King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

“Isa.”

“I’m sorry! I don’t have a sex life at the moment, okay? I’m living vicariously through you.” She sighed. “And the argument isn’t a dealbreaker, right? He’s kind of…”

Right.

Silence cloaked the table.

I stared at my half-eaten plate, my skin icy despite the warmth from two mimosas.

“Don’t get me wrong. I know how you feel.” Isabella’s voice softened. “But I think it’s one of those cultural differences that’ll take time to smooth over. Dante cares about you, or he wouldn’t have been so upset. He’s just…not great at expressing his thoughts tactfully.”

“I know.” My sigh carried days’ worth of agonizing. “It’s just hard to remember that when I’m in the moment and he’s being so…so stubborn.”

In Dante’s world, his word was law. He was always right, and people bent over backward to accommodate or appease him.

But that was the thing. It wasn’t just his world anymore; it was ours, at least when it came to our home life. Arranged marriage or not, I’d signed up for a husband, not a boss.

I just wasn’t sure he knew that.

“He’s Dante Russo,” Sloane said, as if that explained everything. “Inflexibility is his middle name. Personally, I think you should make him sweat. Shut him out until he comes to his senses.”

“Great. So we’ll be waiting until the turn of the next century,” Isabella said. “Viv, what do you want to do?”

“I—”

“Vivian. What a pleasant surprise.” A smooth, creamy voice interrupted our conversation.

I straightened when an elegant older woman with a sleek silver bob and the skin of someone thirty years her junior stopped next to our table.

“Buffy, it’s nice to see you,” I said, hiding my surprise. She and her friends rarely stepped foot outside their uptown bubble. “How are you?”

I pointedly ignored Isabella’s quiet splutter when I mentioned the name Buffy.

“I’m well, dear. Thank you for asking.” The sixty-five-year-old grande dame looked immaculate as always in a cream silk blouse, gray tailored pants, and Mikimoto pearl drop earrings. “I normally don’t come all the way down to the Bowery…” Her tone insinuated the twenty-five-minute car ride from her house was as arduous as the trek from Fifth Avenue to Brooklyn. “But I hear the brunch here is divine.”

“The best lobster eggs Benedict in town.” I gestured at an empty chair. “Would you like to join us?”

Neither of us wanted her to stay, but it was the polite thing to ask.

“Oh, what a sweet offer, but no, thank you,” Buffy said on cue. “Bunny and I reserved the corner table. She’s glaring at me as we speak—she simply hates sitting alone in public…” She shot a reproving look at where a well-groomed blonde woman sat with her equally well-groomed toy poodle poking out of the top of her Hermès bag. Dogs weren’t allowed in the restaurant, but people like Buffy and her friends operated by different rules. “However, I wanted to stop by and congratulate you in person on securing Valhalla for the Legacy Ball venue. It’s generated quite the buzz.”

“Thank you,” I murmured.

I’d tried my best to find other alternatives, but none of them panned out, so I’d reluctantly gone with Dante’s Valhalla Club suggestion. I’d insisted on putting together the pitch, which he presented to the management committee since they didn’t allow non-members in the meeting.

The approval process took almost a month, but I received the final confirmation two weeks ago.

While part of me thrilled at landing such an exclusive venue, another part worried about what it would cost Dante. Not monetarily, but in terms of leverage and reciprocation.

“I’m sure Dante put in a good word for you.” Buffy smiled. “It pays to marry a Russo, doesn’t it?”

My own smile tightened. The dig was subtle, but it was there.

“Since we’re on the subject of the ball, I have a suggestion regarding the entertainment,” she said. “It’s a shame Corelli lost his voice and can no longer perform.”

The famous opera singer was on hiatus while his voice recovered.

The issue wasn’t as severe as the venue flooding, but it was yet another problem in the pile that was mounting daily.

Murphy’s Law of event planning—something always went wrong, and the more important the event, the more went wrong.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already confirmed an alternative,” I said. “There’s a wonderful jazz singer who agreed to perform for half her regular rate considering the audience that’ll be in attendance.”

“How lovely,” Buffy said. “However, I was thinking we should book Veronica Foster instead.”

“Veronica Foster…the sugar heiress?”

“She’s transitioned into the music scene,” Buffy said smoothly. “I’m sure she would appreciate the opportunity to perform at the ball. As would I.”

Her pointed statement pierced my confusion.

I suddenly remembered the other reason why Veronica’s name sounded familiar. She was Buffy’s goddaughter.

“I’m happy to meet with her and review her tape if she has one.” I kept my tone measured despite the knots twisting my stomach. “However, I can’t guarantee a spot in the lineup. As you know, the schedule is tight, and I’ve already agreed to book the jazz singer.”