Those eyes landed on me, and I felt the weight of his judgment like a physical thing.
“Mr. Wesley,” he said, his voice smooth and cultured with just a hint of New Jersey underneath. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
I forced myself to step forward, to extend my hand even though everything in me wanted to run. “Mr. Valenti. Thank you for coming.”
His handshake was firm, measured. The kind that tested you without being overtly aggressive. “Angelo tells me my son has been arrested for murder.”
“Yes sir. Yesterday afternoon. A Detective Caruso?—”
“I know who Caruso is,” Enzo interrupted, his expression darkening. “That persistent bastard has been a thorn in my side for fifteen years.” He released my hand and turned to Angelo. “You swept the house?”
“Everything’s clean,” Angelo confirmed. “Laptop’s in the safe, the contracts are destroyed, and there’s nothing that connects Dante to anything back home.”
“Thecontractsare destroyed?” Enzo repeated, his eyes narrowing. “Are there copies somewhere?”
Angelo’s face contorted. “N-No, sir. Dante didn’t make or send any copies back to the?—”
Enzo turned to me in a flash. “How convenient for you,” he said, his voice restrained in a terrifying way. “Free to do what you want now, aren’t you?”
“I’m the one that burned them,” I replied, not allowing my voice to waiver. “To keep him safe.”
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze piercing through me, looking for any hints of betrayal. “Good.” He said at last, satisfied enough to continue. “And your family? Can they be trusted to keep their mouthsshut?”
The bluntness of the question should have offended me, but I understood what was at stake. “My parents will back Dante. My sister...” I hesitated. “Angelo said he’d handle her.”
Something flickered across Enzo’s face. “Did he now?” He looked at Angelo with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “And how exactly do you plan to handle Miss Wesley?”
Angelo’s jaw tightened. “I’ll talk to her. Make her understand?—”
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice called from behind us.
I turned to see Heather walking up from the barn, her riding boots dusty and her expression unreadable. My stomach dropped. How much had she heard?
She stopped a few feet away, her arms crossed over her chest as she took in Enzo Valenti. To her credit, she didn’t flinch under his scrutiny.
“You must be Dante’s father,” she said.
“I am.” Enzo’s tone was pleasant, but there was steel underneath. “And you’re the meddling sister who hates my son.”
“I don’t think it’s a crime to look out for family, do you?” she asked, her tone just as steely as Enzo’s. “Family is the most important thing we have. And if I had to put a bullet in Dante’s head to save my family, I would. But considering your son is still alive, I suppose that means I don’t hate him as much as you claim.”
Enzo stood there for a long moment, looking her up and down. And then hesmiled. Not the kind of smile a proud father gives a daughter, but the kind of smile snakes make when they recognize another snake in their midst.
“You would’ve made a good wife,” Enzo replied, a tone of admiration in his voice. “And a better daughter.”
Heather stepped forward, reaching out a hand as she returned his grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Enzo shook her hand. “Likewise.”
I wasn’t sure whether I was horrified or impressed that Heather had won him over. However, Angelo looked like he was about to pass out. The woman he was chasing had just won the respect of the biggest mob boss on the east coast in a matter of thirty seconds. As far as I knew, nobody had ever done such a thing.
“You can come out now,” Enzo said, turning back to the car. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder as another man in a suit appeared looking a little worse for wear. “I brought the lawyer. But he can’t get Dante out with nothing.” Enzo zeroed in on me. “What can you give me that will at least make bailing him out possible?”
I stared at him, my jaw working. “I… I don’t?—
“I have s-something,” Angelo said, raising his hand like he was in elementary school. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“I don’t like any of this, Angelo,” Enzo replied, his voice edging on irritation. “I don’t like midnight flights, wide open spaces, cowboys, cows, dust, or airport food. But here I am. So, you’re either going to tell me or I’m going to feed you to the pigs piece by piece?—”
