“Reach out to Ringo.”
He stopped scanning the rooftops to scowl at me with confusion. “Why?”
“Because, if I know him well enough, he’s probably secured my wife’s sister and will be seeking a trade to draw me out. Set it up.”
“Or, you could simply let your wife call her sister and find out if Ringo is with her. Then, cut his legs out from under him when you reunite them.”
The prospect of hobbling Ringo brought joy to his face.
And I’ll admit, the concept amused me, too. “I could.”
“She’d appreciate it more than the clothing.” He tipped his head at the penthouse.
His observation was astute.
“How much of the conversation with my father did you overhear?”
He grunted a short laugh and a quirked brow. “Enough.”
I waited, because he had more to say.
“And if you’re serious about your child never seeing that bastard, then you might want to please your wife. Otherwise…” He weighed one hand against the other and came up empty on both ends.
I shook my head and took a deep breath of the bracing air. My skin stung where Ringo cut me. A sign I shouldn’t and couldn’t be entertaining Loppa’s fancy in the near future. But I was ready to leave this viper’s den. “When is Don Manca due?”
He dipped his head. “After you stop making yourself sniper bait, I’ll find out.”
“While you’re finding out, I’ll be with my wife… pleasing her.”
Loppa slapped me on the back, then led me by the neck into the penthouse. He’d done that to me when I was younger and he’d worked for my grandfather. Before he left, he slipped me Allie’s phone. “This might help.”
8
Allie
Dry cleaning and veterinary services were enemies. That’s why I never abused my wallet on anything as exquisite as cashmere or silk. I stared at the rack of clothing and the detritus of my empty tote bag and fumed at the way everyone bulldozed over my wishes with calculated acquiescence.
My comfortable yoga pants were confiscated. The soft T-shirt I wore, gone. And like those things, my phone was no where to be found. I’d had it on the plane and put it in my bag. I surely had it last night. I fisted the charger in my hand and cursed my luck.
Mario entered. His face was paler, and his hair was windblown.
“Were you on the roof?” With a multi-million dollar bounty on his head. Was he nuts?
His head tipped as if to acknowledge my question. “The terrace.”
He slowly curled into a soft chair. His body took time to settle, bracing against pain. I went to the pile on the bed and retrieved my bottle of acetaminophen. I spilled three tablets into my hand and passed them to him and then filled a glass with water.
He’d already popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed but accepted the water graciously. “Thank you.”
“How bad is it?”
Mario shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
I hoped that was a lie but it sounded too much like the truth. Because his flippancy irritated me so, I mumbled sarcastically, “’Tis but a scratch.”
His eyes darted to mine. A glint of amusement shown in them. Then it dimmed. “I have something of yours.” He leaned so he wouldn’t tweak his wound as he dug in his suit pocket. He handed my phone over without explanation.
I supposed criminals didn’t feel the need to explain themselves.
