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Kings and Queens
Eleni Dante leads me through the lobby, his gaze barely leaving my cleavage, and out into a waiting limo. Today has been so crazy I don’t even ask where the other car with our shopping went. But as we pull into traffic, I do notice the two nondescript sedans that pull out behind us. My heart picks up speed until I spot the license plates. Both Saints cars. They’re nothing more than an escort. Dante is quiet on the ride to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but I’m bouncing in my seat. I look incredible, feel incredible, and I can’t wait to find out what the hell kind of gala a mafioso goes to and more importantly, why. When the limo pulls up outside, I have to smother a laugh. A massive banner dangling over the front of the stone edifice declares a benefit for a charity helping misguided an
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