The House of Wolfe Read Online Free PDF

driver’s window and says, All aboard, gentlemen.
    Espanto slides open the rear door and Huerta helps the blindfolded men to get in. The backseats have been removed. The man in the passenger side front seat tells them to lie down and stay that way until they’re told to do otherwise.
    Huerta slides the door closed and its lock clicks. Espanto slaps the roof and says, “Váyanse.”
    The van departs.
    Should’ve been smoother, Espanto says as they go back through the gate. Hardhead bastard nearly fucked things up.
    Could’ve been worse, Huerta says. We might’ve had to haul a body out here.
    At twenty minutes to eight, they take the four Town Cars—Huerta driving the lead vehicle, then Espanto, Gallo, and Rubio—up the wide curving driveway, lined on both sides with the attended cars of special guests, and around to the front of the house and park one behind the other in the reserved stretch along the curb near the verandah steps. On the other side of the driveway is a large courtyard, its dense trees softly underlighted. The men get out of the cars and come around them to post themselves on the passenger sides, facing the house.
    A few couples stand along the verandah railing, some of them silhouetted against the brilliant windows, holding each other close, murmuring, laughing low. From the ballroom come the jolly strains of a Strauss waltz.
    At ten past eight, the small party they’ve been awaiting comes out of the house in a loud jabber and flows down the flight of steps to the Town Cars, and the waiting drivers open the doors to receive them.
    2 — JESSIE
    As the orchestra crescendos toward the conclusion of Strauss’s “Voices of Spring,” Jessica Juliet Wolfe whirls round and round in the arms of Aldo Belmonte. He’s waltzing her toward the corner of the chandeliered ballroom where a row of tall potted palms blocks the room’s view of the restroom foyer.
    Jessie knows what he’s up to and she’s decided the thing to do is let him make his move and get it over with.
    He spins her off the floor and behind the palms as the last notes sound and the ballroom bursts into applause for the orchestra. He brings her to a halt at the wall, a hand at her nape under hair of strawberry blonde, gazing in her eyes with a soulfulness so theatrical she nearly laughs. She surprises herself by not averting her mouth from his kiss, but isn’t at all surprised to feel his hand slide down to her ass or the press of his hardness on her tummy. He tries to insinuate his tongue into her mouth but she locks her lips in a tight smile, then giggles at the feel of his tongue tip trying to breach the barrier.
    He pulls his head back. Very cute, he says.
    â€œSorry, sailor,” she says in English, pushing his hand away. “A cop of ass and a dry smooch is as far as it goes tonight.”
    â€œTonight, huh?” He consults his Rolex. “Well, it’ll be tomorrow in just a few hours.” His English has a tinge of Spanish accent.
    â€œForget it, amigo,” she says. “I told you.”
    He puts his hands on her hips and again presses his pelvis to her. “ This old amigo of yours would really like to, ah, get together again.”
    â€œJesus, Aldo. Suave as ever.”
    She squirms free of him and shakes straight her shoulder-length hair and runs her hands over her hips and bottom as if to smooth her gown but really just to tease him because he has it coming. The dress is a navy sheath of silk jersey, sleeveless and floor-length, identical to those of the other two bridesmaids, and she knows how fetchingly it holds to her butt. He comes toward her again and she moves out from behind the palms.
    â€œC’mon, JJ, don’t be—”
    â€œWould you be a dear and get me a glass of white?”
    â€œNow? We’ll be leaving in a minute.”
    â€œWould you please?”
    He sighs, but says, “Yeah, sure,” and goes off to the