I waved a hand. The messenger was neither here nor there.
“Let me see the picture,” I said.
“Are you going to delete it?” She held the phone away from me, just in case I decided to snatch it.
“No.”
My word was good. She knew it.
“All right.” She clicked something on the phone and then held it out for me to see.
She was good at capturing intimate moments. Scarlett was in the same position, but I had been looking down at her, my eyes almost closed. It was in black and white.
“Post it to my page,” I said.
Her mouth fell open, and then she closed it on a snap. “Brando—I don’t think—I mean—that’s not such a good idea.”
“Do it,” I said. “Then send me the information I need to sign in.”
“Okay.” She sighed, holding her hands up. “The caption?”
I looked down at Scarlett—cake still in her hair, the house a mess.
“Amore.” I kissed the top of her head.
“Love? That’s it?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
Chapter Three
Brando
After another hour, Scarlett went upstairs with Violet to get ready. Before she did, she squeezed my arm, looked toward the door, and then left me be. She knew me well enough to know that no matter what she said, I’d do what I felt was necessary for the good of my family.
I took the stairs down to the garden floor, where the men had started to settle back in, Guido at the computers. Our entire house and the neighborhood were canvased, since most of the neighborhood included more family members.
“Brando,” Guido called, his face lit up by the screen. “A word.”
I stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. “Something piqued your interest.”
He pushed out a seat for me. I took it, feeling a peculiar sensation skitter up my neck. Rarely did he ask me to sit or take a look. The last time I even glanced at the screen was when the men hovered around, laughing as the neighborhood cats got it on.
“Last night, did you have visitors?”
“Yeah, at around three in the morning.” I watched as he worked his magic, speeding up the tape. “Mitch’s—Celeste, the woman Mitch is with—her friends thought she was here.”
He nodded once, a serious look on his face. “See here,” he pointed at the screen. “There are the three women.”
The footage started when the girls began walking toward our brownstone, swaying into one another, pellets of snow dancing in front of the camera’s eye. It followed them up the stairs, caught them pounding on the door, and then me opening it.
He paused the video there. He went to another screen and pulled up another camera, this one trained on the back of the house. The video zoomed in on a man standing in our garden, head up, eyes on the window above. The whirling of snow and the green of the night vision camera obscured him some, but his shape was unmistakable.
I cursed and shot up from my seat. My wife was in the kitchen, the shadow of her back flickering in and out, from all of the candles in the house. He had been looking straight up at her.
My blood ran cold.
“This is troubling,” Guido said. “I spoke to Rocco. He filled me in since yesterday was a busy day for you. We have informants. He is no longer here, but he will be back.”
