Ten

<ARIANA>

Every face at the table turned toward me.

Not all at once. In pieces. A cousin first. Then an aunt. Then the whole row of them, one by one, like dominoes I couldn't stop.

My hands stayed folded in my lap. I kept my eyes on the far wall — the painting above Romano's head, some old landscape with horses — and pretended I couldn't feel them looking.

"I work for Mr. Jack."

The silence held.

Then Jack's voice, low and easy, from the head of the table.

"She works for me."

He didn't look at me. He looked at Skylark.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

Skylark's smile didn't move. But something behind it did.

"Didn't know you were so kindhearted," she said. "Giving a woman like her work in a place like this."

A woman like her.

I felt it land. I didn't flinch.

Jack cleared his throat.

"This should be a family moment."

He raised his glass. Romano followed — slowly, the way he did everything. Then the uncles. Then the cousins. Then the wives.

Skylark hesitated. Then she lifted hers too. Her eyes stayed on me the whole time.

Later, that look said.

I grabbed my purse and stood. The heels felt too loud. I bowed — slow, careful — and walked toward the restroom.

Skylark's eyes followed me the whole way.

I didn't look back.

---

<JACK>

Ariana stood. Bowed. Walked.

Skylark's chair shifted.

I caught her wrist before she could rise. Casual. Like I was reaching for something on the table.

"Dance with me."

She froze.

"What?"

I stood and offered my hand.

"Dance with me."

She looked at my hand. Then at Romano. Then at me.

Romano gave a small nod.

Skylark took my hand.

The music was already playing. Something slow. Strings. The kind of thing my mother used to hum in the kitchen before everything went wrong.

We moved onto the floor. She fit against me the way she always had — perfectly, technically, the way a merger fits on paper.

"You're distracted," she said.

"I'm dancing."

"You're thinking about her."

I didn't answer.

She smiled against my shoulder.

"She's pretty. I'll give her that. But she's not one of us."

No, I thought. She's not.

That's the point.

I kept my hand on her waist. I kept my face smooth. I kept my eyes on the far wall and felt nothing but cold the entire time.

---

<ARIANA>

The bathroom was quiet.

I stood at the mirror, reapplying my lipstick. The door opened behind me.

I didn't turn around.

"This is the women's bathroom."

"I know."

D.D.'s reflection appeared beside mine in the glass. He closed the door behind him — softly, but the click still sounded like a lock.

I turned.

He walked toward me. No preamble. No small talk. He reached into his jacket and pulled out something small and black — an earpiece, thin as a fingernail.

"Wear this."

I stared at it.

"What is it?"

"You'll hear us. We'll hear you." He held it out. "Press the side if you need to speak without anyone noticing."

I took it. It was warm from his pocket.

"Turn around," I said.

He didn't. He stepped closer instead — close enough that I could smell him, the same cologne from before, the same everything — and lifted the earpiece out of my palm.

"I'll help."

I turned my head to the side and pulled my hair back. He reached for my ear. His fingers were steady — practiced — until they weren't.

His knuckle brushed my lip.

Just once. Just barely.

He stopped.

I looked up.

His eyes were on my lips. He didn't move. Neither did I.

The earpiece hovered between his fingers. The bathroom was so quiet I could hear the music through the wall — strings, slow, some old song I almost recognized.

Then he stepped back.

"It's in," he said. His voice came out lower than before.

I touched my ear. It was.

"Good."

He turned toward the door.

"D.D."

He stopped. Didn't turn around.

"Why are you helping him?"

A beat.

"Because he asked me to."

"That's not an answer."

He looked over his shoulder. Just enough that I could see half his face.

"No," he said. "It's not."

Then he was gone, and I was alone with the mirror, and the music, and the small black thing sitting in my ear like a secret.