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“Stay on the line,” Royal orders.
“Will do.” I didn’t get a chance to tell him about the call from Victor. Royal doesn’t even know about the burner phone. An oversight? Or some stupid desire to try to keep a piece of Victor to myself?
A thick line of trees surrounds the house, screening me from my neighbors on either side. The yard is full of delicate Japanese maples, and there’s a flash of bright orange between the leaves. “Never mind. It’s only Gino.” My younger brother.
Royal curses in Italian.
“Yeah. I’ll tell him.”
“Call me after.” He hangs up, and I put the safety on my gun before disarming the security system and unlocking the door.
“I almost shot you,” I call to Gino. He’s parked his car—a Halloween-orange Corvette, not conspicuous at all—at an angle in the driveway, taking up two whole car spaces and blocking the nondescript gray sedan Royal lent me with the house. Not that I need to drive anywhere. Once a week, I give my grocery list to Enzo, Royal’s right-hand man, and he sends an underling to bring me whatever I need to survive another week.
He stomps up the stairs, his hands empty. Of course, they are. He never brings me anything. Whenever Royal comes, he brings baskets full of baked goods—raspberry scones, chocolate cupcakes, even tricolored Neopolitan rainbow cookies, when his wife is feeling fancy.
Gino wasn’t raised to give. He only takes.
I turn and walk further into the house without greeting him. He finds me in the kitchen, pouring myself more wine. To speak to Gino, I’ll need it.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I say without looking up. “My answer’s still no.”
“Lula.” A grown man’s voice shouldn’t have such a needling edge or childish whine. “I need it.”
“That trust isn’t yours. Papa set it aside to care for the house.” Probably for this exact reason. “You got the lion’s share of the inheritance. Have you spent it already?”
He scowls, and I know the answer. With dark hair and dark eyes, his features are graceful while still being masculine. He’s too handsome for his own good. It’s gotten him further in life than it should. Being a man in a man’s world gets him the rest of the way, but leave it to Gino to want more.
“Call Royal.” I feel mildly bad about making my younger brother Royal’s problem, but Gino will actually listen to the head of the family. “Ask him for a job.”
Gino checks my fridge like he’s a teenager in his parents’ home. He plucks out a yogurt and stares at it like it’s poison before putting it back. He slouches around, poking in empty breadbaskets, but I keep the kitchen empty of temptation. I have a hidden chocolate stash, of course, but anything Royal brings me gets eaten right away.
“Can we order a pizza?”
“Giovanni. No. This is a safe house.” I wave my arms. Most of the time, I eschew the whole Italian “talk with my hands” cliche, but Gino brings out the worst in me. “The whole point of this place is to hide. Which is why you can’t just show up here whenever you want.”
“Can you talk to Royal for me?”
“You’re a grown man.”
“He gives me grunt work. He doesn’t respect me.”
“Getting your big sis to speak for you is a sure way to earn it.” My voice is as dry as my merlot. “Look, Gino, being family only gets you so far. You have to start from the bottom and work your way up.”
“You didn’t.”
“I went to law school.” Again, with the hand waving. Anything to drive my point into my brother’s stupid, beautiful head. “And even then, I had to work my way up.” How many hours did I spend doing grunt work for the senior partners? I can’t explain one hundred-hour work weeks to Gino. He couldn’t compute.
I’m rubbing the bare spot above my breasts again.
Gino pouts. It was cute when he was younger, but a man of his age shouldn’t do it. “But you–”
A slight breeze has me throwing up a hand to interrupt Gino and turning to spot the source of fresh air. I shut and locked every door earlier. “What’s that?”
I head to the front hall and curse. The front door is wide open. “Gino, what part of ‘safe house’ do you not understand?” I slam the door and lock it. I hover my finger over the screen pad of the highly sensitive alarm system but don’t set it. Knowing Gino, he’ll decide to walk onto the deck and set it off accidentally. I’ll wait to arm it until after he’s gone.
“Of all the stupid, idiotic—yes, I know those are synonyms—things to do, you—” I return to the kitchen, but Gino is gone.
“Gino?”
