Her Consigliere

by Carsen Taite

  Royal didn’t have a clue if there was an event planned because Robert hadn’t called her since the wedding. She knew how these guys worked and he’d probably try to spring something on her at the last minute, but as of right now, she was completely free and she said so.

  “Perfect,” Siobhan said. “Pick me up at seven. I’ll text you the address.” The SUV pulled up to Royal’s house and parked by the curb. “See you then.”

  Royal wanted to ask a bunch of questions but sensed this whole car ride had been a test and it would continue until she stepped out of the car. She reached for the door handle and gave it a yank. She had one foot out of the car when Siobhan placed a hand on her arm. Gently, but with confident force. Royal turned back and locked eyes with her. “Yes?”

  “Friday night is black tie. Is that a problem?”

  Royal flashed her a broad smile. “Nope. Looking forward to it.”

  A moment later, she stood on the sidewalk and watched the SUV speed away. She had no idea what she’d be doing with her Friday night, but she couldn’t wait to see her. Even if she had to wear a tux again.

  Chapter Ten

  Siobhan reached into her safe and located the flash drive Dominique had given her with last week’s numbers, and she used it to back up the reports she’d promised Carlo, making sure to encrypt the files. When the backup was complete, she stowed the drive in her bag before signing out of her computer. It had been a long week and all she wanted to do was go home, pour a deep glass of whiskey, and tuck into a long, hot bath.

  No such luck. Tonight was the annual donors’ gala at the Dallas Museum of Art, and she’d been tasked with serving as the public face of the Mancuso family to accept an award for their generous donations. Carlo had asked Dominique to attend in his place, but D had made up some excuse about having to meet with some potential investors. Siobhan was certain she’d timed the meeting to avoid having to schmooze with a bunch of high society types who likely thought she was only at the event because of the family donation.

  Siobhan didn’t have any interest in schmoozing either, but she was used to being left to shoulder any jobs Dominique wasn’t in the mood to handle, and this was no different. The only saving grace was she would have a striking woman on her arm, which would save her from being the target of Dallas’s other eligible bachelors and bachelorettes during the course of the evening.

  She wondered what Royal was doing right now. Was she already dressed and in her car headed this way or was she still fiddling with her tie and the buttons on her vest? Putting her on the spot for a black-tie event had been kind of mean, but it was a good way to test Royal’s ambition, not to mention see her in evening wear again. She pictured her standing on the landing at the Mancuso mansion. Tall, handsome, rakish…

  No, no, no. She needed to stop thinking about Royal in any capacity other than what she could do to help the family business. Besides, she wasn’t in the habit of indulging her desires with anyone in the close family orbit and she wasn’t about to start now—not when she needed to stay focused to deal with whatever trouble was headed their way. She shoved her phone and laptop into her bag, stood, and walked to the door. Like a mind reader, Neal was waiting in the lobby, and she gave her a small wave.

  “How do you always know when I’m ready to leave?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not that hard. You have the gala tonight and I know you like to take a little extra time to get ready for fufu events.”

  Was she that predictable? She supposed it was true. She did have a tendency to leave work earlier than usual when she had to attend a gala, and tonight she would need to speak as well. Funny how she had absolutely no trouble being a boss in the courtroom, but when it came to mixing it up with Dallas’s high society, her stomach rumbled, and she scrambled to silence the voice inside whispering how she didn’t belong.

  And she didn’t belong. Not really. The only way the Mancuso family was able to rub shoulders with the rest of the Dallas elite was because they bought their way in with charitable donations. A new hospital wing, a campus library, the donation of rare artwork all bought admittance to the upper echelon, but even then, she was a step removed as a mere representative of the donor. She might be wealthy in her own right, but she’d worked hard to build her small fortune and it didn’t come with the cachet of being born in the right family or having top two percent level money. Someday, someone would see through her facade and toss her out.

