Everywhere.
That pinch happened again.
I blinked, trying not to think about open flies and how I’d be teeny-tiny next to Custanzu Valentini—something that had no reason to be so hot. But on the back of yet another terrible date with a douche who worked in the city, I was starting to think that I’d mislabeled my type.
Maybe I had a size kink?
“He looked like hell.”
On red alert, I demanded, “He did? Strung out?”
“No, no. More exhausted.” When I relaxed, his curiosity pinned me in place. For all that he ignored them, his family fascinated him. He never said that out loud, but I read the subtext. “I don’t think he sleeps much. He’s the type that lives on his nerves.” He tapped his nose. “I can tell.”
My brows lifted at the insight because that hadn’t been my impression. Maybe it was that whole massive thing he had going on,even if I could tell he’d dropped more weight, but he’d seemed grounded.
Despite the bizarre circumstances of his accidental overdoses…
I pushed for info when I totally shouldn’t: “I didn’t think he visited you.”
“He does sometimes. Luciu comes more often—that’s the older one.”
“What did Custanzu want?”
“To talk. I’m not sure they’ve figured out that that’s something I don’t do.”
“Because you suck as an uncle.”
“Great-uncle,” he corrected.
“Same difference.”
He clucked his tongue. “If you say so, Kitty.”
“What did he want to talk about?”
“Well, I say talk, but he kept looking out the window onto the corridor.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. I think he was waiting for someone. Anyway, he brought up grief and finally calmed down some.” He fiddled with the remote, readjusting the backrest—the old man was a fidgeter par excellence. “Specifically, mourning grief when you start to move on.”
“Heavy.”
And a subject that Currau excelled in.
The Valentinis, Currau’s generation, had ruled over the city before theFamigliahad toppled them from their seat of power. The Italians had destroyed the Valentinis’ stronghold and had stitched up Currau as the fall guy.
In the fire the Italians had set, he’d lost his whole familyandbeen blamed for their deaths.
He’d had no way of knowing that, while he’d rotted in a jail cell for a crime he hadn’t committed, his sister-in-law had escaped to Sicily, where she’d given birth to his brother’s son, who eventually would seed the Valentinis I’d met in Custanzu’s hospital room.
A few years ago, they’d waged war on theFamiglia,so once again, the Sicilians were major players in NYC.
Currau grumbled, “Confirmation I’m right to keep my distance more like.”
I ignored that. “Who’s he grieving anyway?”
“He’s lost many people over the years.”
