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Vice gawked at him. “Prez. You fucking smart bastard.”
He tapped his temple. “Details. It’s always in the minor details. Watch.” He asked Elle, “How many news media photo-ops was Lorenzo in? Press releases for the club?”
Pops was right. Lorenzo had been so full of himself, he even had Elle—a fucking trafficked woman—‘owner’ of his club, Devil’s Cave, for the last eight months.
Elle’s fingers twisted around each other in her lap as she quietly admitted, “Lorenzo wasn’t present for any media pictures.”
Jesus. H. Christ. “The marriage was for Elle’s ‘soul’. It was for paperwork purposes.”
“Yup.” Pops grumbled, “That twisted fuck has been very busy building an image, but not only for the public.”
Now it was all making sense. “For illegal business deals, too.”
“And enemies, I’m sure,” added Vice.
Pops smirked at us. “Now the young’uns are finally using their brains.”
“Young’uns.” Elle quietly spoke, staring at her Christmas magazine in a daze. “He has kids.”
We all looked at her inquisitively.
Her eyes welled. “He locked me away while spending time with family.”
The pain that oozed off her body was so palpable, I grabbed my chest. Lorenzo’s lies were mounting on my Old Lady.
Elle said, “I never saw toys or anything, but conversations I overheard now make more sense.”
Pops paled. “He has fucking kids.”
I knew what he was thinking about. Children could be viewed as a weakness. Every Christmas, Pops went to my little sister to give her gifts and spend time with her because he treasured her.
As if feeling ill, Elle put her barely touched burrito back in a bag. “I think they’re in Italy.”
Pops was all ears. “Talk to me, Precious.”
Deep in thought, she solemnly nodded. “Italy. He just had one of his ‘business’ trips to Italy the night I met Lynx.”
With knowing, Pops squinted. “A different country would sure explain how he can live two lives.” He stroked his goatee. “Hmmm… But he’s obsessed with Elle, so is he staying with his wife out of love or—”
“Money,” Elle said for him. “Again, overheard conversations now make so much more sense.”
“Money. Yachts.” Pops’ eyes slid shut. “Hence one of the reasons you’re such a threat.” When his eyes reopened, they found me, and they were deadly.
Elle was in deeper shit than I first figured.
She just didn’t know it. That’s why she said, “L. G.”
Peering out the windshield, Pops ran stressed hands through his hair. “Even the smallest of details can be beneficial right now.”
We needed any piece of information to save this girl’s life. Even after I killed Lorenzo, it was very possible that whoever was in business with him, or any of his family from Italy, would also want her quiet—and dead.
“A medallion,” she swallowed, “in his nightstand drawer. Gold. Big initials. L. G.”
“L for Lorenzo.” Pops asked himself, “Would his balls be so big he only changed his last name?”
Without a shred of doubt in her voice, Elle assured him, “Lorenzo believes he’s above everyone.”
Chapter twenty
