Page 37 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

The call goes dead. I dial Francesco immediately.

“What do you have on Silvio?” I growl into the phone as soon as he picks up.

“He’s practically a living ghost, Capo. He has no fingerprints, no ID, no social media, no friends or family. It’s a problem trying to track him down with so little to go on… but I’ll be paying a visit to Harvard soon to find out more.”

“Good.” I end the call.

A soft knock on my door breaks through my thoughts.

“Enter.” I can already tell it’s her by the sweet fragrance drifting into my room.

She steps in and then shuts the door behind her, fingers lingering hesitantly on the handle.

“Enzo just informed me that we’re leaving.”

I nod my head.

“In two days.”

A mischievous smile tugs at her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re eager to get rid of me.”

“I am.”

She walks further inside the room. “Ouch?”

Sliding my gaze from her, I drop the whiskey on the nightstand and half expect her to go away, but she doesn’t.

“Don’t get your hopes up. You’re not leaving me just yet.”

I arch a brow at her. “What do you mean?”

“I asked Enzo to let me keep you. Thank you for the shoes, by the way, that was very...” She’s searching for a fitting word, “...sweet.”

“What the fuck did you do?” I deadpan, completely ignoring her speech of appreciation.

“I requested that you not be taken away,” she says, like she’s doing me a favor. My jaw tightens. “He told me all about the hit on the warehouse and how they were attacked by the Irish last night...”

“That has nothing to do with you, Elena,” I reply flatly.

“I don’t think so. The family has lost a lot of men, weapons and money in all of this with the Irish. What if the Irish don’t stop anytime soon? Or decide to strike again? Enzo says he’s trying for reconciliation as it was all a misunderstanding, but we can never be too sure.”

Sighing, I grab the bottle of whiskey and take a swig. She’s going to fucking tamper with my own plans.

“No. You don’t need me.”

She goes silent for a while, then bites her lip, her eyes holding mine. “Yes…yes, I do.”

Bullshit.

“Look… let’s just say I-I want you to stick around more. You’re good at what you do, after all.”

I run a hand through my hair. “You know absolutely nothing about me, Principessa.”

“Then tell me.” She walks up to me, grabs the bottle from my hand, and takes a swig while looking me in the eyes. “Who are you when you’re not holding a gun for the family?”

My teeth grit against my jaw, inciting a dull headache. Only now I realize I can’t fucking look into those damn beautiful eyes and tell her I’m Adriano Bellandini, the man who was supposedly killed by her family five years ago.

“I’m just a man.” My voice is tight as I snatch the bottle from her. She shoots me a glare, but her frown quickly turns into a small smirk.