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Corrado looks up from the papers, hazel-green eyes bright and observant.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Something’s off about the resort.” He closes the folder and tosses it. I hear it thud on the floor.
“In Capone’s will, which is legitimate, by the way, because I checked with the lawyers, he left everything he owned to Gio. Some things were left out. Properties in his wife’s name, for example, which I’m sure never belonged to her, or she wouldn’t have behaved as if she depended on my mercy when I went to her house. Gio never told Maria she still has properties she could sell.”
“Had. The Order owns everything now. Are you going to pick up the file you threw?”
Corrado smirks and disappears from view, then shows me the file. “Happy?”
“Thank you.”
He sits back down, pen in hand. He twirls it. “When Capone gave Gio the resort, it was whole. Gio separated it, making me think he intended to sell it in pieces.”
“Was it going under?” We acquire and then sell individual properties or businesses when it makes more sense.
“I don’t think so, but Paulina is double-checking their books.”
I’m avoiding my sister. Nobody’s told her I’ve been shot. She thinks I’m staying behind because I’m hunting down Gio’s assassins. I am, but that’s not the only reason I’m staying. The other reason I’m staying is the woman who’s not sleeping in my bed. “Where were we?” I ask.
Corrado lifts an eyebrow. “Distracted?”
I ignore him and recall the resort conversation. “If the resort isn’t going under, why would Gio dismantle it?”
“He needed money?”
I finish stretching and wipe my face, then throw the towel over my shoulder. I disconnect my phone from the TV so that the video call continues on my phone and move into the kitchen. I sit behind the island while Drago opens the fridge, takes out a pitcher of cold water, and pours us glasses.
He hands me mine, and I down it in one gulp. Refreshing.
On my phone screen, Corrado’s twirling the pen. “I recognize the Capone house, you know.”
“I thought you might.”
“It’s a little early to be there, isn’t it?”
“We’ve been here for a week.” We haven’t video conferenced since the shooting.
“Is Cristina with you?”
“Mmhm.”
“So you’re living together?”
“Sleeping together,” Drago says in his native tongue, not looking up from his phone while playing internet chess with some poor soul. Corrado doesn’t speak Drago’s native tongue, but I understand enough to know what he said.
“What was that?” Corrado asks, tapping the pen on the desk.
“Drago said the Capone house is better secured.”
“I did say that,” Drago confirms.
“The resort?” I prompt Corrado.
“I can’t figure out why Gio would dismantle it. It makes no sense. But I bet your girlfriend knows.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” It comes out of my mouth just as Cristina walks into the kitchen. Clearly, this morning, of all mornings, she was going to walk up to me and maybe speak to me or even kiss me on the cheek, but when I declare she’s not my girlfriend, she stops at the door.
