Page 22 of The Capo's Nymph
Like many predators, he’s graceful. He’s also a patient teacher. I wouldn’t expect it from a man like him, and yet I’ve never seen him lose his cool or grow testy with the twins.
Gliding along with our eyes locked, my blood sings through my veins like warm champagne, leaving me loose and giddy. His fingers roughly graze my bare back in a dark and delicious way. The more we dance, the lighter I feel, like effervescent bubbles.
“I can’t see your Trio tattoo,” I comment, my eyes dragging along his throat, up to his stubbled jaw and the memorable scar on his face, more attracted to him than I will ever admit.
“I got it over my heart. Like my father.” He tugs at his shirt, another button coming undone. The room grows hotter as I trace his chest and the ink with my eyes, wishing to see more of him.
“Tre teste per il lupo,”I murmur.
“Yes, the wolf has three heads. Do you like it here in my city or did you prefer Vegas?”
“I like it here.”
"My people were Calabrese, but many in the New York Trio are Sicilian. Was there no place for you there?"
"No place there. I wanted to see Chicago." I want to find my sister.
He nods with evident satisfaction. “Will you travel after graduation? Or return to Sicily?”
“I have no passport.”
His eyebrows draw together. “What happened to yours?”
“I lost it,” I stammer, unable to think up a better story.
His jaw clenches, sensing some deception, but I can’t open up about that. Certainly not here. Should I ask him about Mrs. Esposito? I could pretend my father knew her.
But before I can ask anything, he speaks again. “You’re very good with the children. I wouldn’t mind if you continued working here… if you wished to stay.”
I’m not sure what to say. I wouldn’t mind that. I love the children. The thought of leaving them breaks my heart. But what will happen once I find Maddalena? What plans might we make? I want a real home, a place whereIbelong. I want to be more than an unwanted stepdaughter or someone’s nanny who can be dismissed at the drop of a hat.
The dance ends without me managing a reply, and we’re swarmed by strangers, each one eager to meet me. Why? I’m no one.
Some of the men are leering though, and I think of my mother and the men who abducted me. They see me as something to enjoy and discard. I shudder, and Nico’s arm around my waist tightens. “Primo, you should dance with Matilde next and then take her to get some refreshments.”
It’s clearly an order, and the young guard steps forward at once, smiling widely. I smile back at him, but I’m a little hurt by the abrupt way Nico handed me off. Still, Primo is kind, and I didn’t want to dance with any of those old men who were staring at me like a juicy peach to be plucked.
As we’re dancing, a loud bang makes me gasp until I realize it’s Nico stomping on an errant balloon that escaped the purge.
When Dante asks me for a dance, I spot Nico dancing with his mother. His eyes never leave me, though they are evidently holding a conversation.
I wouldn’t mind if you continued on here.Is that what I want?
“Champagne for the birthday girl,” Primo says, passing me a glass after my dance with Dante is done.
The bubbles tingle on my tongue as I ponder my next steps. Gia hasn’t passed along any new information. Would anyone at The Gentleman’s Post know Mrs. Esposito? Could they help me find Maddalena? But I’m too scared to go back there on my own. “Primo, do you think we could go somewhere together after school next week?”
Primo’s eyes widen, and too late, I realize how that sounded, but Zeta steps over, leading me away from a beaming Primo.
“How are you enjoying it so far?” Zeta asks brightly while Nico looms over her shoulder. “I know it can’t compare to home but-”
“It is beautiful. I have never had a birthday party until tonight.” I curse myself the second the words are out. Zeta gives me a confused smile. “My mother… she would not approve.”
Zeta’s confusion shifts to concern, and I don’t want her to think me ungrateful. Nico stares at his wristwatch as I reach for the right words to explain.
“I asked for a party for my eighth birthday. I wanted magic,”I whisper in Italian, hoping Zeta’s oldest son will ignore me as he often does.
“Magic?”Zeta asks, smiling.
