Let Me Love You (58)

When I didn’t answer, Giovanni texted again.

Giovanni: If your family agrees, we’ll all come tomorrow. Make amends.

I didn’t bother to respond, too damn angry. I shoved my phone back in my pocket, still unsure how to handle the Thomas situation. But I’d need to shelve that problem for later. I had to catch Bianca’s killer first.

I fixed my attention on Izzy, wishing it’d been Jesse who’d texted instead. No messages or voice mails from him while I’d been out of contact, since my phone had gone for a swim.

“Who was that?” Izzy asked, but then I was saved by the bell. Well, the doorbell. “That must be Pablo.” She nervously slapped her hands to the sides of her legs as if trying to discard sweat from her palms.

I set my hand to her back and motioned for her to walk. She remained quiet as we made our way back to the foyer, but Alessandro beat us to the door. He was busy talking to Izzy’s boyfriend, so he didn’t notice we were there yet.

“Your last name, what is it?” Alessandro had his hands in his gray slacks’ pockets, eyes steady on his target.

Pablo-not-Picasso had his blond hair up in a man bun, and he had ripped jeans like my sister’s but with paint on them and a tattered tee with . . . flip-fucking-flops.

Were we being Punk’d?

“Why do you need to know?” Pablo asked, eyes moving to Izzy as if searching for a save, and she quickly went to his side and hooked an arm around his back to protect him from the scrutiny of my brother. Good luck with that. I was next in line, too.

“I need a name to run a background check,” Alessandro plainly said. “I can snap your photo and upload that, but that’s a time suck.”

“He’s funny.” Pablo pointed to him before his eyes landed on me, and he took an uncomfortable step back.

What, did I look threatening? Good.

Alessandro faced me, and his expression changed from menacing to warm. “Hey.” He pulled me in for a one-arm hug, patted my back twice; then we both became laser-focused on the man I sure as hell didn’t like.

“He doesn’t have a last name.” Izzy spoke for her boyfriend that time. “He changed it to just Pablo.”

“Like Cher. Prince. Madonna. Elvis.” Pablo smiled. “Just Pablo.”

“Well, Just Pablo,” my brother drawled. “Elvis had a last name. Presley. God help you if you don’t know that.” He tsked and raked a hand through his brown hair.

Izzy leaned into her boyfriend, setting a palm to his chest, and lightly patted. “He’s teasing. Don’t worry.”

“But I’m not actually,” Alessandro said, using his flat tone of voice again, not laying on any of his typical charm.

I looked up to see Constantine on approach, and the grim look on my brother’s face meant he knew I didn’t have the cleaner’s name yet. “We need to talk. Alone.” Constantine’s gaze flicked to Pablo, and he looked away as if the man were but a shadow there and nothing to worry about. Hell, not even a hello. He angled his head down the hall where he’d come from, a request to follow.

“I’m sorry they’re being so rude,” Izzy apologized. “But that’s Enzo. The comedian with the questions is Alessandro.” She let go of Pablo to block my path to try and stop me from following Constantine’s request to leave. “My eldest brother with clearly no manners is Constantine.”

“Nice to meet you all?” Pablo said it like a question.

“I guess if Mom isn’t running here to see him, she’s already met Pablo-not-Picasso?” I asked. “And she didn’t tell us for obvious reasons.”

Pablo frowned. “He knows I can hear him, right?”

“Yeah, you still have both your ears.” Alessandro chuckled.

“That was Van Gogh,” Izzy said with frustration. “I swear, you two.”

But come on, she had to know we wouldn’t like the guy, and how could we?

“I guess I’ll take you to the pool house.” Izzy scowled at me, then rolled her eyes at Alessandro before snatching Pablo’s hand.

Pablo grabbed his bag, and the two of them went down the other hall, avoiding Constantine.

“I don’t like him,” Alessandro said once the three of us were alone. “Pretty sure Constantine will kill him before night falls.”

“That’s being generous,” Constantine rasped before turning away.

Before I had a chance to follow him, Mom called out my name, and I pivoted to see her approaching. “Maria seems nervous. Maybe you should go talk to her?” She came before me and opened her palms. “I was hoping Izzy and Maria would cook dinner with me tonight. I’d ask you, but you need a break, I’m sure.”

I wouldn’t mind cooking. It was an outlet, my way to destress. Using my hands for something that brought pleasure instead of pain.

But tonight wouldn’t be the night, not with why I was there.

I looked at Alessandro and Constantine waiting for me and then back toward the hall where my old room was, and why did it feel like I was being asked to make a choice right now? Justice or love?





NINETEEN


Maria

“Stuffy will be back soon. He’s just on vacation. Like Mommy is,” I said over FaceTime to Chiara, trying not to cry at the sight of my daughter on the small screen. I missed her so damn much.