Page 51 of The Rook’s Obsession

I’m dressed and ready before either of them, which I take private satisfaction in, waiting in the kitchen with the espresso already prepared. The machine is a lot like the one I got used to back in Italy. Liam has impressive taste.

I’m frothing milk when Nick joins me, pausing only half a second before joining me at the counter. “How do you take yours?” I ask.

“Just the milk, please.” He’s studying me, maybe amused. If he thinks there’s anything strange about me being fully dressed and ready to go, he doesn’t show it.

Somehow, I get the feeling that won’t be the case for much longer.

We’re both drinking our lattes when Liam comes in, dressed in a dark suit. The word formidable comes to mind. He’s a formidable person. Look where he ended up compared to where he started out. “I’m glad to see you’re making yourself at home,” he offers, and I believe him. There isn’t so much as a hint of sarcasm in it.

“Thank you for making it so easy to feel at home.” I slide an espresso his way, and he takes it straight, no milk. Interesting. Not surprising, though.

He checks the impressive watch flashing on his wrist. “The car should be ready in the garage. We’re set to meet at eight.”

I set down my cup. “We’re sure about this place? The restaurant?”

He arches an eyebrow but keeps his thoughts to himself, settling on nodding. “It’s where we met with Gabriel the day he gave us the information on you. I’ve already sent a car with three of my guys to make sure everything’s on the up and up. They texted to give me the green light.”

I have to remember this isn’t anything new for either of them. They know what they’re doing. While I was on the other side of the ocean, they were handling meetings like this. It’s not up to me to protect them.

Just like it’s not up to them to protect me, which is what makes Nick’s hesitation so irritating when I follow them to the elevator. “Are you serious?” he murmurs, though he knows better than to get in my way.

“Yes. I am.”

“You know you don’t have to do this. We can handle it.” All it takes is a sharp look for him to close his mouth. He doesn’t know by now that I don’t need to be hovered over? I hope whatever’s happening between us physically doesn’t blur any lines or make him forget who he’s dealing with.

Liam, I notice, doesn’t bother questioning me. He only gets into the front seat of a black SUV while Nick and I climb into the back. The driver doesn’t say a word before pulling out from the garage into a brilliantly sunny day. I watch the city go by and think about Gabriel and what I know of him. He was always careful and controlled. The kind of man who doesn’t reach for things unless he knows he can take them. Whatever he has to tell us, he’s had it in his back pocket for a while. He waited until the moment was right.

I find that more unsettling than if he had come to us and offered it. I don’t like the idea of him planning something, knowing we would eventually call on him for help. I keep my thoughts to myself, though, glad the ride is a short one.

The restaurant doesn’t look like much from the outside. The grates are pulled over the windows at this time of day, the place dark inside. A pair of men wait near the door, and when we step out of the SUV, they nod in unison. I clock them in two seconds flat: armed, competent. Well-dressed, professional. Two of Liam’s men who rode in the first car fall in step beside us as we head inside.

It smells like garlic and old coffee and something that might have been a sauce left simmering all night. A few dozen empty tables fill the main room, chairs still up on most of them. We move through all of it without stopping until we reach the back room, where Gabriel is already waiting. Because of course he is.

He’s seated at a table near the far wall with an espresso in front of him. He’s handsome in the manner of something dangerous, all clean lines and careful stillness. His eyes move over the three of us when we walk in, and when they reach me, they pause for a fraction of a second. “I see we have an addition.”

“Hello, Gabriel.” Since there are only two chairs set up across from him, I pull up a third and drop into it, crossing my legs, folding my hands in my lap. “It’s nice to see you.”

I can’t read his expression, but he inclines his head, accepting my presence, even though no one asked for his opinion. Nick takes one of the chairs and places it on my left while Liam sits on my right. Bracketed between them without any of us discussing it. Like they decided without checking in with each other to protect me. I’ll let it go for now.

Liam doesn’t waste time. “You said you had something.” He’s sitting completely straight in his chair, taking command of the meeting the way some people have the power to do without much effort. Men like Vincenzo practically shout, all volume and bluster. Other men don’t need it.

“I do,” Gabriel confirms before lifting his espresso and taking a measured sip. He sets it back down carefully in the saucer. “As you probably know, my father is a man who has spent his life constructing a particular image. Traditional. Principled. A patriarch in the old sense.”

I nod slowly. The men follow suit.

“His image is the foundation of everything he is,” Gabriel continues, speaking slowly, almost like the words are coming to him on the fly, unrehearsed. I know that can’t be true. This is not a man who makes a move without preparing first, something his father always praised him for. “It’s the foundation of his standing, his alliances. The loyalty he commands. He would do anything to protect it.”

I know where this is headed. “You’re saying the image isn’t real?”

“I’m saying it’s incomplete.” His gaze lands on me and stays there without drifting to either my right or my left. Like there’s something connecting us, which I suppose there is. A shared experience. “My father has a secret. Every Thursday evening, without exception, he travels to a private establishment in Milan. He’s familiar enough there that the staff know him and know his… preferences. He has specific arrangements.”

The word arrangements pairs up with the word establishment and starts painting a picture while we sit in silence for a second or two.

It’s Nick who gives in to curiosity first. “What kind of arrangements?”

Gabriel gives his espresso cup a quarter turn in its saucer. For the first time, there’s something in his expression that costs him something to show. It’s not embarrassment. It’s something colder than that. “I think it’s better you see for yourselves.”

“That’s not an answer,” I tell him.