I turn and start trudging in the direction of the mansion, snow crunching underfoot, but a big hand grips my elbow before I make it three steps. Diego spins me around and flattens me to his chest, his breath hot on my ear.
“You’re not his fuckinglover.”
Hands roam over my back, my ribs, and plunge into my hair. Mapping his territory. I laugh weakly, gripping two handfuls of his shirt. “No kidding.”
“Don’t get caught, baby. I’m serious. I don’t want that shit spoken out loud, not another single time.”
Ah. How to soothe a jealous, bristling mobster? I reach up and pet Diego’s cheeks, his beard soft against my palms. He glowers down at me, dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.
“We won’t get caught.”
He puffs out a breath. “Good.”
“And I’ll be back with you soon, and we’ll pick up where we left off.”
Diego rumbles out a pleased sound, and behind us De Rossi mutters, “Good grief.”
The snow glistens on Governor Edwards’ grounds, white and ghostly, and in the distance, the windows of his mansion burn with light.
“Let’s get this over with,” the mob boss mutters, and tugs me away by the back of my dress.
* * *
We’re not the only ones who slip through the staff entrance. Two surly men in suits and earpieces follow us inside, then melt into the darkness with a jerk of De Rossi’s chin.
“What are they…?”
“They’re running an errand for me. Come on.”
Governor Edwards’ mansion is dim, cloaked in shadows. Pools of light spread beneath sconces across the rugs and floorboards, but it’s not enough to make the rooms feel warm or welcoming. Everything is austere.
“Charming,” De Rossi mutters as we pass an oil painting framed on the wall. It’s of an old timey town square, with three men standing on the gallows as they wait to hang. “Of course he has terrible art.”
And it’s funny, because the mob boss seems more offended by the Governor’s taste in paintings than by anything else so far. He glares at the scene, his nose wrinkled in distaste.
“At least it’s an original?” I whisper, leading him into a side corridor that only the staff use.
De Rossi scoffs quietly. “An original piece of shit. Not everything is worth collecting, you know. Some things aren’t worth the canvas they’re painted on.”
I hum as we slip through the corridors, fighting a smile. Why is this suddenly fun? I’m losing my mind.
Focus, Holly. Focus.
My pulse spikes with each distant thump and rumble of voices, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just the normal sounds of the Governor’s mansion at night. And when I wheel around a corner and slam to a halt, sucking in a sharp breath, there’s nothing but velvet silence behind me.
Guess the mob boss is better at sneaking than I am. Figures.
“Oh! Holly, isn’t it?” The night-time housekeeper smiles at me, confused, from where she’s marking off some kind of checklist on a clipboard. She’s standing to one side in the corridor, but it doesn’t matter. Our path is blocked. “I didn’t realize they called in extra hands tonight. Did they send you to help with inventory?”
My palms are damp where they press into my hips. “Um,” I manage. What are words? What do humans say to each other? “No, I… I mean, maybe I could help you once I’m done with this, but first I need to…”
“No problem.” The housekeeper waves a hand, and her smile at me is kind. She turns back to her clipboard. “I shouldn’t try to poach other staff. Carry on.”
I clear my throat. “Okay.”
I hover as she turns to face the wall, engrossed in her work, and weigh our options. I could make an excuse and head back the way we came, then find another route—or we could test our luck, and hope that whatever’s on that clipboard is truly fascinating.
Well. Color me crazy, but I’m feeling bolder by the minute. All these mobsters must be a bad influence on me.