I follow him down the hall until we're out of earshot.
He places a folder in my palm and begins speaking in low tones. "Marcello Farina. He's a criminal and lowlife who will betray anyone to save his own skin. He knows Elena's father—I traced back several years and found that he and Elio used to run in the same gambling circles, but nothing recent. In fact, he hasn't been around for a few years. He's been lying low."
"Why is he back now?" I ask, though Rafa just shrugs.
"No idea. Elena's phone records don't show any unknown calls, texts, or emails in the last few weeks, so I don't even know how she contacted him."
The plot thickens. My little fox is even more clever than I thought. She must have a burner phone or maybe she's using someone else's device. I'll figure it out eventually.
"And these pictures?" I ask, pulling out screenshots from yesterday's cafe surveillance.
"She walked right out of that bathroom like nothing was amiss," Rafa explains, handing me his phone with the video queued up. I watch intently as Elena emerges through the galley kitchen, like giving the slip to a trained guard is just another Friday for her.
And then I see it—she looks directly up at the camera and blows a kiss while making a peace sign with her fingers.
"What the fuck?" I mutter.
"Dude, she's good," Rafa says with obvious admiration.
"Shut up," I tell him, though he just chuckles. "Send the video and all pertinent information to my encrypted email."
I nod and step away, heading back to Vito's office to secure this information until I can review it more thoroughly at home.
A few minutes later, I return to the grand salon. My eyes immediately find Elena, and she smiles before walking directly over to me.
"Did you enjoy the show today?" she asks with a coy smile that makes something tighten in my chest.
My brows furrow. "You were watching me today, weren't you?" she continues, stepping closer until I can smell her perfume—floral and feminine that doesn't match her tough-girl act at all.
She leans in close enough that her breath brushes my ear. "I liked it."
"Like the show you put on at the cafe yesterday?" I question, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she winks and walks away, her hips swaying in a way that draws my attention despite my better judgment.
I shake myself out of the trance and walk toward the kitchen, where Dante immediately approaches and bumps my shoulder.
"What was that about?" he asks with a knowing smirk. There's no point pretending I don't know what he means—Dante has that uncanny ability to read people better than almost anyone.
"Nothing," I say curtly, hoping he'll drop it.
"It didn't look like nothing, my friend. It looked like you were pissed off and she was smiling because she got under your skin," he observes with annoying accuracy.
"How perceptive of you," I reply while pouring myself a drink.
He chuckles and clinks his glass against mine. "To women who keep us on our toes," he says, glancing over at Sofia with obvious adoration. Sofia is the missing piece he never knew heneeded, and I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her.
I take another sip and pat him on the back before walking away. One thing is becoming crystal clear: I need to get much closer to our resident escape artist. Tomorrow is going to bring some significant changes to how I handle the Elena situation.
We all settle around the family-style dining table for what's become a Saturday morning ritual. Rina started these weekend brunches months ago—her way of bringing the family closer together, of creating something normal in the middle of our very abnormal lives. The long wooden table has rounded edges and is set with beautiful place settings and fresh flowers. Wine carafes and family-style platters cover every available surface. The aroma is incredible. The chef has truly outdone himself today.
As usual, the men gravitate toward one end to discuss business while the women cluster at the other end, giggling about God knows what. Probably talking about us if I'm being honest. Rina's vision of family bonding has its limits—old habits die hard in this world.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs draws everyone's attention. Vito appears first, looking distinctly satisfied with himself. His shirt is slightly wrinkled and his hair isn't quite as perfectly styled as it was earlier. Rina follows a few steps behind with flushed cheeks and a glow that has nothing to do with the lighting.
She's trying to look composed but the freshly-applied lipstick and the way she's adjusting her dress give away exactly what delayed their appearance. A few knowing smirks pass between the men at our end of the table. Sofia rolls her eyes but she's smiling.
"Sorry we're late," Rina says breezily as she takes her seat. "We were... discussing some things."
"I'm sure you were," Gianna mutters into her wine glass.
