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“Next time, tell me you’re here.” He closes the file folder. “Did you get something to eat?”
It’s hard not to smile. I can’t help myself. “I was offered by at least a dozen different people.”
“It’s what we do on mornings like this. Family comes over, they get fed, we argue and watch sports if they’re on, some go to mass and some don’t, then we move on.”
“It’s nice,” I say and struggle to keep the pain from my voice. “We did something similar back when my dad was alive.”
He nods slowly. “I bet you did. If it’s overwhelming out there?—”
“No, not at all. Honestly, I kind of like it.”
His smile returns. “I bet the cousins are mad right now. An Italian girl at Sunday breakfast? And not just any Italian, but Valentina Santoro?”
“I didn’t realize I was famous.”
“You are, love, you most definitely are, but don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. I can already feel my ego inflating as we speak.”
“Ah, well, shall we remind you about the whole being so broke you came crawling to me for help thing to really humble you again?”
“I’d be better if you didn’t. And I wasn’t crawling. I came with a job.”
He shrugs, and there’s that famous smirk again. The one that makes me despise him so much. “Whatever you want to call it. Speaking of which, did you come bearing gifts?”
I take my phone from my bag and unlock it as he comes around his desk and sits in the chair next to mine. He’s a big man, tall and athletic and muscular, and his knee brushes against mine. I don’t pull away, and he doesn’t move either, as I open my notes app to get at some of my thoughts.
“Here’s a list of my father’s former Capos. Some are definitely still active, but others are either dead or operating somewhere else. I’m betting at least a few are good targets.”
“I recognize some of these names,” he murmurs, looking at the screen. “You’re good with this? Weren’t they a part of your Famiglia, once upon a time?”
I glance toward the window overlooking the streets. It’s a quiet, shady street, with lots of family homes and big leafy trees. Not the richest part of the city, but not the worst by a mile. A good place to live and to grow up.
“When my father died, they made their choices. None of them stepped up to help me. Half of them wanted me dead, and the other half wanted to force me into marriage. Marco’s the only one that kept me safe.”
Ronan makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. “They’re all bastards. I wouldn’t have done that to you.”
“You wouldn’t have? I doubt it.”
“You think I’m so bad?”
“I think you’re a smarter man than you let on.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “You’re right. I would’ve married you in a heartbeat.” He hesitates and lets that linger as a chill runs down my bare arms. “At least, if I were one of them.”
“Good thing you’re not.”
His lips part and he moistens the lower one. “Let me ask you something. What did you make of everyone out there?” He nods at the office door.
I follow his gaze. “Your family? They seem nice.”
“Nice?” His eyebrows raise. “Love, we’re a crime family. Half the men in that room have at least one murder to their name. Half the women too.”
“Nice is a relative term here.” I squirm slightly, not sure what he’s looking for.
“Did you notice anything? About the way they were positioned?”
He’s watching me closely, and I think back to Niall’s tour. I suddenly realize it happened in stages: the men out front, the men in the living room, the people in the kitchen, a smattering of others moving between the different groups. “Factions?” I ask him. “Is that what you’re worried about? Every family has them.”
