We’re standing in a grand foyer that opens up to a large living room with a crackling fireplace. To the right is a staircase leading to the second floor, and to the left is the kitchen.
Armando comes in behind us and opens a shallow cabinet attached to the wall. Inside is a row of hooks with keys hanging off them. He hooks his car keys on an empty one and closes the cabinet.
We get about four steps in when Gemma’s mother emerges from the shadows. She’s wrapped in a long house robe and her hair is tied back in a braid. You’d think she’d rush over to give her recently ill daughter a hug, but instead, all she gives Gemma is a critical look.
I hear Gemma’s intake of breath. “Mamma.”
Pietra examines Gemma for a moment before pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “You look terrible.”
“It was a long journey.”
“Your father wants to speak with you.”
Gemma’s shoulders tense up. “I’m really tired. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Pietra shakes her head. “Go, Gemma. He stayed up waiting for you.”
I grind my teeth. Gemma’s legs are barely holding her weight, and she’s still weak from her illness.
“Mamma, please.”
Any normal mother would back off, but I’m starting to realize that Pietra is far from normal. When she opens her fucking mouth to argue, I step in.
“Mrs. Garzolo, the doctor instructed Gemma to take it easy for the next few days. It’s past one am. She needs to lie down and get some rest.”
Both of the women look at me, one cautiously grateful and the other annoyed.
It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what Pietra is thinking. I’m in her house, and I don’t make the rules here. But I hold her gaze, challenging her to voice that thought.
I don’t give a fuck where we are. Gemma’s wellbeing is my priority, and I’m not going to let her mom get away with being a cunt.
There’s a long pause before Pietra finally says, “First thing tomorrow. Go to your room Gemma.” Her eyes narrow on me. “He’ll speak with you right now.”
I’m tempted to make a comment about their shitty hospitality—we’ve been traveling for nearly fifteen hours—but I swallow it down. I knew that I wasn’t exactly going to be welcomed with open arms. Garzolo is only hosting me due to obligation.
Gemma locks eyes with me for a brief moment, looking almost apologetic.
I shrug. She has nothing to apologize for.
I don’t get a chance to say goodnight before Pietra’s gestures for me to follow her and I’m led away.
My eyes fly open, and I don’t need to check the clock to know that definitely wasn’t the recommended eight hours of sleep.
Fuck jet lag. Why haven’t they developed pills for it by now?
I groan as I sit up. The clock on the wall tells me my bed and I have been acquainted with each other for a grand total of three hours.
It’s five am.
I thought I was going to fall asleep in Garzolo’s office when he kept me there for an hour after we arrived. The conversation was essentially him attempting to figure out why I was really here. I repeated three times the same thing Dem had already told him. That we were just taking a look at his operations and seeing if there’s an opportunity to collaborate on more things. He finally accepted that was all he was getting from me and let me leave.
I hop out of bed and take a quick shower before slipping on my warmest clothes, which is a gray Italian wool suit I somehow had the foresight to pack with me. Actually, it’s probably the warmest thing I own, period. Living in Ibiza and Southern Italy, I don’t exactly need a robust winter wardrobe.
There’s no way around it, I’ll need to do some shopping soon, or I’ll slowly succumb to hypothermia.
Garzolo would probably like that.
I despise shopping, but I’m willing to do it if it’ll keep a smile off that fucker’s face.
First, I have a more pressing problem to address. I need to figure out how I’m going to keep an eye on Gemma when she’s out of the house. I need to be around her. After all, I promised Vale I’d find out the real story behind that bruise.
The most straightforward option would be to somehow convince Garzolo to let me be her bodyguard and driver while I’m here.
Problem is, she already has one of those.
Armando Vitale.
So step one is to get rid of that prick. Step two is to figure out how to convince Garzolo I’m the right man for the job.
I leave my bedroom and wander around the house for a bit, getting familiar with the layout. I do this every time I stay in a new place. The last thing you want is for a bit of trouble to come up and not know where all the exits are.
Once I’ve cataloged it all away, I pop into the kitchen for an espresso.
While I wait for the coffee machine to grind the beans, I grab a newspaper from the counter. A headline catches my eye. “US Attorney General Vows to Continue Fight Against Organized Crime.”
A smile pulls at my lips. Whether in Italy or the United States, they always vow this kind of thing. Back home, it rarely amounts to anything. How can it, when we have most of the elected officials in our pocket? We budget each year for that shit.
I grab one of the small cups lined up by the coffee machine and get the espresso going. When it’s ready, I take it up to my room to drink.
There’s a big arched window in my bedroom. On the other side, it’s still so dark, you can see the stars above. I’m hovering by the windowsill, trying to make out the cars Garzolo has parked out front, when the glare of a phone screen catches my eye.
I squint. Did someone just walk out the side door of the house?
It’s hard to see who it is, but the shape and height implies it’s a man. He’s too tall to be Garzolo so…
Shit, that’s Vitale.
What’s he wearing? No winter coat, that’s for sure. Hold on. He’s dressed like he’s about to go for a run. A subtle rush creeps up my spine. The kind that comes with a good idea.
I wait until I see what direction he goes in, and then I leave my bedroom once more and quietly slip through the house until I get to the foyer.
I open the cabinet I saw Vitale put his keys in last night and take out the one for the Suburban.
Freezing cold air slams into me as soon as I step outside. My jaw snaps shut, and I hurry to the damn car. This weather is a fucking nightmare. How do people survive here?
It doesn’t take me long to find Vitale. I grin. He’s not even wearing any reflective clothing. Doesn’t he know that’s the smart thing to do when running while it’s dark out?
My foot presses on the gas. I’m worried he’ll hear me approach, but the man’s oblivious. Listening to music probably.
It all comes together like a symphony.
The car rams into him. He yelps, flies over the windshield, and then his body crashes to the ground with a dull thud.
I get out of the car and go to check on him. He’s knocked out, but there’s a steady pulse. He might not be able to walk for a while, but he’ll be okay. It’s not the worst thing I’ve done by a long shot. I pat his shoulder and then get back inside the car.
A grin plays on my lips.
This trip is off to a good start.
I make it back to Garzolo’s a whole hour before the rest of the house wakes up,