His Heart Begged, His Hands Destroyed

Summary

At another Sunday dinner at the Bellandi estate, Luca Bellandi's assistant, Ava Marino, was sitting in my seat.

It was the first chair to Luca's right at the long walnut table, the seat everyone in Chicago's underworld knew belonged to Mrs. Bellandi. Ava sat there as if she had been born into it, her pale wrist brushing Luca's sleeve while she poured his wine.

I stood in the doorway and looked at him. "She's in my seat. You don't have anything to say?"

Luca raised his eyes. "You were late. Don't blame someone else for sitting down first. There are empty chairs over there. Sit if you want.