Elie made no bones about showing his interest in the princess of the Ferraro family. She was intelligent, beautiful, elegant, sensual and very lethal. Emmanuelle danced at fund-raisers all the time, but she never leaned into a man, or looked up at his face as if she wasn’t aware of the dancers around her. She laughed at something Elie said, and Vittorio knew it was genuine. Emmanuelle didn’t laugh often. None of them did, but he knew when she was acting, and it wasn’t that. For the first time since she’d gone out to meet Val at the age of sixteen, she looked to honestly be interested in another man.
“I don’t like the way Val is looking at Emmanuelle,” Grace said softly. “It’s too late to change tables. Emmanuelle always requested that the Saldis be seated at the table left of the Ferraro table. Val sat at the end, closest to where Emme sat. Those arrangements were never changed.”
Vittorio cursed under his breath. “Are you certain you can’t change the seating?”
“I’m sorry, honey, people are already sitting down. The food is being served and the silent auction will start. I wish I’d known.”
“My mother knew.” Damn Eloisa and her games. She thought she was driving home to Emmanuelle what happened when you allowed yourself to love the wrong person. Vittorio knew the risk was too great to take the chance of Val talking to Emmanuelle. Val had gifts. Maybe the others didn’t acknowledge them, but Vittorio knew the Saldi heir had a voice similar to his own. He could charm and persuade. Emmanuelle was particularly susceptible to his voice.
Vittorio knew they could lose Emme. She would never betray her family, and she had too much pride to go crawling back to Val, but if she thought she would never be free to love anyone else, she might take her own life.
They lived with violence every day. It was never easy to get up and face what they did when they were alone. They all tended to live wild in order to combat that terrible emptiness that was always eating away at them. Emmanuelle was sensitive. Compassionate. She was romantic. If Valentino didn’t leave her alone and allow her to find another good man, Vittorio knew their beloved Emmanuelle would take matters into her own hands.
“This is a bad scenario.” Vittorio voiced his worry aloud.
“I could easily add Elie in the mix. Would Emmanuelle be upset if I did that?” Grace asked. “I think he’s the kind of man that if you took him aside and explained that her ex is right on the end of the table, he would take Emmanuelle’s usual seat and we’d move her one seat down. It would be difficult for Val to talk over the top of Elie.”
He liked the plan. Emmanuelle might not, but Elie would do it. He was in the employment of the Ferraros whether he knew it or not. All the businesses eventually were under a Ferraro umbrella.
“Let’s do that,” he agreed.
Grace started to slide out of his arms, but he tightened them around her. “Wait until the end of the song. I’ll get us close to Emme and Elie and explain what you’re going to do. You slip away at that point and get it done.”
She nodded. “No worries. I just have to get to the kitchen and print up a name plate on our fancy gold and silver paper. Give me five minutes.”
Vittorio shot another glance at Valentino. The man hadn’t taken his furious gaze from Emmanuelle. He clearly was willing her to look up and spot him. Beside Val, his cousin and bodyguard, Dario, was also looking at the couple. It was clear he was angry as well, but his gaze was on Taviano.
Grace was looking, too. “The man with him seems very upset at Taviano.”
Vittorio wasn’t surprised that she noticed. She had to be alert and observant when she was constantly worried that Haydon Phillips would show up in her life any minute and take her world away from her.
“That’s Dario Bosco, Val’s first cousin. He’s Miceli’s son, although Miceli never married his mother. He often bodyguards for Val, although he’s also an heir apparent to the Saldi empire. He has a bit of a thing for Nicoletta. Taviano told him to back off, that he was engaged to Nick.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Is he?”
“Not yet, but he will be.”
“I love these events,” Grace said. “All the drama and undercurrents of a play or a movie. I should write books.”
“An exposé on the Ferraro family,” Vittorio said, but he didn’t really feel the humor. He’d had too many years of the paparazzi invading his life and trying to ferret out every secret his family had.
“Not your family. You’re not nearly as wacked as some.”
Grace’s voice rang with truth and he was immediately intrigued, looking around the room as if he might spot the craziest of their circle.