Page 17

17

RAFFAELE

C arlos Giordana.

A name that’s beginning to haunt me.

Last week, at Marie’s funeral, Adelina was vocal about her thoughts on me. I can’t blame her for listening to the carefully crafted rumors that exist about me, although from her words it seems like some of them have spiraled out of my control. She thinks I would bring harm to children and that I kill without reason. I want to tell her she’s wrong, but she won’t believe me.

Because of Carlos.

Her fiancé.

His death came at my hands, apparently. It seems we were doomed from the start. She refused to elaborate on why she blames me for his death, and given everything she’s been through, I’m not in the habit of pressuring her until I have stiff facts to back me up. So in the days following Marie’s funeral, I order an investigation into Carlos Giordana.

And by investigations, it’s merely Vito doing what digging he can in order to scrape up relevant information.

Pascal becomes my focus in the meantime. The man dodged several meeting requests, leaving me to stew in the knowledge that his name—or at the very least, his bank account—paid the scumbags who kidnapped and sexually assaulted my wife.

A coincidence?

I can’t imagine Pascal would endanger his own daughter.

Then again, he sold her to me with the bare bones of a deal—a deal that benefited him and left Adelina in my care with no instructions or promises. I could do anything to her, and it would be within the guidelines her dear father laid out.

And if he’s not directly responsible? He'd better help me find out who is.

“Boss?” Vito raps his knuckles on the door, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Pascal is here. I put him in your office.”

Tearing my gaze away from where Adelina stands outside on the patio staring aimlessly at an empty canvas, I nod. “Does he want to see Adelina?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Vito replies as he stops next to me. “Just told me he didn’t have time for this.”

“Hmm.” My attention drifts back outside. Adelina went out early this morning and set up her easel, along with countless art supplies that I could never understand. And then she stood there and stared at her canvas. Several hours later, and not a drop of paint has been used.

“What is she doing?” Vito squints at her.

“I think she’s working through something,” I reply quietly. “Her trauma. The loss of her friend. Survivor's guilt. I want to get her away from here.”

“Do you really think that will help?” Vito side-eyes me. “Taking her to Italy?”

“Maybe. I’m not leaving her here, that’s for sure. I just…” Hesitation mutes my words and I shake my head. I can’t verbalize the conflicting feelings around Adelina. I want to help her, badly. But there’s nothing I can do because she won’t let me. So all I can do is create space for her to heal, even if she doesn’t see it.

Vito watches me expectantly, waiting for me to finish, but I never do. I turn away and leave the room, heading straight for my office.

Pascal stands near the bookcase with his head tilted back as he reads the spines of several higher-up volumes. His hands clasp together at the small of his back while he rocks back on his heels, then he spins to face me when the creaking floorboard betrays my entry.

“Raffaele.”

“Pascal.”

“You'd better have a good reason for summoning me here.”

“Do I need a good reason?” Arching one brow, I move past him to the drinks trolley, where several half-filled crystal decanters glisten with an array of alcohol. “We’re business partners and, in a way, family.”

“I’m a busy man.” Pascal clears his throat. “You could call.”

“Are you sure about that?” I pour one glass of Scotch, then hold the decanter up to him in offering.

He shakes his head, declining. “I would answer.”

“It took me over two weeks to get you here. You didn’t even come to Marie’s funeral. Your daughter’s best friend.” Picking up my glass, I slowly move to my desk and lean against the wood. “I’m surprised.”

“I barely knew the girl.” Pascal clears his throat, but for some reason, he can’t meet my eyes.

Marie, bless her soul, is my gateway into asking why Pascal’s name was on the accounts connected to those fucks , but just as the question rises, Pascal turns an accusatory eye on me.

“And while we’re talking about people we barely know, why the hell are you trying to take my daughter out of the country?”

The audacity of his accusation silences my own question and I stare at him, lifting my brows. “ Excuse me?”

“She’s just lost her friend. She should be here, around friends and family. Not being dragged across the world because you decide you need to be anywhere but here.”

Anger licks at my thoughts and warmth rises in the back of my mind. What a bold, irritating little man Pascal is turning out to be. I don’t much care how he found out, but unfortunately for him, the second someone tells me I can’t or shouldn’t do something, it becomes the only thing I want to do.

“Around friends and family?” I repeat slowly. “Need I remind you that you, her dear father, sold her to me? She is my wife, which makes me her family. So she goes where I go.” I push up from the desk and take a step toward Pascal.

His eyes widen a fraction and once again, he can’t hold my gaze.

“Did you forget the terms of our deal already? The moment we signed that deal, Adelina stopped being your business. You laid down nothing to protect her from me, so frankly, what I choose to do with my wife is none of your damn business.”

“It’s not right,” he mutters gruffly. “She shouldn’t be carted about while she’s grieving. She should remain here where it’s steady and comfortable.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Well, no?—”

“Called her?”

