When I’m done checking the egress points, my gaze wanders back to the Pisano couple. Rocco is laughing at a stupid joke the guy on the stage has just rambled off. His hand rests against his wife’s upper back. She’s laughing, too. A picture of a happy married couple enjoying the party.
If one disregards the small details, that is.
The way Ravenna Pisano is clutching the glass in her hand. Or how every few minutes she discretely pulls the hem of her dress. The tension in her body when Rocco’s hand glides down her back.
My eyes zero in on Rocco’s fingers as they grip his wife’s hip, and I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep myself from growling. The interest I’ve developed in the woman I’m planning to kill is highly disturbing. As is as the unexplainable urge to walk up to them an
