“I’m Matt.”
I blinked and focused on the final person seated at the table. A young man—he couldn’t be older than eighteen—sat between Marco and his father. His wide smile seemed genuine, and I gratefully returned it. The boy didn’t particularly resemble anyone at the table. He did seem to share Mrs. Russo’s hazel eyes, but the similarities stopped there.
“Matt is my cousin,” Joseph explained. “He’s been helping my father while I’ve been with you.”
I tried to keep the guilt out of my expression. This boy was being pulled into a life of violence because of me. If I hadn’t been keeping Joseph away, Matt might be doing something different with his life. He might be enjoying his time like an eighteen-year-old boy should.
But I didn’t want that violent life for Joseph, either. This little family gathering was only making me more determined than ever to get Joseph away from New York. I didn’t care if his mother hated me for it.
That helped me brush off my anxiety over her obvious dislike.
The door opened again, and the young man from the host’s stand stepped in, balancing drinks on a tray. He served Mr. Russo first, setting a glass of red wine in front of him. Mr. De Luca was next—a glass of whiskey. The rest of us received champagne.
“Are we celebrating something?” Joseph asked.
“Meeting Ashlyn, of course,” his father replied, beaming at me. I was baffled. He really did seem excited to meet me. He might be a mobster, but he wasn’t all that scary. Not like Marco’s father.
He picked up his red wine in an obvious gesture that we were all meant to toast. I picked up my water glass rather than the champagne. I didn’t want to drink alcohol. It might calm my nerves, but I needed to stay sharp. No matter how welcoming Mr. Russo might be, I couldn’t let myself forget what he really was.
He frowned at me. “You don’t like champagne?”
“Not really,” I lied, taking the excuse he was giving me. “I’m good with water, but thank you.”
“You have to at least toast,” he told me. “Here. We’ll trade, since you don’t like champagne.”
He passed his red wine to me. I thought about refusing, but Joseph squeezed my hand under the table.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the glass from him and handing off my champagne flute.
He raised the flute, and the rest of us mirrored him. “To family,” he toasted, meeting my eye with a significant glance. It was bizarre, feeling so welcomed by a man I knew was dangerous.
To be polite, I took a sip of the red wine. I supposed I’d have to drink a little more over the course of the meal, since Joseph had grabbed my hand to signal for me to take it in the first place. While his father was jovial, there was clearly some underlying tension. Obviously, no one said no to Mr. Russo.
“So, Ashlyn,” he addressed me. “Joseph tells me you’re a student at Harvard. That’s very impressive.”
I blushed, heat creeping up my neck. “Thank you.”
“What are you studying?”
I flushed hotter, anticipating that Mr. Russo would react similarly to my own father regarding my choice of major. After all, it wasn’t very practical.
“Art History,” I told him.
His brows rose with interest rather than condemnation. “And what do you want to do with that?”
His scrutiny was making me uncomfortable, and I was very aware of everyone’s eyes on me. My sweater was suddenly far too hot, and my palm grew clammy against Joseph’s.
“I thought I might work in a museum or a gallery for a while,” I replied.
My stomach twisted violently, and I stifled a gasp. I’d never had a nervous reaction this intense before. Then again, I’d never been surrounded by mobsters before. Maybe I was on the verge of a panic attack.
Whatever it was, I needed to excuse myself before I freaked out in front of everyone.
“You okay, angel?”
“Yeah,” I said shakily. “I um, I just need the restroom. Excuse me.”
My body burned with embarrassment. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I pushed up out of my chair.
I didn’t make it two steps before pain knifed through my gut, intense enough to knock the air from my lungs and make my knees weak. Joseph was with me in an instant, catching me before I collapsed.
“Sorry,” I said faintly. “I don’t know—”
I doubled over on a harsh cry as my stomach twisted again. Acid coated my tongue, and a foamy substance dripped from my lips.
I was vaguely aware of Marco shouting for an ambulance, Joseph saying my name over and over again. My body convulsed, pain wracking my senses as everything faded to black.
Chapter Eleven
Joseph
I paced back and forth across the hospital waiting room, my gut twisting with fear I’d never known before.
Poison. Ashlyn had taken the poison meant for my father.