  Neal held open the car door and she stepped into the Suburban. She didn’t mind being driven around when she had work to do, and she was grateful not to have to split her attention between the road and the current issues facing the Mancuso family. She pulled a sheet of paper from her bag and pored over the contents of the document. Earlier in the day, she’d called one of her old clients, a hacker, and asked her to find out whatever she could about the car that had almost run her down. She’d been able to find out what their contact with the Dallas police had not. The company the car was registered to was a shell company and, based on her own research this afternoon, the owners could be traced back to the Petrov family holdings, ostensibly a real estate development company, but in real life a front for drugs and prostitution, two vices Carlo Mancuso refused to support.

  A couple of months ago, Mikhail Petrov had approached Carlo with an offer to go into business together. Catering and event planning was a perfect front for the Petrovs’ businesses, and the alliance seemed like a perfect fit until it became clear the Petrovs were more interested in gaining a screen for their prostitution ring than promoting their mutual efforts. Since Carlo abruptly cut ties with the Petrovs, little things had happened to undermine Mancuso family business, like the “anonymous” tip that led to the arrest of Jimmy G. But until the attempt on her life, which she was now convinced it was, there had been only nuisance happenings, nothing that warranted retaliatory action. But now that she’d confirmed Petrov was involved with the attempt on her life, Carlo was going to want to enact severe consequences for the Petrovs, a move that would escalate their acrimony, and which could prompt turf wars that would only distract from their day-to-day business. She skimmed the paper one more time, carefully folded it, and stuck it in the zipped pocket of her bag with the flash drive. Tomorrow. She’d share what she found with Carlo tomorrow, but tonight she would enjoy the illusion of attending a gala with a beautiful woman on her arm.

  When Neal pulled up to the front of her apartment building, she told her not to park.

  “No problem.” She pointed at the clock on the dashboard. “I’ll wait down here.”

  “Take the night off. I’ve got it covered,” she said.

  Neal shook her head. “I promised I’d make sure you were accompanied.”

  She didn’t have to ask who she’d promised. “Royal is picking me up tonight. I need to discuss some business with her,” she said, immediately regretting giving in to the urge to explain. Since when did she feel the need to justify her actions to her employees? But Neal wasn’t really her employee. Her loyalty was to the family in general and Carlo specifically. “Carlo asked me to talk to her. Besides, it’s a gala at an art museum. I seriously doubt anyone is going to try to take me out in a room full of Picassos.”

  She stared at her for a moment and then shook her head. “Fine, but I’ll be around. Call me if you need me.”

  “Always.” She gathered her things and stepped out of the car. Knowing Neal, she wouldn’t go far, keeping a subtle eye on her until she was back home for the night. She used to feel guilty at the constant attention to her safety, but she realized it was as much about protecting what she knew about the inner workings of the family empire as it was keeping her physically safe from harm. Neal’s position in the organization was considered a privilege, and she got plenty of benefit from her close proximity to the inner circle without actually being in it. They were a lot alike that way.

  Once she was in her apartment, she poured a finger of whiskey—enough to take the edge off, but not enough to impair her abi
lity to perform. She stowed a notecard with her remarks in the tiny handbag she’d selected to go with her dress and stepped out of her lawyer drag and into a slim fitting burgundy cocktail dress. As she pulled the dress up her body, she remembered a different dress—the one she’d worn to Celia’s wedding—and the model at Francine’s who’d helped her dress and undress. She hadn’t indulged since that day and she was starting to feel the jangling sensation she got when she was too wound up. Maybe, after the gala, she would detour to one of the bars she favored and remedy her restlessness with an attractive diversion.

  Except she wouldn’t be at the gala alone tonight, and the idea of dumping Royal in favor of some anonymous rendezvous felt distasteful. A new feeling for sure. She shoved away the thoughts and focused on getting ready. She’d just finished touching up her makeup and stepped into her new favorite Louboutins when the doorbell chimed. She downed the last drops of the whiskey and answered the door.

