Page 112 of Keeping Kasey
I open the door and turn to close it, setting my bag down so I can secure the deadbolt.
“That won’t be necessary.”
The voice is cold, low, and unmistakable, turning the blood in my veins to ice.
Slowly, like maybe I can stop time altogether, I turn around.
Logan Consoli sits on my couch, looking every bit the deadly mafia boss that he is.
“Told you I’d find you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Logan
Two months earlier
My empty whiskey glass is taken from my hand and immediately replaced with a full one.
“You look like you could use this,” James says, setting the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and sipping from his.
“And here I thought I was really selling it,” I deadpan.
“You’re the one who wanted to come.”
“I said weneededto come. Not that I wanted to.”
“In any case, Romano is pleased to have us.”
I’d roll my eyes if I didn’t have an audience of two hundred constantly flicking gazes toward me.
The Winter Ball is an annual fundraiser hosted by the Romanos for some charity no one here actually cares about. I’m sure it’s a noble cause, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m only here to keep up appearances.
“Where is my blushing bride-to-be, anyway?” I don’t bother concealing the distaste in my tone.
“Dealing with a crisis in the kitchen,” he tells me. “Something about a champagne shortage.”
At least it’s not a whiskey shortage.
“I can’t exactly show Romano I’m holding up my end of the bargain if his daughter isn’t around to hang on my arm.”
James murmurs something as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a long sip.
“What was that?”
He shakes his head, nodding across the ballroom to where Damon entertains a group of capos from various families in the area. “He seems to be doing well.”
Damon is the only one in the group without a glass in his hand, but he doesn’t appear to be uncomfortable with that fact. He uses the freedom to gesture with both hands, enhancing whatever story he’s telling, which captivates the group.
I look away and sip at my own drink.
“It’s only his third event since rehab,” I remind him. “It’s too early to know if he’s doing well.”
I can feel James’s disapproving stare boring into the side of my head.
“He’s been to hundreds of events where he was explicitly ordered to stay sober, and he rarely succeeded, let aloneentertained. You have to admit he’s doing great.”
