Page 94 of Devil's Thirst
Amusement teases my lips into a smile. “Name’s Sante Isaaco Mancini. I’m Renzo Donati’s cousin and a member of the family.” I know he’ll recognize the name and get my drift.
Malone shakes his head. “Fucking Christ, she’s up to her eyeballs in Mafia.”
I sober, my stare locking with his. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt her. That monster needs to be off the streets. She wants to see justice done by the books with him behind bars, which is fine by me. But one way or another, hewillpay for his crimes.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” he says sincerely.
I arch a brow at him and extend a handshake. “Don’t make me regret it.” With that, we part ways, though I suspect we’ll be seeing one another again in the future. Good cops like him always pop up like a bad case of herpes.
Back inside, the lights are dim, and orchestral music drifts out from beyond the theater doors. Time to watch my girl shine.
CHAPTER 44
AMELIE
I’ve never felt soamazing on stage. So inspired. I put my heart and soul into every movement, and at the end of the performance, we had to do two extra curtain calls. The audience couldn’t get enough. It’s always hard to say what an audience’s reaction will be to the adaptation of a celebrated work into a new format. Our director can breathe easy after tonight. The reviews should be phenomenal.
I just hope the sensational news of the incident at intermission doesn’t overshadow any talk about the performance itself. Not that it can be helped. I’m sure I made quite an impression, but I don’t regret it for a second. I’m incredibly proud of how I handled the night.
I was a little worried my fellow cast members might be upset that I wasn’t more discreet until, one after another, dancers approached backstage and gave me hugs and words of encouragement. The director? Not so much. Despite his show of support, he didn’t say a word to me after intermission. And I totally understand. His name is tied to the success or failure of the production.
The dancers allow the audience to clear out before we return to the main theater to see the family and friends waiting for us.More than a dozen people are clustered together just for me, though I only have eyes for one. I fling myself into Sante’s arms the second I'm close enough. He bellows out a laugh and spins me around.
I’m showered in congratulations and bathed in praise. All comments revolve around my performance rather than the AG, and I’m grateful. It’s time to focus on the good and let the past go. Tonight is a night of celebration.
“The theater is hosting an after-party at the Skylark. You’re all welcome to join for as little or as late as you like.” It’s a Sunday evening, and most of them have young kids, so I don’t expect many to come, but damn if there aren’t nods all around.
“Awesome! Let me change real quick, and we’ll meet you there.” I start to turn, but a hand clamps around my wrist, spinning me back around. I gasp when Sante pulls me straight into a passionate kiss, dipping my body backward like we’ve stepped off a 1930s movie set.
Our family and friends tease us with whistles and catcalls. I can hardly kiss him back, thanks to the irrepressible grin that may never leave my face.
Sante rights us and whispers, “So fucking proud of you.”
“Never would have happened without you.” His unwavering support and strength have bolstered me in ways I never expected.
That grin is back, drawing out a matching one on his face. I pop up on my toes and give him a quick smack on the lips before rushing off. “Back in a jiff!”
The dress I brought for the party is phenomenal. I wish I didn’t have my hair in a bun, but that’s the nature of the beast. The concrete holding this thing smooth isn’t going anywhere until I shower. Therefore, I’ll rock the half-movie star, half-librarian look.
Sante studies me intently when I return. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable taking you out in public like that. I’ll end up in prison.” He’s teasing. Mostly.
I grin. “Let them look. You’re the only man I’m going home with.”
He grunts in agreement, sending my grin into orbit.
Our group is well into their first drink when we arrive. They’ve gathered around two bar tables, clusters of animated conversations in progress. We’re easily absorbed into the group and welcomed with cheers and hugs.
“Champagne?” Sante asks.
“Yes,please,” I answer with enthusiasm, to which he smirks before fading into the crowd. When he returns, he raises his glass to gain the attention of our clutch of family and friends.
“On behalf of Amelie and myself, I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight. Having you here makes this big opening night that much more special. I know Mellie is capable of thanking you herself, but I wanted to steal the stage for a moment because there’s something important I need to do, and having you all here makes it the perfect opportunity. You see, Amelie here has graciously agreed to marry me.”
Everyone around us gasps and squeals—at least, the women do. The men mostly give macho grunts of approval.
I smile like an absolute loon.
Sante steps closer, setting down his drink and pulling a box from his jacket pocket.