Page 14 of Vow Of Fire

“Still spending all his time in his studio?” She cast a sideways glance at me. My mother didn’t approve of his painting obsession. I think it reminded her of my father.

“Far as I know,” I replied, refusing to give her fuel.

Even though my mother had stepped up when my father had died, she’d never been close to Leo. I wasn’t sure why. Too different, I guessed.

Valentina ruled with icy efficiency, which, coupled with her charming disposition, could be even more terrifying. She could be ruthless when crossed, but it was more of a calm, calculated kind of vengeance than an explosive rage.

Leo had been both fiery and unpredictable, a dangerous combination. But he’d also been fair, and rewarded loyalty.

“Something bothering you?” she asked, as we drove across town.

“Nope,” I lied, but didn’t elaborate.

Annoyingly, Valentina was always five steps ahead of everyone else. She didn’t just read people, she dissected them. Hell, most of the time she knew what we were going to do before we did it.

I couldn’t deny it was useful when it came to business. She could predict her enemy’s moves, spot weak links, and pre-empt problems, turning them into opportunities. But growing up with her had been sheer torture.

Isabella was most like her. Icy, tough, capable. Pretty fucking unshakable. When the two of them got together, they were an unstoppable force. If they’d made their minds up about something, my brothers and I knew better than to try to get them to change it.

Nico, Marco, and I were the opposite.

Loud and reckless, we’d always been in some kind of trouble growing up. We’d drunk too much, gambled, chased girls, and gotten into street fights. Valentina somehow managed to keep us in check. With one withering look, she could make us feel about three inches tall.

“Is it her?”

I didn’t have to ask who she meant. My mother always knew when we were bullshitting.

I’d like to say she’d mellowed with age, but I’d be lying. If anything, she’d gotten worse.

“No, it’s not her,” I replied tersely, coming to a stop outside the restaurant. “If she’s guilty, she’ll pay. I’ll make sure of it.”

She nodded in approval, then waited for me to circle the SUV and open her door for her.

Walking into Castro’s, we were immediately shown to a table near the window. It was the best table in the house, naturally. No one would dare give a Marcelli anything else.

“Thank you, Bruno.” She graced him with a smile.

He bowed, handed us the menus, and backed away.

I didn’t need to look at it. I already knew what I was having. Valentina perused it, but I got the impression it was just for show. As soon as she set it down, a server hurried back to take our order.

Our coffees came almost immediately. That was the other thing about being a Marcelli. Nobody kept you waiting. Nobody who had any sense, anyway.

“Now, tell me more about this gallery owner that I suspect you have a soft spot for?”

There was that uncanny insight again.

“I do not have a soft spot for her,” I corrected, jaw tightening. “I’ll get her to tell me the truth, don’t worry about that.”

“Oh, I’m not,” she said with a smirk. “I know between you and Rocco, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

I nodded. Because we always did.

Rocco was a thug and I could be very persuasive when I wanted to be.

“What makes you think she’s involved?” My mother studied me over her cappuccino.

“Apart from what that weasel Alberto said, she definitely has the connections. I saw Mikhail Orlov leave before I arrived.”