Page 290 of Reign

Luciano brushes his thumb once across the base of my spine before stepping away. He answers the call as he moves toward the far end of the hall, his voice immediately dropping into that calm, uselessly vague tone he uses when he doesn’t want me to know anything.

I catch pieces anyway.

“…not until the documentation is complete.”

A pause.

“No. Handle it before Friday.”

Then he disappears through a set of glass doors.

I look at the guard.

He looks straight ahead.

“Do you talk?”

“Yes, Miss Amato.”

“Thrilling.”

His expression doesn’t change.

Luciano hires the least entertaining people alive.

I turn and continue down the hall, peering through the glass walls as I go. The guard follows, keeping enough distance to pretend he isn’t monitoring every breath I take.

The deeper I wander into the building, the less sense it makes.

There are too many desks.

Too many conference rooms. Too many people typing, taking calls, carrying files from one office to another. A man in a fitted black suit walks past discussing projected revenue. Someone else is arranging documents in a conference room as though an actual meeting is about to happen.

I slow outside an open office.

This is probably a front.

My brothers have restaurants. Hotels. A freaking wing in a hospital. Angelo owns that disgusting strip club he insists is a respectable establishment despite all available evidence.

I nearly laugh.

I’m judging Opulent while spending every available afternoon at Obsidian, choosing which room I want Luciano to tie me up in next.

Hypocrisy looks surprisingly flattering on me.

I continue toward another office, studying the rows of desks.

Somewhere beneath the legitimate businesses and expense reports, everyone is arranging murders and shipments and whatever else men like Luciano refuse to discuss in front of dainty ladies.

My phone rings.

ANGELO flashes across the screen.

Ew.

Nothing disrupts an enjoyable investigation into organized crime faster than my oldest brother.

I answer. “Hello?”