S creams explode in the ballroom here at the Velvet Fox Hotel, with the loudest being mine.
The tacky disco ball above spins wildly, scattering panicked light across Enzo’s body at my feet.
Dean Martin croons about amore from the speakers and it all feels like a sick joke right about now with the words garbled and distant through the chaos.
“BACK! Everyone back up right now!” Cooper’s voice cuts through the noise like a razor. His hand slices through the air, creating an invisible barrier between the crowd and Enzo’s crumpled form. “Give him some space!”
The parting crowd creates the requisite circle around us—me, Cooper, and the man who was supposed to be my hit but apparently couldn’t wait for me to get the job done.
Cooper drops to his knee and quickly presses two fingers against Enzo’s neck. The crowd holds a collective breath. Even the ice in the drinks stops clinking.
Cooper’s eyes meet mine before he looks up at the crowd. “He’s gone.”
The wail that follows pierces my eardrums like an ice pick. Loretta barrels through the human barricade with her red hair flying behind her like flames. She flings herself onto Enzo’s chest and her body convulses with sobs that are strong enough to shake the floorboards beneath my feet.
“ My Enzo! My sweet sugar prune! ” Her voice cracks as mascara-laced tears carve paths down her cheeks. “We were going to St. Tropez next week! I already bought a dozen bikinis!”
I take a half-step back and my heels wobble on the uneven floor. That’s when Loretta’s head snaps up, and her gaze locks onto me with such immediate hatred I can practically feel it searing my skin.
“ YOU! ” The word explodes from her lips, sending spittle flying. Her finger jabs the air between us, and her crimson nail is as efficient as pointing a weapon. “This is all YOUR fault!”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, as all around us the crowd gasps in unison.
“Everywhere you go, people drop dead!” Loretta’s voice rises with each word. And let’s face it, she’s not wrong. “You, Effie Canelli, are a living, breathing jinx! ”
The words slice through me so sharp they could draw blood if they wanted. I glance down at Enzo—at his waxy face frozen in shock—then back at Loretta.
“To be fair”—my voice sounds oddly steady— “he was about ninety. The odds weren’t exactly in his favor.”
Another sharp gasp from the crowd takes over.
Loretta’s eyes turn into red-hot flames as the veins bulge at her temples. “I put a POX on you, Effie Canelli!” Her shriek reaches a pitch that makes the wine glasses on nearby tables vibrate. And I swear, I just heard one crack. “A POX ON YOU AND ON YOUR HOUSE!”
The collective gasp that follows feels like all the oxygen just got sucked from the room.
“YOU TAKE THAT BACK, YOU LAZZARI STRUMPET!” Nona Jo’s voice booms from somewhere to my right. She pushes forward as her tiny frame parts the crowd like Moses with the Red Sea. Her eyes blaze with the fury of a thousand denied grandmothers.
More gasps ripple through the room. The tension crackles like electricity before a lightning strike—or a bullet, take your pick. Calling a Lazzari woman a strumpet in this crowd is like lighting a match in a fireworks factory.
“I will NOT take it back!” Loretta’s mascara continues its downward journey, leaving muddy tracks in her wake. Her brothers, Rocco and Dante, materialize beside her, their faces torn between family loyalty and a clear desire to avoid a bloodbath. “She’s cursed! She killed my Enzo!”
“That’s enough, Loretta.” A hand suddenly clamps onto Loretta’s arm, and it’s none other than Scary Santino, Coop’s scary daddy himself.
His expression is somewhere between an annoyed father and an efficient crime boss.
“We’re leaving.” His voice leaves no room for argument, even though Loretta immediately provides one anyway.
“I won’t go! Not without Enzo!” she wails, her body going limp in protest as her family begins the awkward process of extraction.
Her legs drag across the floor, heels leaving fresh marks in the wood as she hurls curses my way.
Her final insult—something anatomically impossible involving a cannoli—hangs in the air long after they’ve dragged her through the exit.
The crowd begins to murmur once more just as my Uncle Jimmy materializes beside me.
“Well done,” he whispers with his breath hot against my ear. “I wasn’t expecting it so fast.”
Before I can sputter a defense, he shoves something thick and papery into the palm of my hand.
And I look down to see a fat roll of hundred-dollar bills, the texture of the money rough against my sweaty skin.
My heartbeat drums in my temples as Uncle Jimmy disappears back into the crowd, leaving me holding blood money for a murder I didn’t commit.
Or did I?
The bills feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds as I stuff them into my purse, posthaste.
Across the room, Cooper barks orders into his phone with his shoulders rigid under his suit jacket. Potential crime scene. Coroner. Backup. The words float across the space between us as unwanted as can be.
Well, maybe Coop wanted it a little bit.
Cooper finishes his call and makes his way toward me.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against the solid warmth of his chest.
“Define ‘okay,’” I mumble as the fabric of his shirt muffles my words. “I was just accused of being a walking death curse by your sister, who promptly put a pox on me. And let’s be real, I’ve probably had one on me all along.”
Cooper doesn’t protest the idea. And why would he? He’s a smart man.
I close my eyes and wish with everything in me that it was just the two of us. No bodies dropping at my feet. No warring families drawing battle lines across dance floors. No surprise weddings sprung like traps. It would be a lot simpler, and possibly a lot less deadly.
Possibly.
Regardless—someone killed Lorenzo Bianchi tonight. Maybe it was me, maybe it wasn’t, but I have a very hard time believing this was his time to go.
One thing is for sure—before Santa glides down my chimney, I’m going to find out who’s responsible, even if I have to chase my own shadow to the scene of the crime.