"Nah." I lit a cigar, the smoke hazing up the window. "Let her finish the act."
Didn't take long. This tall guy in a brown leather jacket strolled up—built like a linebacker. Made a beeline for Noelle.
Lorenzo Conti. Son of some washed-up Bellucci crew guy. Noelle's old playground buddy. Small-time hack running a hole-in-the-wall gallery, calling himself an "artist."
He snagged her arm, face all lit up like a kid on Christmas, yapping something heated. Yanked her toward a quiet alley off the main drag.
Too far for audio. All I could see was Noelle twisting away, shaking her head, face twisted in worry and pleading. But the prick wouldn't let go—clamped on like a vice, even tried reeling her incloser. Looked for all the world like a pair of star-crossed lovers fighting the man. That unnatural flush on her cheeks, the fire in her eyes? It was like pouring gas on the rage boiling in my gut.
"Boss, you need me to—" Dmitri's hand twitched toward his piece, eyes narrowing to slits.
"No." I shut him down, voice flat as ice. But my knuckles were white around the cigar, squeezing till it nearly snapped. "Snap every photo. Every angle. Every goddamn touch. Dig up everything on this Lorenzo prick."
I dragged deep on the smoke, let the bitter bite fill my lungs, choke down the urge to storm out there and rip the bastard apart.
"I'll make sure he learns," I ground out, eyes locked on those two tangled shadows in the alley. "What happens when you eye my woman."
That night, I rolled into the villa without flipping a light. The bedroom glowed just from the fireplace—flames dancing shadows across the velvet duvet.
Noelle was fresh from the shower, in this silk slip that hugged her just right. She hopped up when I walked in, fingers twisting the hem like it was a lifeline.
"How was your afternoon?"
She met my gaze, that wariness flashing quickly. "Fine. Just wandered the market."
"Wandered?" I echoed, stepping closer. "Pick up anything good?"
She froze—didn't see that curveball coming. "Uh, just browsed some crafts."
"Oh yeah?" I closed the gap, towering over her. "Where's your haul? I don't see any."
Her face drained white. "I didn't buy anything. Just looked."
"Looked." I nodded slowly. "For two hours? What the hell were you doing out there?"
"I... just killing time. Taking in the sights..."
"Sights?" My voice cracked up, and I slammed my palm on the nightstand—boom echoing like a gunshot. She jumped a foot, wholebody locking up. "Noelle, I'm giving you one shot. Tell me straight—who'd you meet today?"
"I... I didn't meet anybody..."
"Still lying to my face!" I snatched up the stack of photos, flung 'em across the bed like confetti from hell. "Then what's this crap?!"
They fanned out right in her line of sight. Her skin went ghost-pale.
"Now," I advanced, slow and steady, "one more time. Who'd you see?"
"It... it was Lorenzo..." The words clawed out of her throat. "But I didn't set it up! He just... showed up..."
"Just showed up?" I barked a laugh, bitter as bile. "You expect me to swallow that? How'd he know you'd be there? Know your schedule?"
"I don't know!" Her voice cracked, tears bubbling up. "I swear, I don't!"
"And the phone?" I cut in, eyes narrowing to knives. "That burner your mom shoved in your pocket—you think I missed that shit?"
She turned to stone. Color bled out of her face till she looked like death.
"You called him. Didn't you?" I pressed, relentless. "Set up the time, the spot. Right under my nose, pulling off some reunion bullshit. Noelle, you really think I'm that stupid?"
