Page 49 of The Bonventi Secret

"And, since I assume you'll ask, my grandmother's name was Valentina Isabella Bonventi."

"That's…that's a beautiful name," I say.

Holy shit, that means the diary belongs to Enzo's grandmother. Valentina. V. Bonventi.

My eyes widen as it all comes flooding into my mind. M was Marcello. It's his death I read about, and Valentina thought R was behind it. So who was R?

I rack my brain, going over the diary, what Enzo told me, and then back to the diary. I go to ask another question when someone bursts into the room behind me.

"My dear brother, so sorry to interrupt things," the man says.

Enzo looks at him and then at me. "My brother, Marco," and then stands and looks back at him, "one who's never truly sorry for interrupting and taking over a room."

"Oh brother, your words are too kind," Marco says with a smile.

"Bellissima," he says with arms outstretched, making eye contact with me. "Is this Livia? Christ, Zo, you said she was pretty but," he says and walks over and takes my hand, gently kissing the back of it, "your words didn't do justice."

“You’re too kind brother but if you ever touch my soon to be wife again you’ll regret it,” Enzo says with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Marco," I say hoping to clear any tension between them.

Like Enzo, he's dressed in a tailored suit. He's tall, not quite as tall as Enzo, but close. He's lean with an athletic build. He seems very charismatic. His dark brown hair is meticulously styled, and his brown eyes give off both charm and a hint of something else.

"Always the politician, playing to the room," Enzo says. "When are you ever not working the room?"

Marco lets go of my hand and straightens up to look at Enzo. "Ah, I stop working when you do. Anyway," he says and takes a seat.

"Yes, please sit," Enzo says with a sigh and sits down.

Antonio appears, and Marco turns to him and waves, "No, nothing for me. I'm not staying long. Thank you, though."

He turns to look at the table. "Wow, Zo, an '83, huh," he says and picks up the bottle. "Sparing no expense, I see. You know, Livia, this here is 8k a bottle landed in the States."

"I didn't know that," I say.

"Ignore him," Enzo says.

"Of course, your beauty warrants it. I?—"

"Marco, why are you here?" Enzo asks.

"Yes, yes, sorry. The mayor, he's sick," Marco says with a subtle smile.

Enzo leans forward, and I can tell he's a bit uncomfortable.

"Let's not talk about business at this table," Enzo says.

Marco puts his hands up. "Zo, I'm not talking about business. I wouldn't want to bore beautiful Livia here. I'm just saying, the mayor is sick."

Enzo rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his wine.

"Marco, what do you do?" I ask.

"Don't encourage him," Enzo says.

"Oh, don't be that way, Zo. By day, I'm the Vice Mayor here in Chicago. By night, I come to torture my brother," he says, smiling at Enzo.

I think for a moment and nod.