“Understood.”
Elena steps up and puts a hand on his arm gently.
He turns back to her, and his entire demeanor softens.
He reaches up and adjusts the baby’s cap with surprising gentleness, then takes her in his arms. “Welcome, Bianca,” he says, and then he’s gone as quietly as he came.
Only when he’s out of the doorway do I exhale. My shoulders have crept up toward my ears. I drop them.
Elena gives me a sympathetic look. “He’s… Luca.”
“I gathered.”
“You did great,” she says. “I’m going to vanish and try to pretend I’ll nap.” To Vivian: “Text me if she needs anything.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Vivian says.
Elena flashes me a quick smile and pads out.
I turn back to the island, grateful for something that makes sense. “Okay,” I say to Vivian, mostly to myself. “Let’s work.”
Chapter Twelve
Giovanni
I take the curve up the hill slowly, letting the tires crunch over the pavers, allowing the house to come into view as it was intended when built, gradually, deliberately.
It’s not a home so much as a statement. Stone, glass, clean lines, light tucked into the eaves so it looks like the place glows. I check the time on the dash. Early, as intended. Good.
I park where I can see the front and the service lane at the same time. Habit. The guard at the inner gate lifts two fingers. I lift mine back.
She’s here already. Bianca. Has been for hours. I know this not just because I had Vivian keep me updated, but because Bianca isn’t the type of person to half-ass a job, especially not this one.
I may not have known her for long, but I know this.
Still, I want to see her with my own eyes.
Inside, the air is cooler than outside, smelling clean and floral from the massive cut of flowers on the table in the foyer. I shut the door behind me quietly.
Footsteps on the staircase. Light and fast. Elena comes down with her hair pulled up and a dress that looks simple until you look at the tag. No jewelry except the ring Luca put on her finger and the small chain with Alessandra’s birthstone dangling, surrounded by diamonds that catch the light. Her eyes are sharp despite a month of sleeping in bits and pieces.
“Hey,” she says, smiling but trying not to show her nerves. “You beat your brothers.”
“I prefer to be early,” I say with a small shrug.
She plays with the chain nervously with her fingers. “How was your day?” she asks, stalling whatever it is she really wants to say.
“Productive.”
“Mine too,” she deadpans, then tips her head toward the back of the house. “Bianca’s doing great.”
“Good.” The word is too plain for the relief. Because if she doesn’t do well, the deal has to be off. “I’m going to go check in on her.”
Elena steps off the last stair and puts a hand out, not stopping me so much as asking me to wait. “Can I steal you for two minutes first?”
I look past her shoulder the way I always do—doorways, line of sight, staff movement.
The kitchen is behind two corners and a pantry wall by design. I won’t see Bianca unless I go looking for her, and even then, I’ll only see the swing of a door and the flash of a coat. I put that want down and nod. “Two minutes.”
