“Have you talked to him today?” Enzo’s deep voice rumbled through the space a few minutes later.
“No, we haven’t spoken since last night. And I’ve been dodging his calls today. If he knows I’m traveling with you, he’ll flip out.”
“He has no business dictating what you do. None.” He faced the road again, and I honestly had no clue where we were now or what part of the city we were in, but it was bustling and alive. Exploding with energy. And so different from where I grew up.
He switched lanes and stopped at a red light before looking at me. But then his attention shifted over my shoulder, and his entire body seemed to go lax, including his mouth.
I pivoted to follow his eyes, unsure why a Catholic church, which looked like it belonged in the Renaissance era based on its architecture, had produced such a reaction from him. “What’s wrong?” I faced him again, but he was already looking toward the road, pulling through the light, accelerating a bit more than necessary.
“Nothing,” he whispered.
“Don’t lie. Please.” I reached over and set my hand atop his forearm and gave him a gentle squeeze.
“It’s just . . .” He cleared his throat. “That was Bianca’s church where she went to mass. And it was also where I was arrested for murdering her killer.”
FIFTEEN
Maria
“I was upset. Drunk. Out-of-my-mind angry,” Enzo shared, his voice distant and detached as if it weren’t his story. “And I don’t know what possessed me to go to the church that night, but I stumbled in there like some crazy person, and someone called the cops. Turns out, the police were already looking for me.
“I guess I went there hoping I’d hear her voice. Have her tell me that what I did was okay because it was for her,” he went on, his tone rough with emotion. “We would’ve all gone to prison for years, but we were offered an unusual arrangement instead. And that included a cover-up story as to how he really died. And no, it wasn’t from a car accident.”
When he eased his arm free from my touch and changed lanes, I had a feeling he was done with sharing, and for once, I didn’t press him for more. I wasn’t quite ready to hear how he actually killed the man. And maybe I never needed to know those details.
I stowed my phone in my purse and kept my eyes on the window the remainder of the drive until we parked in front of his place.
I’d expected some fancy penthouse in the sky, not a stately brick town house with hints of Greek revivalism in the design. I’d dabbled in art and architecture in college, though quickly realized I lacked an important skill: drawing. But I’d always admired the beauty of certain buildings from my studies. And this was definitely a stunning home.
“Come on. We won’t be long.” He hopped out, then rounded the car to open the door for me before heading to the Suburban behind us. He exchanged a few words with the driver while I waited at his doorstep.
His eyes held mine when he climbed the few steps to get to me, and then he cleared his throat and wordlessly let us in. He stopped the wailing alarm with a code inside the foyer as I asked, “How many stories?” Yeah, I suck at small talk.
“Including the cellar and the roof deck,” he began while discarding his sunglasses on a table in the foyer, “six. This is the parlor floor. The pool is at the garden level right below us.”
“You have a pool inside your house?” I tried to mask my shock, but I knew I was failing as I did a slow three-sixty, taking in the modern and opulent interior. “This is what money looks like, huh?”
“I guess so. I, uh, didn’t design it. This place isn’t me.” He pocketed his hands, an uneasy look crossing his face, and I couldn’t quite place why. “I’m going to my office. You’re welcome to wait here or look around. Up to you.” And with that, he went toward the stairs and disappeared.
I found myself meandering around the “parlor” level, which sounded too fancy for me, then made my way downstairs to check out the pool. My jaw dropped at the sight of a wet bar extending the length of the long, narrow pool with cozy-looking gray couches on the other side. “A waterfall?” I mumbled when spying the cascading water going into the pool, unsure why it was even running if he didn’t live there. And for that matter, why did such an unlived-in space look so clean?
I swiped my hand along the bar top as I passed by. No dust.
I circled the pool, and my heart stopped at the sight of a flash of red exposed beneath one of the couches. I snatched the material, and my shoulders fell at the realization it was a small pair of red bikini bottoms. Well, more like a string bikini.