In my mind’s eye, I saw the man who’d ran up to me after Mario stole my ride share. And he’d seen me and Ellie. I saw you two at the casino. Come to think of it, I might have noticed Ringo with Mario when I rushed into the lobby to find my sister. They’d seemed chummy enough at the time. And I hadn’t given it much thought, but somewhere in my brain, I put the pieces of the scene together along with the blood on my hand. He was even at the ceremony and followed us out as we fled. Luckily, he hadn't caught us. “Why would your best friend do that?”
“Twelve million American dollars,” Loppa stated plainly.
“Seven,” Mario whispered.
“No, it is twelve now. You are an expensive trophy.” He was having too much fun correcting Mario. And while this was way beyond my safe zone, it didn’t surprise me one bit. I’d had more than enough time to fret on the organized crime angle of it all while watching Mario attempt to sleep.
He knew exactly who my grandfather was.
Before we got married.
And did it anyway. Who was the bastard here? Because only Loppa showed any kind of honor.
I should have stuck to my plan to fly with Ellie. I could have walked away then with the limo driver as witness. Normally, I would have. It would have been the smart thing to do. Unless…
Was Mario the kind of man who’d have someone killed if they deviated from his plans?
His father sure was. That polished veneer was too calculating for comfort. “What does your father do?”
Mario opened an eye to figure out my subject change. “He is the head of the trade organization.”
“That’s a thing?” Maybe if I paid more attention to my grandfather’s profession when he was alive, I’d know that.
“Sì.” Mario was fading a little too quickly.
Loppa corrected my assumptions. “Don Valentini is Italy’s trade minister.”
It took me a moment to put it together. “He’s a politician?” On the evil authority figure scale, they had to be the worst.
“It’s not obvious?” Mario gritted through his teeth as he shifted upright.
The dental veneers should have tipped me off. Or the cold, almost sterile, white on white marble of his home. I took the moment to scan the room. Two foot wide white marble columns braced the arching white ceiling. The moonlight-pale marble under my feet stretched from wall to wall. Sure, there were splashes of bright color, like the sofa. But it was all strategically placed and entirely devoid of emotion. A showplace for entertaining and impressing, but not a home. Even Grandfather hadn’t been that cold. “Bastardo.”
Mario snorted. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Or what? He’ll have me deported, arrested?” Stalked? I shuddered.
“He could,” Loppa supplied helpfully.
Mario sighed and slumped off-kilter to favor his side. “Then I’d go with her.” The weariness and painkillers were doing him in.
“Your grandfather would be angry if you left too quickly. He’ll want to meet this woman you call your wife.”
Mario lifted his head to study Loppa. “When I am feeling better, maybe tomorrow, we’ll go there. Not even the master of assassins would be stupid enough to kill me on Don Manca’s soil.”
Loppa didn’t reply. And notably, he didn’t smile at the idea of traveling somewhere else.
A thought struck me as we sat in silence. “This friend of yours, he’s not the master of assassins, is he?” Was there such a thing?
Mario was slow to answer. “He’d like to think so. But even he isn’t that good.” He motioned to Loppa to help him stand.
Did that imply there was a master of assassins?
Loppa held Mario as he climbed the stairs to our room. In the crystal clear starlight, the city looked beautiful, but also sinister. I paced while Loppa helped my husband get comfortable as he succumbed to the pain medicine. I have a husband.
“Signora?”
Loppa’s soft question got my attention. “Yes?”
