I drop her face and step back like she’s burned me. And maybe she has.
She stands there—defiant, raw, stupidly brave—and I turn away before I say anything else.
I managedto bury myself in work in the library by the time the sun rose and set. The grandfather clock behind me ticks away asthe arms inch closer to midnight. My hand tightens around the glass of scotch.
My concentration has been shot for the past couple of hours. All I can think of is if she listened to my warning or not.
So help me God, if I find out she’s entertaining the idea of toying with me again…this time, I won’t let her walk out on her own two feet.
The clock ticks past midnight. The scotch burns low in my chest, a steady ache that matches the one behind my ribs. Papers blur in front of me, the words bleeding together until they stop making sense. My focus used to be iron, unbreakable. Now it bends under the memory of her skin.
My phone buzzes against the desk. Once. Twice. Persistent.
Theo wouldn’t call again this late. I reach for it out of habit, more irritation than interest…until I see the name.
Nestor. The irritating fuck never picks a good time. I let it ring once more, then I answer.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you,” I say, voice unfeeling, controlled.
A low chuckle slides through the receiver, sure of himself. “Now, why would my best friend not expect a call from me?”
I lean back in the chair and drag a hand down my face, my irritation spiking. “Get to the point.”
“The Pakhan is interested in a deal with your brother and his boss, but they don’t seem to be entertaining the idea of even speaking to us.”
My eyes close for a beat before I say, “I’ve told you before, Nestor. I don’t involve myself in the Camorra’s business. You want to strike a deal with New York, you set up a meeting.”
He scoffs. “Really? Then, pray tell, what’s the youngest Folonari doing under your Castello’s roof?”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Watch your mouth.”
“Relax. I’m just saying, if you don’t involve yourself in the Camorra’s dealings, why do you have Folonari’s younger sister under your roof?”
“Not that I owe you a fucking explanation, but I, similar to what you want to do, struck a deal with the Camorra. What I want to know is where you got that damn information from.”
He laughs. “Oh, you know me. I don’t kiss and tell. But I’d keep your leash tight, Nicolo. You’ve got eyes on you. And I don’t mean the Mancinis’.”
There’s a pause—a long, deliberate silence where I can almost hear him smirking through the line.
Then, quieter, “I’ll be in touch. We’ve got plenty of business to discuss.”
He cuts the call before I can tell him there’s nothing to discuss. The screen goes black again, my reflection staring back at me in the glass—jaw locked, eyes darker than they should be. Nestor is a fucking pain in the ass, and if he’s calling me, that means he’s up to no good. But him talking about Mara and eyes on me other than the Mancinis’ is raising the alarm bells.
I tip back the last of my drink, let it sear down my throat, and set the empty glass on the table beside the untouched plans.
The empire I’ve spent my entire life building is starting to crack. And this time, it’s not from the outside.
29
MARA
There are a few things I’ve learned about living in this damn Castello.
One, privacy doesn’t exist.
Two, Nicolo has a routine that could kill a normal person.
Three, I hate how much I know about it.