  Royal was even more delicious than she had been at the wedding. She wore a tux like it was a second skin, seemingly unfazed by the formality of the outfit. What kind of woman went from jeans and boots to black tie with such ease, and where had she been all her life?

  She handed her a bouquet of flowers. “You may want to put these in some water.”

  Realizing she’d been standing and staring, Siobhan held the door open wider. “Yes, of course. Please come in. Would you like a drink? We have a few minutes before we have to leave.”

  “Yes, thanks, that would be great.”

  Royal followed her to the kitchen, and Siobhan couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so self-conscious. Part of the issue was she never had anyone else in her home. Not anyone besides the family or Neal and her team anyway. The other part was wondering if Royal was sizing her up from behind. She knew she was attractive—it was one of the reasons she was able to get away with many things inside and outside of the courtroom—but she normally didn’t care about the attribute except as a means to an end. Right now, she found herself hoping Royal appreciated the hours she spent at the gym and the way her dress hugged her curves, and the realization was both embarrassing and titillating.

  “You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you.” Siobhan looked around and appraised her surroundings. “I have everything I need here and it’s comfortable.” She turned her attention back to the bouquet, which was an unusual mix of purple chrysanthemums, eucalyptus, dusty miller, and succulents. “This is gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

  “Robert recommended the florist, but I picked out the arrangement. I’m not big on the standards.”

  “Noted.” Siobhan reached for the bottle of Jameson Bow Street sitting on the sideboard. “Whiskey okay?”

  “Whiskey is perfect.” Royal smiled that rakish grin Siobhan was becoming very fond of and reached for the bottle. “And you have great taste.”

  “I promise I’m not trying to impress you because you know all things about spirits.” She handed Royal a thick heavy glass. “I like what I like.”

  “To be liked by you is a compliment indeed.”

  Siobhan felt the warm creep of a blush on her neck. Time to turn this conversation in a different direction before she became completely distracted. “Have you been to the Dallas Museum of Art before?”

  “No. I haven’t been in town long enough to start exploring. What’s it like?”

  “The building itself is modern, but they have several very valuable and diverse collections and they do incorporate new finds as well. It’s not New York or Paris level, but they’re usually on the cutting edge of acquisitions.” She wanted to ask Royal if she’d been to New York or Paris, and if she even enjoyed art museums at all or if she was only accompanying her tonight because she felt like she had to. But she kept quiet, partly because she didn’t want to know if her answer was the latter. “I can’t promise tonight won’t be boring, but I will promise that I owe you one afterward.”

  Royal raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I doubt it will be boring, but I’m happy to have you in my debt.” They sipped their whiskey in silence for a few moments, and then Royal placed the glass on the counter and crooked her arm. “Shall we go?”

  Siobhan was a bit unsettled at how quickly Royal had settled into date mode, but she was even more unsettled at how much she liked it. She’d intended to suggest they take her car, but she kind of wanted Royal to be in charge. She pointed at the keys in Royal’s hand. “Take me away.”

  ❖

  Royal handed the keys to the valet at the museum and rolled her eyes at the way he looked down his nose in disdain. The Jeep was part of the persona she played, but she actually liked it and didn’t give a shit what this guy or anyone else thought about it. Surprisingly, Siobhan seemed not to mind what was likely a big downgrade on her usual mode of transport, and the ride over had consisted of idle conversation about the museum and the type of event they were in for this evening. With the Jeep in the hands of the valet, Royal placed her hand on Siobhan’s elbow and guided her through the throng of people entering the museum and past the line of press hoping for a glimpse of someone famous entering the gala.

  Siobhan moved through the crowd, giving only a slight nod to the reporters who called out her name. When they were inside, Royal took her coat and checked it along with hers. When she returned to Siobhan’s side, she noticed she was holding two glasses of champagne. Royal took the one offered her way. “Look at you. I was barely gone a moment. I suppose being a celebrity has its perks.”

