“Rosalia Lombardozzi,” he said after a few tense seconds passed. His tongue hit all the right spots in my name.
It sent a chill down my spine, and goosebumps appeared on my skin. I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not, and I wasn’t sure why.
I nodded and moved forward to shake his hand. “You must be Benjamin.”
“Ben,” he said, cradling my hand in his for a beat too long. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Rosalia.”
“Same here,” I said. “I wish I could say Richard mentioned you, but—”
He nodded. “I understand. He mentioned you a time or two.”
“He did?” I heard the eagerness in my voice, and the look on his face told me he did too.
He nodded again. “Of course. I was going to meet you at the wedding—the one planned in New York.” He stared at me for a minute. “I wasn’t around when the two of you were together. I was living in England at the time.”
Wedding in New York? This was news to me. I pulled the ring from my pocket and held it out to him, just realizing that I didn’t even think to clean it before giving it back. I was too worried about what he was going to say to me, or not.
“I should have cleaned it,” I said.
He took the ring, staring at it, and then his eyes met mine. “It must bring back hard memories for you. Seeing this.” He lifted the ring so I could see the lines of crusted blood.
My eyes searched his, trying to find out what his game was. How much did he know? “It brings back no memories for me,” I said, being brutally honest. “I’ve stared at it for hours, hoping it would trigger something, and nothing comes to me. Not even the picture I have of your brother from an article.”
“You remember nothing from that time?”
“No,” I said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “A chunk of my life is gone from my memories.”
“What I meant to say then is that it must be hard to look at. Even if you can’t remember anything from that time, I’m sure you remember what you went through. After. This ring has to be a reminder.”
“Am still going through,” I said quietly. “It’s hard knowing my mind erased that time. Or is holding the memories hostage for some reason.”
“I’m sure it would be,” he said, his voice almost tender. “I’m sorry things ended the way they did.”
“Me too,” I said. “I called your family, to offer my condolences, but no one would talk to me.”
We stood there for a minute or two, and sensing that he was going to leave soon, I opened my mouth to ask him if he would have dinner with me soon, but as soon as my lips parted, I took a step back.
Ben turned to look at what my eyes had found. Notwhatbutwho.
Aniello Assanti leaned against the wall, like he didn’t have a care in the world, right behind Ben.
Shit! When did he get here?
When our eyes connected, he came to stand beside Ben, who moved to give him more room. I didn’t blame him. Sometimes I wondered if other men could smell the carnage on him. Like animals sensed blood on the butcher’s apron.
Aniello didn’t spare Ben a glance. “Visitors are not allowed in this suite,” he said, his tone no-nonsense and sharp.
It wasn’t in my nature to question orders, but why couldn’t I have visitors? I hadn’t done anything wrong. My mind spit out a million questions, but none more important than this one: should I call him on it? Demand to know why? Since this was my place. And why was he here? Usually, Carlo came to us with instructions. He was a big fucking dude who I wouldn’t want to cross in daylight, much less at night. He was the strong-arm around here after hours. He kept watch.
As my mind continued to spit out questions, my eyes followed Aniello’s gaze. After he’d trained it on me, he moved it to Cilla. She stood behind me, holding Bambina, who was wagging her tail. Even though Cilla’s chin was raised and her eyes not backing down from his, I could tell she was anxious. Her finger kept stroking Bambina, like petting her would ease some of her nervousness.
Had she had visitors over when I wasn’t home? And who? Joey?
Since Cilla was not a part of the organization but had been brought here by an arrangement between her father and whoever, she still had rules. Seeing Joey was strictly forbidden.
“I see,” I whispered. She must have snuck him in. Maybe told the doorman he was her brother. With a hat and jacket, the doorman might have not noticed the difference. Joey was around her brother’s age, she’d told me, and showed me his picture, along with a picture of her brother. They couldn’t pass for twins, but they both had dark hair and a similar build.
So this had nothing to do with me but her.
