“The big Orsini scene?” Nick said, but Dante was already racing for the door.
Falco and Nick looked at each other. “He really loves her,” Falco said.
“Sure seems like it.”
“We could have left him in the dark.”
“I know.”
“But opening his eyes was the right thing to do.”
“Still…”
“Still, another one bites the dust.”
Nick shuddered and slipped from the booth.
“Man,” Falco said, “don’t tell me you’re bailing, too?”
“I’m going to get us a bottle of Wild Turkey.”
Falco nodded. “An excellent idea,” he said, and decided they could wait until the bourbon was half-gone before they tried to figure out what in hell was happening to the Orsini brothers.
The beautiful morning had given way to a rainy afternoon.
New York plus rain. A simple equation that added up to no taxis in sight.
“Hell,” Dante said, and started running.
A bus plowed by, the wheels spraying him with dirty water, and pulled in at a stop when he was halfway to his destination.
“Wait,” he yelled, picked up his speed. He made it to the just-closing door, slipped and tore a very expensive hole in the very expensive left leg of his very expensive trousers.
Who gave a damn?
He got off the bus at Fifty-seventh Street, dashed into the store—open, thank God—and was outside again in less than ten minutes. A taxi was just pulling to the curb, a silver-haired gentleman was about to step into it. Dante tapped him on the shoulder.
“If I don’t get this cab,” he said, “I might just lose the woman I love.”
The old guy looked him over, from his soggy Gucci loafers to his drenched Armani suit to his rain-flattened hair. Then he smiled.
“Good luck, son,” he said.
Dante figured he was going to need it.
Gabriella’s attorney’s office was—it figured—on the top floor of a building that housed what seemed to be a nonworking elevator.
He didn’t give it a second try. Instead he took the old marble steps two at a time, stopped at the top only long enough to catch his breath and run his hand through his hair. Pointless, he thought, looking down at the puddle at his feet. Then he opened the office door and walked inside. The waiting room was empty, but straight ahead, through an open door, he could see a conference table. Gathered around it were Sam Cohen, a portly bald guy in tweed who had to be Gaby’s lawyer.
And Gaby.
His Gabriella.
His heart did a stutter-step. Here you go, Orsini, he told himself. This is your one shot at the rest of your life.
“Gabriella.”
They all turned and stared at him. He knew he had to look pretty bad. Sam Cohen’s mouth dropped open. So did the other attorney’s. Gabriella turned pale. She took a quick step toward him.
“Dante,” she said, “meu amor, what happened to—” She stopped dead. Her chin rose. “Not that I care.”
But she did care. The look on her face, the tremor in her voice, that wonderful word, amor…She cared. He just had to convince her that he cared, too.
“Gaby,” he said, his eyes locked to hers, “sweetheart, please. Will you come with me?”
He held out his hand, held his breath…
She walked slowly to him. She didn’t take his hand.
But he knew it was a start.
It was still raining.
Gabriella was wearing a raincoat, but the rain was already turning her gold-streaked hair wet and dark.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Just into the park. See? The Seventy-second Street entrance is right across the way.”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “On a day like this?”
“Gaby.” Dante framed her face in his hands. “Please. Come with me.”
She looked at him again. His hair was plastered to his head. His beautiful dark lashes were wet. Water dripped off his Roman nose. His suit would never be the same again and his shoes…
Her heart, which had felt as heavy as a stone since last night, seemed to lift just a little in her chest.
“Gaby,” he said again, and then he lowered his head to hers and kissed her, lightly, tenderly, and even as she told herself his kisses meant nothing to her, she gave a little moan at the softness of his kiss. “Sweetheart. Come with me, I beg you.”
So she did.
She kicked off her shoes, because how could you run in the rain wearing four-inch heels? And this time, when he reached for her hand, she let him take it.
He led her into the park, empty of everyone but a couple of glum-looking dog walkers. The rain was coming down harder; they ran faster and now she could see they were heading for The Boathouse restaurant. Was it open? It was. At least the lounge was, but Dante drew her straight out onto the wet, deserted terrace.