She let the talk flow around her. Joanna and Mario accepted drinks happily, and she sipped on champagne. She loved to dance. Loved it. Dancing was one of her all-time favorite things to do. Her parents had put her in dance classes when she was very young; ballroom, Latin, swing—she’d learned it all. Not to mention the pole dancing she’d done as exercise in college. Cella had insisted that was the one splurge they would have after their parents’ deaths.

Francesca loved her sister for that sacrifice. It wasn’t like she was ever going to be a professional dancer, but still, Cella deemed those lessons important and she worked extra hours to pay for them. As soon as Francesca was old enough, she worked, cleaning houses, working at the deli, anything at all in order to help Cella with the bills.

The limo pulled up to the front of the club. Francesca was a little shocked when she saw the line of people trying to get in. It seemed to go on forever. She knew she would never have had the patience to wait in a line that long, especially if, like Joanna had said, there was a possibility that she’d be turned away once she reached the front.

“This is crazy, Jo,” she murmured.

Joanna squeezed her arm tightly as they all got out of the limo. “I can’t believe this. I feel like a princess arriving at the ball. Everyone’s staring, trying to catch a glimpse of us. They think we’re celebrities, Francesca.”

Emmanuelle suddenly moved, flowing across the short distance separating her from Francesca. She was elegant even in her body’s movement, like a ballet dancer. As she got to Francesca, she took her arm, turning her around toward the club. Emmanuelle’s body provided a shield as a dozen flashes went off.

“Keep walking. Stay between us all, in the middle,” Emmanuelle ordered, her voice low.

Emmanuelle’s hand was steady on Francesca’s back, pushing her gently toward the entrance. As they moved past the front of the line to the entrance, the bouncers unhooked the velvet ropes to allow them in. Francesca noticed that Emilio and Enzo fell in behind them. She had no idea where they came from, but suddenly they were walking with the small group of women, as if they’d always been with them.

The moment the doors to the club opened, Francesca could hear the pounding beat of the music. It was loud, impossible not to want to dance to and very trendy. The DJ was extremely popular, one who commanded all sorts of money, and yet stayed there in Chicago rather than moving to New York, where he would be given star status. There were several bars, each glowing a different color. Muted blues, reds, purples and greens pulsed to the music from the lights secreted in the bars. The bartenders were moving fast, bottles spinning in the air as they quickly made drinks for the customers pressing around the curved bars.

Francesca could feel the beat of the music already heating up her blood. They moved through the lower section in a tight group, Emilio and Enzo ensuring the crowd parted for them as they wound their way through the floor. Up a few stairs was the VIP section, where tables and booths guaranteed privacy. Even farther up were the very secluded tables and booths. Those were reserved for family and friends.

Emmanuelle led the way with absolute confidence. She clearly was the queen of the club. Deference was paid to her everywhere one looked. Nods. Smiles. Waves. She kept moving even when a few scantily clad women called out her name and stepped toward her. She was gracious, always replying, but she made it clear she was heading toward her own table.

A waitress followed them, ready to take their drink orders. There would be no queuing up to the bar for them. Francesca surveyed the room below her. It was exciting, the music already finding her pulse and beating there, calling her. Joanna was already swaying to the persistent call of the drum.

Emmanuelle sank into one of the plush seats, indicating the chair beside her to Francesca. “I have to join my brothers for a meeting in a few minutes, but I’ve got time for a drink. We’ve got cousins from New York here. Four of them. I noticed them on the dance floor when we walked in. They’ve already got women hanging on them. See that blonde down there?” She indicated a woman in a very short leather dress with cutouts on either side. The openings ran from her hips to under her arms. Her platinum hair was short and spiked.

“I see her.” Francesca frowned. The woman looked very familiar. “Where have I seen her before?”

“She’s a starlet. Plays in a drama on television and thinks every man in all the states wants to sleep with her. She’s totally after my cousin.”

“We call her the barracuda,” Rosina supplied.

Joanna giggled as she craned her neck, trying to peer into the dark crowd of moving bodies. “She’s got on five-inch heels. Wow. I don’t know if I could actually dance in five-inch heels.”