  Siobhan took a sip from her glass. “No celebrity here. Only money. Lots of it, and hardly any of it is mine. I’m merely a stand-in tonight.” She motioned toward the door where the press waited for other notables to arrive. “They’ll take photos of everyone who arrives and sort out who’s who later. When they do, I doubt I’ll make the cut.”

  Royal took note of the edge in her voice. It wasn’t jealousy—more like sadness, but she couldn’t quite place the emotion, so she pressed the point. “They knew your name.”

  Siobhan sighed. “It’s unique.”

  “Family name?”

  “It was my grandmother’s.”

  “Ah. Are you close?”

  “I never met her. I believe she’s dead.”

  Siobhan delivered the statement as matter-of-factly as if she were reading the ingredients on a box of crackers. Royal searched her face, but other than a brief flash of pain in her eyes, her expression was steel. She remembered from Siobhan’s file at the bureau that her mother had been estranged from the rest of the family, presumably because she’d had a child out of wedlock, but it was all supposition. She wanted to ask questions, but this wasn’t the time. Instead, she reached for her hand, but Siobhan dodged the gesture and resumed the conversation as if it hadn’t taken a dark detour.

  “I’m often at these events as the family’s representative,” she said, “so the press is used to seeing me. That doesn’t change the fact I’m not a Mancuso. They would go nuts if Dominique or Celia showed up here.”

  “And probably implode if Carlo arrived on scene,” Royal said, watching carefully for Siobhan’s reaction.

  “He hates crowds, but he loves the art. His collection rivals some of the very best museums in the country, and he regularly loans pieces for exhibition because he truly believes the work of the masters is a gift to be shared.” She grinned. “There was a time he would wear a hat and sunglasses and venture down here to visit exhibits anonymously. He loves to see the installations, and while many people would be focused on who I saw tonight and gossip about the other donors, I’ll be tasked with reporting exactly how the pieces were displayed. Sometimes, I think he missed his calling as curator.”

  Royal smiled along with Siobhan, pleased she seemed to be comfortable sharing intimate details about Carlo so easily. She wanted to ask questions, find out more, but she didn’t want to burst this bubble by pressing too hard, so she steered the subject in a new direction. “Do you enjoy the ar
t or are you merely here out of duty?”

  “Good question.” Siobhan gazed at the walls in the room. “Why don’t you answer that for yourself when the evening is over?”

  Royal nodded, intrigued by her assignment. A waiter approached them with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Siobhan smiled at the waiter and listened carefully as he described the morsel, both the ingredients and how it was made, with a patience none of the other patrons displayed. When he was done talking, she took the bite, placed it in her mouth, and moaned her approval.

  “Royal, these are amazing. You must have one.”

  Royal dutifully complied, unable to resist Siobhan’s eagerness. The tang of the bite hit her tongue and she moaned too. “This is amazing.”

  “Right?” Siobhan took another and thanked the waiter who moved on to the next group of guests. “The food here is always spot-on. Keep an eye out for the lobster wontons They’ll go fast.”

  Royal grinned.

  “What?” Siobhan asked, the second bit midway to her mouth.

  “I guess I’m just surprised to see the badass lawyer and counselor to the don can be brought to her knees with a tiny bit of an appetizer.”

  “Small things are often underrated,” Siobhan said. “Besides, food is a simple pleasure, but it’s a balm for the soul, as my mother used to say. I may deny myself many things, but a delicious bite is not one of them.”

  Royal heard the hum of satisfaction in Siobhan’s voice, but she couldn’t tell if it was directed at her. She wanted it to be, though, and that was a problem. Time to refocus on the reason she was here in the first place. “Besides delicious food, what else happens at these things?”

  “‘These things’ consist of a lot of preening on the part of the museum staff, several boring speeches, and a pressure campaign to give more money.”

  “I was hoping we’d get a private tour.”