The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Brad Magnarella (ink book reader txt) 📖

just glad you made it.” Caroline relaxed her scrutiny of the wound and took my arm. Together we surveyed the ultra-wealthy crowd. “I always feel like a fish out of water at these things.”

“I thought these were your people,” I teased.

“By proxy,” she replied. “But if I have to listen to one more person rue the tax burden of owning a second home in the Hamptons or, God forbid, an Italian villa, I’m going to gouge out my eardrums with a caviar spoon.”

“Ouch.”

I took two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handed one to Caroline. With a smile that relaxed her shoulders, she clinked my glass, and we sipped.

The venue was the penthouse of an affluent New York developer, the event a fundraiser for Mayor Lowder—or “Budge” to most New Yorkers—who was seeking reelection in the fall. Caroline didn’t belong to the affluent or political classes. Her father worked as an attorney for the mayor’s office, and she was here tonight in his absence—though probably also to freshen up her own contacts. I supposed that went with being the city’s preeminent expert on urban affairs.

When I looked over, she had polished off her champagne, surrendering the glass to a white-jacketed server. She seemed to steel herself before turning to face me.

“The secret to mingling,” she counseled, “is to keep moving, like you have someplace you’re determined to get to.”

“And where’s that?” I asked.

I followed her raised eyes to a second-story gallery. “If we can make it upstairs, there’s a balcony with an incredible view of Central Park. We’ll step out to catch our breath.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

And that was where I would tell her the truth about who I was, I decided. I couldn’t keep holding a curtain up over the other half of my life. Nope, nothing to see back here. There was a good chance she would reject the truth—reject me—but I wasn’t going to lie to her anymore.

“Ready?” she asked after I’d relinquished my glass.

My heart beat like a bass drum. “Let’s mingle.”

Caroline nodded and wheeled toward the crowd. I followed, a hand on her low back. Despite her just-voiced reluctance to play socialite, Caroline was a natural. Her face glowed as she exchanged greetings and kisses, turned to introduce me, clasped hands with women, joked with men, closed with vague promises to get together soon, and then proceeded to the next group.

I leaned toward her ear as we edged deeper into the crowd. “Sure you’re not running for mayor?”

She turned just enough to give me an eye roll.

“Caroline,” a gravely voice called from our left. It took me a moment to place the aging man with the iron-colored hair and bushy black eyebrows.

“Mr. Moretti,” Caroline said, a smile dying on her face. “What a surprise.”

Constantine Moretti, head of New York’s last Italian crime family, stepped forward in a striped charcoal suit, a woman with lush auburn hair on his arm.

“For a second there, I thought you were gonna walk right past. Like father, like daughter, I guess.” His grin didn’t reach his eyes. “You remember my wife, don’t you?”

Caroline turned toward the middle-aged woman who, despite her formal black dress, possessed an aura that felt feral. She appraised Caroline with orange-tinted irises before offering her hand.

“It’s good to see you again, Anita,” Caroline said.

Anita nodded and accepted Caroline’s hand, her nostrils opening out.

“So what’s it gonna take to get your old man to return my calls?” Mr. Moretti asked.

Caroline’s neck stiffened. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

Mr. Moretti peered around. “Is he here?”

“No. He … he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Maybe you can give him a message.”

“I’m not his answering service.”

Mr. Moretti flashed another hard grin. “Relax. I was just gonna say, if he needs anything to be sure to let me know. We grew up in the same neighborhood, your old man and me. He ever mention that? There’s no reason why old neighbors can’t give each other a boost now and again, right?”

“I can think of a few,” Caroline muttered.

“Tell him hello in any case,” Mr. Moretti said. “I’ll try him again this week.”

“Have a good night,” Caroline said, and moved away from him.

“What was that all about?” I asked when we were out of earshot.

“Oh, Moretti refuses to accept that the old days are gone. His family used to control construction and trucking in the city. That’s how they built their empire. But as City Hall severed those connections, and other crime families moved in to dominate the vice trades, Moretti’s revenue dried up.”

I nodded in understanding. “And he wants access to the mayor’s office to try to resurrect his old businesses.”

“Exactly, but he’s barking up the wrong tree. My father would never work with his kind.” Her gaze moved past me and hardened. She changed course, as though trying to disappear from someone’s view.

I peeked back, expecting to find Moretti tailing us. Instead, another man stood out, mostly for his tall, broad-shouldered build—and yeah, stellar looks. His copper hair and stone-hewn face belonged in a men’s fitness magazine. Though engaged in conversation, he was clearly watching us, or at least Caroline.

Old flame? I wondered, a knot of jealousy hardening my gut.

Caroline squeezed my wrist. “This is Everson Croft,” she said.

I turned distractedly and then nearly dropped my cane. I was standing in front of a smiling Mayor Budge Lowder and his wife, Penelope. I’d seen both on TV and in the papers, of course, but never in person.

Budge seized my hand and began pumping away. “What do you say there, Everson?”

Despite being on the far side of fifty, Budge Lowder had a boyish look. It was a combination of his baggy tuxedo, chubby face, and the dark cowlick he kept finger-combing to keep from spilling over a pair of round glasses. The look was almost comical, but I remembered Caroline once saying that only a fool would judge the man on appearances.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” I said.

“Hey, when you show up with a knockout like this,” the mayor replied, cocking his