Vittorio’s POV At The Top Floor Of A Luxurious Hotel
“Just smile and shake hands,” Salvatore whispered at my side. “That’s all you gotta do. Show face. Say a few pretty words. These bastards eat it up.”
I didn’t answer.
“Try not to look like you’d rather shoot someone.”
Salvatore whispered behind his fake-ass grin as another senator’s daughter floated over in sequins and desperation.
“I’d rather shoot myself,” I muttered, sipping the whiskey I wasn’t enjoying.
We were in some overpriced hotel ballroom, all crystal chandeliers and expensive perfume. Every politician in the province was packed in, shaking hands with one palm and hiding a knife in the other. I hated these events. But Salvatore insisted.
“You want the mayor’s chair?” he’d said earlier. “You gotta dance with snakes.”
Y
