“Lorenzo.” Dante. Passenger seat. I heard the door, clocked the weight shift, caught the cigar and Cassia’s soap on his collar. But I wasn’t paying attention. I was still in that office.
“What’s the situation?”
“Morelli.” He turns a page in the folder on his lap. “Pushing into the warehouse district. Third time this quarter. I need you to remind him where the line is.”
Mid-level. Lower Garden District crew. Ambitious in the way that gets men buried.
“How hard?”
“Hard enough he stops. Soft enough I don’t have to explain it to the council.”
“Fine.”
We drive. The city slides past tinted glass. Magazine Street. St. Charles. The oaks blurring into a green tunnel overhead.
“Gia tells me you moved your desk.”
I don’t look at him. “It’s not her desk.”
“Six inches. Gia measured.”
I watch the intersection pass.
“Gia also mentioned you draped your jacket over the girl while she was working at the laptop.”
“She was cold.”
“She didn’t ask for it, did she.” He turns another page. Casual. Like he’s reviewing a shipping manifest. “You just did it.”
My molars press together.
“And you bring her coffee. Her side of the desk. Every morning.”
“She forgets to eat. Someone has to.”
I stop.Shit.The sentence is revealing more to him than I want.
“Not someone.” He looks at me. It lands without turning my head. “You.”
The city keeps moving. My chest stays locked.
“I’m not—” I stop again. Anything I say will just make it worse.
“Not what? Not compromised? Not watching her the way I watched Cassia and told myself it was surveillance?”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s identical. You can’t see it because you’re inside it.” He closes the folder. “I’m not worried about you falling, Lorenzo. That’s done. I’m worried about what you’ll do to anyone who threatens her.”
“Nobody’s threatening her.”
“Not yet. But when the Benedettis figure out who Ghost is, she becomes leverage. And a compromised enforcer protecting one specific person makes specific mistakes.”
The words land like rounds. Center mass.
Cazzo.
“I have it under control.”