“Again, no.”

“Then how do you know what she needs?” I won’t breathe a word about what happened to Adelina with those men, and like everyone else, Pascal will believe Marie died in a car accident. Until I get the answers I need.

“Well, she’s my daughter and she’s never liked to travel. I’d prefer if she stayed where she could reach me easily if she needed help.”

“She won’t ever come to you for help,” I reply coldly. “Again, you sold her. I hardly imagine her emotional well-being is any concern of yours anymore.”

Pascal’s odd insistence that Adelina should remain here piques my suspicions. He huffs and mutters to himself, causing his mustache to jump about, and anger flashes in his eyes. I’m just not confident I know the cause.

“Besides,” I continue casually. “She’s been helping me with these recent odd occurrences at my nightclubs. Drugs are being used for less commercial reasons. Disappearances that have the cops sniffing around. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Pascal doesn’t look me in the eye. “Why on earth would you ask me that?”

“Our deal places a line of pharmaceutical drugs into your possession.” My glass tips toward him. “Maybe you’re drugging people to funnel them toward your hospitals?”

“How dare you!”

I hold up one hand with a cold smile. “I’m not judging. But it’s the sort of unwanted attention I’d appreciate a heads up about.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Pascal replies sharply. “If you have a drug problem, maybe you should look closer to home. Drugs are your thing, after all.” He bristles and his shoulders rise, then he snatches his phone out of his pocket and studies the screen. “I have to go.”

“Urgent?” I ask with a heavy tone of disbelief.

“Yes,” Pascal mutters, adjusting his suit jacket. “Give Adelina my love.”

“Do it yourself,” I snap. “Since you’re so concerned about her leaving the country.”

Pascal finally looks me in the eye with a cold look, and something unfamiliar shifts across his face. It’s like he’s holding back saying something explosive. Whatever helps him rein it in must be strong because he says nothing else and hurries from my office like my hounds are nipping at his heels.

I set aside my untouched drink and lightly massage the bridge of my nose.

What the fuck is going on with that man?

“My father was here?” Adelina stands in the kitchen doorway, bundled up in a thick cardigan. Her fingers toy with the edge of the sleeve and she chews on her lower lip while waiting for me to look up.

When I do, she flashes a small smile.

“Yes.” I remove the pan from the heat so the sizzling doesn’t get in the way of her quiet voice. “He didn’t come to see you?”

“No.”

“It was a business talk, mostly. About the nightclubs.”

“Did you tell him?” Her eyes widen, and the unspoken worry hangs in the air between us.

“No,” I assured her firmly. “I told him nothing.”

“Good,” she replies, nodding as her gaze moves away. “Good.” Her second word is quieter, as if she’s reassuring herself that no one else knows what happened to her.

“Do you want to eat with me?” I tilt my head toward the pasta dish I’m making. “There’s enough for two.”

“No.” With that, Adelina ducks away into the darkness of the hallway and vanishes. I catch a slight glimpse of Caterina following her and the urge to call out rises. I understand she needs time, but a part of me wishes she would take that time with me.

It’s an odd feeling.

“Smells good,” says Vito as he strides into the kitchen. “Did you fire the chef?”

“He’s sick,” I explain. “And I’m hungry.”

“Fair.” Vito hops up to sit on the nearby counter and drops a blue folder down next to me.

“What’s this?”

“Carlos Giordana,” Vito replies.

Lowering the heat of the stove, I pick up the folder and open it. His picture sits on the first page, along with his medical records. “Who is he? I don’t recognize him.”

“Do you remember the family we took out back in March? The ones who stole three shipments of drugs out of the shipping containers that were lost at sea ?” He air quotes and rolls his eyes. “Those were the Giordanas.”

“I remember.” I flick to the next page where his little-known life history is laid out. “We lost around forty million because of them, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I remember that night. A family dinner, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Pretty quick and easy for dealing with thieves,” Vito replies.

“But I don’t remember him.” I turn back to his picture. “I remember everyone we killed that night. I don’t recognize him at all.”

“I had the same thought.” Vito clicks his tongue behind his teeth. “I don’t have the crazy good memory with kills you have, but I’d remember a guy like that. He looks like a Disney villain.”

Snorting softly, I close the file and sigh. “Right. I want a tail on Pascal. He was acting weird earlier about Adelina’s and my going to Italy. He was cagey. I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.” Vito takes the file off me.

“Because when I do, they steal forty million from me,” I remind him. “Are any of our cops on Carlos’ case?”

“I can check.” Vito slides from the counter. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know yet. But I want everything they have on him, from past crimes to his autopsy.”

“On it.” Vito dips his head and hurries from the kitchen, leaving me to my cooking.

There’s a lot of moving pieces spinning around my head, but as strange as Pascal and this Carlos are, they will ultimately have to wait.

Italy comes first.