

Barbara’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she withdrew her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Cardello. You’re too kind.” Her blue eyes sparkled.

“Please, call me Victor.”

Dorothy cleared her throat. I stepped back and ushered her forward.

“This is my wife, Dorothy. Dorothy, this is Frank and Barbara Evans.”

Dorothy surveyed our dinner companions with a cool, appraising gaze. “Shall we head inside? I’m famished.” Her tone was clipped, impatient.

“Of course, darling,” I replied smoothly, offering her my arm. She took it, her grip a little too tight to be friendly.

As we entered the restaurant, I couldn’t help but steal another glance at Barbara. She moved with a graceful elegance, her black dress shimmering beneath the chandeliers. There was something captivating about her—a vivacious spark of life.

The maître d’ led us to a private table in the back, away from the prying eyes of the other diners. I pulled out a chair for Dorothy, and she sat down without so much as a glance in my direction. Frank, however, did not do the same for Barbara.

As we settled in, a waiter appeared with a bottle of champagne. I nodded my approval, and he began to pour the bubbling liquid into our glasses.

“To new friendships and prosperous partnerships,” I toasted, raising my glass. The others followed suit, and a pure note rang out as the crystal flutes clinked together.

I took a sip of the chilled champagne, the effervescent bubbles dancing on my tongue. As the conversation began to flow, I found my eyes repeatedly drawn to Barbara. She listened attentively to Frank’s mundane anecdotes about the insurance business, nodding and smiling at all the right moments. But there was a distant look in her eyes—a restlessness lurking beneath her polished exterior.

Dorothy, on the other hand, remained aloof and disengaged, her gaze flickering around the room. She sipped her champagne with a detached air, her red lips leaving a faint imprint on the glass.

An awkward hush settled over the table, so I seized the opportunity to steer the conversation in a more interesting direction. “Tell me, Barbara,” I began, leaning forward. “You look so familiar, but I can’t place it. Have we met before?”

“No, I don’t believe so.” Barbara smiled demurely, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Though I did some modeling and acting before I married Frank. Perhaps you saw one of my advertisements or films.”

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