Page 47 of Always Mine
Raf takes a big breath then pushes it back out, like he’s trying to get his whole body under control and not just his breathing.
“I just finished going through all the contracts for your business deal and acquisition of La Rosa with AJ Gigioliotti.”
He stares at me, and I see the gears shift and his intimidation soften. He’s not the big shot lawyer anymore. He’s Raf, my brother and one of my closest friends.
“Marco, are you sure about this? Are you sure this is good for your business reputation and Sebastian’s? Bella Donna makes you a package deal.”
“Raf, stop talking in riddles. Just spit it out.”
“I’ve been going through all the paperwork for La Rosa. Everything from building and pest inspections to all the sustainability and compliance reports. I’d never heard of the law firm representing La Rosa. It’s a huge sale. I thought they would be using one of the regulars who specialize in conveyancing. So, I did a bit of digging and discovered that Arty Bartholomew Jones is the director of Duo Law—the same firm acting on behalf of all the shell companies who run the clubs and bars owned by the Rizzos.”
“What the fuck! Isn’t he an entertainment lawyer?”
“Yes. Most of us just stick to our specialist fields, but if he’s got the qualifications, there’s nothing stopping him from practicing in other disciplines too.”
“It’s all legitimate. I saw AJ just before I came here. He confirmed he’s smoothed things over on his end.”
Raf’s expression darkens, and he looks at me pointedly. “On paper it’s all legitimate, but I’m worried about the unwarranted attention you might be inviting, and the ammunition you might be providing people intent on muddying your reputation.”
The pieces click. Arty is a mole for the Rizzos. “Raf, it’s that motherfucker Arty who’s been feeding your dad information about my business dealings.”
Joke’s on him though, because the skeletons I know are hidden in his closet are enough to hang him. But I’ll bide my time.
“It could just be a coincidence, but…”
“I don’t believe in fucking coincidences.”
My friend just nods his head, while mine starts to pound. This new revelation on top of the blog blast and the responsibility AJhas given me to keep Chiara safe starts to feel like a noose around my neck.
First things first. I need to get Sophia alone.
Chapter twenty-four
The Not-So-Other-Woman
Sophia
Thepetitewomanwiththe larger-than-life personality wrapped in a mink coat is even more attractive in person than the pictures I saw in the blog post. Her angelic features are set on a heart-shaped face, her fair, smooth skin a stark contrast to the dark chocolate hair and big green eyes, which ironically remind me of Marco’s. Her full, red-lined lips are a hint to her vixen ways.
“The restroom is down there to your right,” I say, pointing it out to her as I make my way back to my office to retrieve my forgotten bag so I can get the hell out of here.
“Thank you. I’ll just be a moment and then we can chat.”
Ugghhh, it’s the last thing I want to do, but with Marco locked away with Raf, I probably can’t just let her roam around the office by herself.
“Ah. Sure thing. I’ll just be in my office. It’s that one there,” I say, pointing out the door to my new office. “Can I get you a coffee?” Bitch mode: epic fail. People pleaser: activated.
A small giggle leaves her as she turns back to look at me. “Girl, I’m Italian. I’ll never say no to a coffee. Espresso, no sugar.”
I fight a smile. As much as I wanted to despise her, in the short time I’ve spent with her, she seems like someone I could be friends with. If only she hadn’t had her mitts on my… What? He’s not my boyfriend. Regardless, my heart will always lay claim to him as mine—even if I ran scared before we had a proper chance to have that conversation. I flush at the memory of how Marco put his talented mouth to good use in other ways.
“Knock, knock.” The small woman’s husky voice interrupts my steamy daydreams.
I look up and find her cautiously standing in the doorway of my office, waiting for an invitation to cross the threshold. No doubt thanks to my earlier hostility towards her. I notice the leather camera bag saddled across her body, nestled in the cozy fibers of her coat.
I wave her in. “Are you a photographer?”
Her eyes light up at my question. “Something like that,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. “I studied photography and fine arts. So I’m trained but not a big-time name. I love street style and capturing people in their element, hence why I have my camera attached to me like another limb. I’m here to see Natalia Hirsch’s exhibition in a couple of weeks. I assisted her during my studies. She’s a master of capturing emotion in those infinitesimal in-between moments.” Then gesturing to the gloomy skies we can see from my office, she deadpans, “Just thought I’d come out a few weeks earlier and enjoy this delightful New York weather.”