“All right.” Stone drove along in silence for a few minutes. “You know,” he said, finally, “Dolce was playing footsie with me under the table.”

Dino’s mouth dropped open. “Right there, in front of Eduardo? No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

Dino burst out laughing. “Did I tell you she has balls? She’s some piece of work, isn’t she?”

“She certainly seems to be.”

“Stone, don’t call her; don’t get involved.”

“Well, I…”

“I’m not kidding you. Eduardo is Satan, and Dolce is his handmaiden.”

“Dino, you’re getting very Italian on me.”

“You want Johnny Donato on your back? He tells everybody they’re still married.”

“So why hasn’t Eduardo dealt with him? Why isn’t Donato—to put it in your own graceful and expressive manner—‘at the bottom of Sheepshead Bay with a concrete block up his ass’?”

“It’ll happen, don’t worry. But when it does, it’ll be done in such a way that nobody will even think of connecting it with Eduardo or Dolce. That’s how Eduardo works.”

“It’ll be interesting to wait and watch.”

“And in the meantime, you stay away from Dolce; she’s poison.”

“Dino, I’ve got Sarah, remember?”

“I remember. Just don’t you forget.”

31

STONE AND SARAH SAT UP IN BED, EATING bagels and cream cheese, the Times spread out before them. “Oh, look!” she cried, thrusting the paper at him, “a really nice write-up about tonight!”

Stone read the piece, smiling. “I’m happy for you; this should make your opening even more successful. There’s nothing like a little validation from the Times art critic.”

“Edgar says he’s had over two hundred acceptances, and this will put us way over the top. And Edgar has already sold two of the most expensive pictures.”

“Before the opening? To whom?”

“He won’t tell me; he just says it’s an important collector, somebody on the board of the Metropolitan! Can you imagine?”

“When did this happen?”

“Yesterday. The man called him and requested a private showing, even though the work wasn’t hung yet.”

“I think I had dinner with him last night.”

“Who? Edgar? He was hanging the work with me.”

“No, the buyer.”

“Who is he?”

“My guess is he’s Dino’s father-in-law; his name is Eduardo Bianchi.”

“Didn’t you tell me that Dino’s father-in-law is some sort of Mafia guy?”

“Maybe I did, but believe me, after meeting him, I can tell you he’s no run-of-the-mill gangster. He has a very fine collection. He mentioned you, in fact, but he didn’t tell me he had bought two pictures. He knew your work from before you left for Italy.”