The sixth photograph looked ordinary for less than a second.
Grace stood near the bar, half turned toward one of her law school classmates, smiling at something he had said.
Candlelight caught the edge of her emerald dress.
Behind her, donors blurred into streaks of black tuxedos and diamonds.
Then I saw the blond man’s hand.
He was standing close enough to Grace that nobody would have noticed him move.
One hand held a champagne glass.
The other was slipping a slim cream-colored envelope into the open side pocket of Grace’s bag.
I stared at the image.
Grace leaned toward the camera.
“What is that?”
The blond man answered before anyone else could.
“Nothing.”
His voice was too quick.
Luca Pellegrini finally looked away from me.
The calm in his face remained, but the room around him seemed to tighten.
“Interesting,” he said.
The blond man gave a brittle laugh.
“It’s a photograph taken from twenty feet away.
You can’t even tell what I’m doing.”
“I can,” I said.
He looked at me with sudden hatred.
That frightened me more than Luca had.
I enlarged the photograph.
The image became grainier, but the movement was unmistakable.
His fingers were inside the pocket of Grace’s bag.
The corner of the envelope remained visible between them.
Grace immediately pulled her bag from her shoulder.
“Don’t,” Luca said.
She froze.
His tone was sharp enough that even I obeyed before realizing the command had not been directed at me.
Grace looked furious.
“You don’t get to order me around after what you just said to me.”
For the first time that night, something like regret crossed Luca’s face.
“You’re right.”
Grace blinked.
He continued, “But if that envelope is what I believe it is, touching it in front of these men would be a mistake.”
The blond man’s two companions started backing away.
Two of Luca’s men shifted smoothly, blocking them without making a scene.
Guests nearby began retreating from us in widening circles.
The silence had spread far enough now that even the quartet faltered before continuing to play.
I kept the camera against my chest.
“What do you believe is in it?” I asked.
Luca studied me for a moment.
“You slap first and ask questions later?”
“You insult my sister first and explain later?”
His eyes narrowed.
Grace muttered, “Can both of you stop doing this for thirty seconds?”
That almost broke the tension.
Almost.
Luca turned to the blond man.
“Tell her.”
“There is nothing to tell.”
Luca’s expression did not change.
But the blond man’s did.
He understood the silence that followed.
