It wasn’t the type of chaos that was a health hazard if you didn’t consider getting a random paper cut from all the stacks of papers strewn around a danger to your well-being. No, it was the stacks of paper. Magazine clippings. Folders. Notebooks. Pens. Markers—how many colors did she need?
“Ever heard of a computer?” I said dryly, closing the door behind me.
Lucy laughed. The pleasure that spiked inside my chest caught me off guard, and I struggled to tamp down that alarming reaction and overanalyze what that meant.
De Lucci crossed his arms, eyeing me with interest. “You should see the room she had in my penthouse. I needed to have a contractor come in and repaint the walls.”
“Do I want to know what you did to the walls?” I asked Lucy.
“I like to write my thoughts on the wall alongside evidence. I have erasable ink, but I accidentally used markers.”
“Accidentally? Or were you too lazy to look for said erasable ink pens?” her brother said dryly. “So you see, Zahkarov. You might want to rethink marrying my sister.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“I’m quite a catch despite my flaws.” Lucy batted her eyelashes.
That was cute. Frequently when women did this, I wanted to put a hood over their heads, but with this one maybe it was knowing she was desiring the opposite effect.
Moretti was pacing the length of the living room with a stick up his ass and not taking part in our little ice-breaking banter.
“Tell me what you want to call this whole thing off,” he stated bluntly. “Money? Territory? More business?”
“I want nothing from you.”
Moretti chuckled darkly. “Bullshit. We all want more.”
“I just want Lucy. Nothing else. No one else.”
“That would sound romantic if it weren’t a lie,” De Lucci snarled.
“How can you doubt my affection for your sister?” I glanced at my fiancée. “Now would be a good time to chime in about how crazy we are about each other.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lucy said. “It’s an arranged marriage, and we both have something to bring to the table that’s beneficial to the other.”
“You’re blackmailing my niece,” Moretti accused. “Admit it.”
Lucy, for her part, had a serene look on her face. I was dying to know what excuse she gave.
“I’d like to hear how you think I’m blackmailing her?”
Moretti clamped his mouth shut and looked oddly at Lucy, who surreptitiously cast a warning glance at her uncle. De Lucci, meanwhile, also caught the exchange, and this time narrowed his eyes at his uncle.
“Something’s not adding up.” He was addressing Moretti. “You didn’t answer why you’re here in Chicago, at Lucy’s apartment. You were here before I even arrived this morning.” De Lucci backed away so he could give all of us an assessing gaze. The realization on his face would have made me laugh, but I didn’t know what Lucy had told them beforehand.
“This has something to do with Viktor’s and Davenport’s death. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
I was telling myself that De Lucci came to that conclusion because it was unusual for Moretti to be in Chicago and not because he saw through our lies.
“You had Lucy watching Davenport.” De Lucci's accusatory whisper sounded like he couldn’t believe his uncle had betrayed him.
Moretti didn’t say a word, neither did his face reveal anything.
“You…” De Lucci’s shoulders slumped the way disappointment would weigh them down. “I thought you'd changed, Zio.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lucy snapped. “Zio Luca didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to. But it’s a moot point. Coincidences happen. I was at the Russian club last night where I ran into Kirill and, believe it or not, we both have something to offer each other in an arranged marriage.”
“But why now?” De Lucci asked.
