Die for Me

Epilogue

Saturday, November 8, 7:00

P.M.

Everyone.” Sophie tapped the microphone. “Can I have your attention, please?”

The conversation gradually stilled and everyone in the crowded room turned to face the podium where Sophie stood, looking elegant in an evening gown of shimmering green. Vito, of course, hadn’t taken his eyes off her all evening.

Much of the evening, he’d been at her side, if for no other reason than to run interference against the skinny old philanthropists, who, although they’d helped make this night possible, still didn’t get that they weren’t allowed to pinch Sophie’s butt.

Pinching Sophie’s butt was Vito’s job. He had the hardware on his left hand to prove it. Sophie met his eyes and gave him a wink before addressing the audience. “Thank you. My name is Sophie Ciccotelli, and I want to welcome you tonight to the opening of the new wing of the Albright Historical Museum.”

“She’s sparkling tonight,” Harry murmured and Vito nodded, knowing Harry wasn’t referring to the evening gown that hugged Sophie’s every curve. The sparkle was in her eyes, and the energy in her face was contagious.

“She’s worked hard to make this happen,” Vito murmured back. Which was an understatement. Sophie had labored tirelessly to create a complex of interactive exhibits that had caught the eye of newspapers and several national magazines.

“So many have contributed to the success of this endeavor,” Sophie went on. “Were I to read all their names, we’d be here all night. So I won’t. But I would like to recognize those who’ve put in tireless hours to create what you’re about to enjoy.

“Most of you know that the Albright Museum is a family operation. Ted Albright started the museum five years ago as a way to continue his grandfather’s legacy.” She smiled fondly. “Ted and Darla made a lot of personal sacrifices every day to keep our operating costs low so we can keep our doors open to everyone. To that end, we enlisted the help of family to build the exhibits. Ted’s son, Theo, and my father-in-law, Michael Ciccotelli, have designed and built everything you’ll see inside. Your guide will be Ted’s daughter, Patty Ann, who many of you enjoyed as Maria in the Little Theater’s production of West Side Story.” Patty Ann smiled, and Ted and Darla beamed. It was off-off Broadway, but Patty Ann had finally found her niche and seen her name in lights.

“We have three separate sections. In ‘The Dig’ you can get dirty searching for artifacts. There’s ‘The Twenties,’ where you’ll walk through science, culture, and politics of the twentieth century and hear firsthand the stories from the people who lived it. And finally, we have our ‘Freedom’ exhibit, which will be constantly changing, spotlighting people who have paid the price for freedom. The first of these will be Cold War.”

She looked to Yuri Petrovich Chertov. “Are you ready?” She carefully placed the scissors in his hands, then handed Ted and Darla their own scissors.

“I don’t know how she’s keeping it together,” Harry whispered harshly.

Vito’s throat had closed, knowing what was coming. But Sophie smiled as Yuri and the Albrights took their places by the big red ribbon that stretched across the door to what eleven months before had been an empty warehouse.

“Very good.” Sophie leaned toward the microphone. “It’s my pleasure to dedicate the Anna Shubert Johannsen Memorial Wing.” She stepped back amid flashes of cameras to let the three with scissors cut the ribbon, She’d taken this job to pay for Anna’s nursing home. She’d kept it to work through the grief after Anna had died quietly in her sleep a month after Simon Vartanian’s attack damaged her heart beyond repair.

Katherine had declared Anna’s death a homicide, bringing Simon’s list of victims to nineteen.

Vito didn’t think hell was hot enough for Simon Vartanian.

But it wasn’t a night for sadness. Sophie had come down from the podium and was mingling once again, trying to catch Vito’s eye. She looked at Harry’s wet eyes and gave Vito a little nod and a smile before turning to talk to the reporter from the Inquirer.

“Harry, I need to get up there and make sure the butt pinchers keep their hands to themselves. Can you get Sophie a drink? I think the lights up there were hot.”

Harry nodded, pulling himself straight. “What’s she drinking? Wine? Champagne?”

“Water,” Vito said. “Just water.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Just water? Why?”

“She can’t have alcohol,” Vito said and let his grin escape. “It’s bad for the baby.”

Harry turned to Michael, who was still wiping his eyes. “Did you know?”

“Just this morning. She tried to eat lox with her bagel. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Vito grinned. “Dad’s already planning the crib.”

“Which Theo here will build.” Michael beamed at the boy who’d done what none of Vito’s siblings had been able to do-carry on their own father’s art. None of them had a lick of woodworking talent. Turned out Theo Four had enough for all of them.

“No big deal,” Theo mumbled.

“No big deal,” Michael scoffed. “He’s already finished one of the cribs for Tess.”

Who, after trying for two years, was having twins, and Vito couldn’t have been happier. It was a second wave of Ciccotelli grandchildren. Which just added more family.

Which, in Vito’s book, made him the richest of men.