I raised an eyebrow at that. In front of me, Erel mirrored the look. “How?”
“He hurt Persetta.”
“Then he deserved everything he received.”
“Yes.” We hung there in silence. “Don’t call again, Adrien.”
The call dropped, and I tossed the phone onto my desk, swiped a hand down my face, and rubbed my eyes. Pointless conversation.
“Did he really do that?” Thibault whispered in feigned awe at Erel.
“Renzo Iannelli?” Erel rested his ankle up against his opposite thigh. “Iannelli, the California don? Persetta’s brother?”
I grunted. “How much of that did you catch?”
“Enough. You’re finally looking in on her? Why the change?”
Wasn’t that the million-euro question. Three years of radio silence broken, for what? I wasn’t even sure what I hoped to achieve. But I knew why. That damn woman upstairs was messing with my head.
“Don’t ask. Why are you here?”
“Me first,” Thibault said with the eagerness of a puppy. “I’m kind of in part of his too, but this, this one’s all me.”
I tossed Erel a wary glance.
“So the staff at headquarters are getting hounded by this reporter who—”
“We don’t give statements.”
“And they haven’t, but this guy’s been calling or visiting once or twice a day for the last week about your girl.”
I glared at him flatly. My little brother raised his hands in surrender, but there was far too much bluster in that smirk of his.
“Hey, until you start carrying another random woman around again, yeah, I’m calling heryourgirl.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed with exasperation. “What’s the point of this?”
“He’s a big guy, skull tattoos, not your usual look for a reporter. We tried passing his photo about and banning himfrom the property, but he keeps popping up like a bad wart. He’s making noise to anyone he thinks will hear him. Spouting out about how we’ve released nothing to the press since our announcement a week ago. Talking about some damn tattoo.”
I didn’t react as Thibault kept talking. It was all coming back to that damned tattoo. The Barrot runt must have talked since the yacht party. I cut my brother off.
“Have a statement crafted. The woman’s been unwell.” True. “Alizé arranged for a press release, so that should hold him off. However, she’s not in any condition for further interviews, and it’s not clear when or if she will be.” Almost true.
“We’re giving statements now?” Erel questioned, scratching his thumbnail under his chin.
“We’ve been put in this position by Alizé, so we deal with it. We move on. The woman won’t be our problem soon enough.” I knocked against the wood of my desk. “What else?”
“The Serbs aren’t keeping to the terms of the deal,” Erel said, jumping right in.
“Proof?”
“Caught red-handed on camera at the docks. They pirated the ship. I think they need a little incentive to keep to their end of the bargain before the Greeks get a whiff of this.”
“Agreed. And make sure to pin a copy of the contract we brokered to their heads when you send them back. Any chatter about this on Endgame?”
“Not yet.”
“Shut it down if anything shows up.”
