The yacht sat on the Seine with the lights of Paris behind its panoramic windows. Moretti delegates had taken one side of the long table. The Russo delegation took the other. Conversation stayed low while both sides waited to negotiate the eastern shipping lanes.
Dante entered on my right and Carmen on my left. I wore a midnight-blue silk suit, and my short hair left my face uncovered. My heels sounded against the polished teak floor. Conversations stopped one by one as the delegates tried to match me to the title they had been hearing for three years.
Alessio stood near the window with a crystal glass of whiskey. Three years had thinned his face and left shadows beneath his cheekbones. At first he watched the room turn toward me without understanding why. Then I took the chair opposite
