Page 22 of Confession (Constantine Brothers #2)

SEVENTEEN

Vitali

“You need to talk to him.”

Sasha’s words, which are somewhere between unwanted advice and inaccurate assessment, don’t even get me to look up from my computer. I punch a few numbers in.

“He’s the one who needs to talk to me, which he consistently refuses to do. And I can smell that taco from here.”

“You cannot. It’s cold. I’m suffering to spare your sensitive nose.”

“You think cold food doesn’t smell?”

“If you didn’t want your office to smell like tacos, you should’ve brought Quinn.”

I sigh.

“He’s not okay, Vitali.”

I look up. “You saw him?”

Sasha stares back at me from the sleek leather couch. Taco in hand, her elbows are on her knees, her braid hanging over her shoulder. “I went to check on him this morning.”

“And?”

She sets her taco in the to-go box. I watch her consider whether or not to tell me. I think she’s trying decide which will hurt me more.

She says, “I got him up out of the mess of cum he was lying in. I got him to take a shower while I got those gross sheets off the bed.”

I close my eyes against the sting. I take several careful breaths.

“Where is he now?”

“You should’ve checked on him.”

“Where is he, Sasha?”

“Still in his room, last I knew.”

Fuck.

I stand up from my desk and grab my jacket, but Sasha says, “Wait, hold on.”

She’s halfway to her feet, phone in hand. She’s frowning at the screen.

“What?” I demand, thinking she’s gotten a text from Quinn. Or about him. “Is he—”

“It’s a security alert. For here,” she adds when I scramble for my phone, thinking she means the house. “Cecilia DiMaggio just walked in the door. Camera 3,” she says when I lean down to my computer.

I pull up the feed. I don’t have to look long before I spot DiMaggio’s elegant daughter. She goes to the bar, green silk dress shimmering over her curves, pearled clutch in hand.

Goddamn it. I don’t want to deal with this right now.

“Bring her up here,” I order Sasha impatiently. I’ll get this over with as fast as possible then get back to the house. To Quinn.

Sasha gathers up her food and takes it over the minifridge then heads for the door.

I set a chair in front of my desk before settling behind it. I pick up my phone, wanting to text Quinn, but there’s too much to say, so I set it back down.

When Sasha opens the door, letting in Cecilia DiMaggio, I give Sasha a slight nod, indicating for her to leave. Her nostrils flare, but she obeys me, pulling the door shut as Gavino DiMaggio’s daughter saunters toward my desk.

“Hello, Cecilia.”

Her red lips shape a smile. “Vitali.”

She’s about fifteen years older than I am but doesn’t look it, not with such careful cosmetic work and the expensive, well-chosen clothes skimming her sleek figure. That’s her nature. Careful. Calculating.

Of course, I don’t need to know that to know that she’s here for a reason. A reason that serves her first and foremost.

She seats herself elegantly in the chair across from my desk.

“To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

She chuckles softly. “I always liked you, Vitali.” When I don’t respond to that, her polished fingernails drum on her pearl-studded clutch. “I’ve come with an offering.”

“Why would you offer me something?”

“Because it serves me, of course.”

“Of course. But I imagine it requires something from me.”

“Indeed. But I think it’s something you’ll want to do.”

I gesture for her to continue.

She opens her clutch and pulls out her phone. She fiddles with it briefly then extends it to me across the desk.

I take it and settle back to look at the picture on the screen. It’s two men, one pinning the other to a wall. It’s sexual, not violent. The man pinned against the wall is Alesso DiMaggio, but I can only see the back of the other’s head.

“Swipe through,” Cecilia says.

When I swipe to the next image, my heart skips. I zoom in. No. It can’t be.

I swipe to the next picture, then the next. I zoom in again. I frown.

“What the fuck,” I mutter. “When were these taken?”

“About two and half years ago.”

Some of my panic subsides. I look again. Yeah, his hair is longer, like when …

Like when he applied for a job at Eclipse.

I set Cecilia’s phone down. “Why show me this?”

“So you’ll know I’m telling the truth when I say that your man had quite the fling with my brother, and that fling was what got him a very lucrative job. One he didn’t actually do—or you wouldn’t be sitting here tonight.”

“Explain.”

“I think you understand what I’m saying, Vitali.”

I do, but it takes a minute for that understanding to take shape, for me to put it into words.

“You’re saying that Alesso hired him to kill me.”

“My father hired him actually, at Alesso’s urging. That’s why he applied for a job here. To get close.”

Everything inside me goes cold and hard. Not again. Not another one, another betrayal. Not him .

“These pictures don’t prove that.”

“Maybe you should ask him,” Cecilia suggests.

What would he say? Would he tell me the truth?

“I don’t see how any of this is actionable.” Jesus. How the hell do I sound so calm and logical right now?

“Oh, none of this is actionable, certainly. This is all prelude. What I really came to tell you is that your man has in his possession something that is actionable. He has very compelling evidence against my brother.”

“Evidence of what?”

“A crime that could see my brother locked away.”

“Then why didn’t your father just kill him to kill the evidence?”

“Because he’s bought his safety with a very effective threat. If he’s killed, the evidence passes to you, and you, most definitely, will want to use it.”

“And that’s what you want? For me to use it?”

“Alesso has too much control over my father in his weakened state. My father is falling prey to thoughts of traditional ideals. The male line and all that.”

“But Alesso’s gay.”

“He’s promised my father that he’ll marry and have children. He’s says he’ll do it for the family.” She sneers. “He’s been researching surrogacy.”

“So you need Alesso out of your way before your father dies.”

“Of course. And you should want it too, considering that Alesso wants you dead. Wouldn’t you rather deal with me?” With that, Cecilia gets up from her chair. When I try to hand her the phone, she says, “Keep it. It’s a burner.”

She saunters to the door, hips swaying slightly, glossy hair curling down her back. As she leaves, Sasha enters.

“So what did she want?” Sasha asks as I stand up and slide Cecilia’s phone into my pocket.

“To fuck up my life.”