Page 58 of Ricardo

Victoria is polite, elegant, and precise. She answers questions without over-answering them. She smiles without giving anything away. When a woman in pearls asks how she is finding the demands of being engaged to a man as busy as Mario, Victoria tilts her head and says, “I’ve always found work easier when everyone involved respects competence.”

The woman blinks.

Mario takes a slow sip of his drink.

I nearly smile.

We are twenty minutes into the evening when I see Judge Patrick O’Brien.

He stands near a tall arrangement of white orchids, one hand in the pocket of his tuxedo, silver hair perfectly combed, posture judicial even with a glass of champagne in hand. His wife stands beside him in pale blush silk and diamonds.

Suzanne O’Brien is fine-boned, elegant. Just like her daughter with a few decades added on. I note that the red in her hair is nearly the same shade as her daughter’s, although not natural as Julia’s.

A bit of jealousy there, perhaps?

I know them by reputation more than acquaintance.

Judge Patrick O’Brien has spent decades cultivating the kind of influence men rarely admit exists in public. He is respected, well-connected, and not nearly as clean as his press would prefer.

His decisions have helped people I know. His friendships have protected people he would never dine with openly. He understands where power stands in this city, and more importantly, he understands how to act surprised when someone points to it.

One of the reasons Julia was hired was the possibility of access to him.

I remind myself of that as Mario notices him too.

“Judge O’Brien,” Mario says.

Patrick turns at once. His smile appears easily, practiced but not false enough to insult us. “Mr. Conti.”

“Mario, please.”

“Then Patrick.” He extends his hand. “Good to see you.”

They shake.

Patrick’s eyes move to Victoria with immediate calculation, then warmth. “And Ms. Murray. Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

Victoria smiles. “Thank you, Judge.”

“Suzanne,” Patrick says, turning slightly, “you know Mario Conti. This is Victoria Murray, his fiancée. And Ricardo Conti.”

Suzanne O’Brien offers her hand first to Mario, then Victoria, then me. “Of course. It’s a pleasure. We’ve heard so much about Conti Enterprises lately.”

“All flattering, I hope,” Mario says.

“Mostly interesting,” Patrick replies.

Mario smiles.

There is a pause, brief and smooth and full of teeth.

I enjoy my brother most when other men forget that rooms like these are not the only ones that he is comfortable in.

Patrick looks at me. “Ricardo, I believe we’ve met once before. Years ago. At the Harrington dinner.”

“Briefly,” I say. “You remember well.”

“I try to remember people worth remembering.”