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She gets up and goes to the window with her arms wrapped around her.
“Have you alerted Francesca’s father?” asks the woman who knows better than most what it’s like to live in a criminal world. The men in power are alerted when their women are at risk. It’s a custom that even bad men follow.
“Immediately. He’s on it. Her safety is at risk, but so is yours.”
“Did you tell my father?” she asks cautiously.
“Antonio spoke to him.” It saved me from making the call. I would have done it, but I don’t want to have any conversations with Will until Lexie has a chance to make her case. I didn’t promise her my discretion, but I want her to trust me—especially now.
“Great,” she mutters.
She’s too far away, too deep into her own head. I don’t want that—not for her, and not for me. “Come back here, and have dinner with me. I need you to tell me what happened with your dad.”
Lexie adds a few stalks of asparagus to her plate before she sits down.
“It’s a long story.”
“It can’t be that long. Even if it is, I’ve got time.” Not really, but I’m not leaving until I understand why she ditched her guards and didn’t contact her father when she ran into trouble—serious trouble.
Her expression is pinched as she dips bread in olive oil. “My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Very early stage and not aggressive.”
Valentina had the story right.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Cancer is a bitch. Even if it’s not aggressive.”
She nods. “After the diagnosis, he started acting—not himself. I take that back. He started acting like himself on steroids. I was really worried about him and about my mother, who started making excuses for his irrational behavior. She never does that, or at least she hadn’t—not really.
“I began to wonder if maybe things were more dire than they were letting on. I did some research and went to see a urologist who specializes in prostate cancer. He confirmed what my parents had told me. Slow growing, blah, blah, blah.” She shrugs—not like the cancer’s not important, but like she’s at a loss.
“What does that mean, acting like himself on steroids?”
“He’s been impossible. He was always over-the-top protective—”
“He has a lot of enemies. Powerful ones. He loves you—it’s hard for me to fault him for being protective.”
“Protective? Yes. Crazy? No. But given how ridiculous you are about Valentina’s safety, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
It’s a snarky thing to say, even if it’s true, but I don’t want to fight about it. “I’m on your side, Lexie.” I squeeze her leg. “You think this is just about the cancer diagnosis? That doesn’t sound like your father. He’s ruthlessly practical.”
“It’s not the cancer. There’s more of a chance that I’ll die from his smothering than that he will from prostate cancer.”
I refill her wineglass, and then mine. “So what is it?”
She gazes at me, her expression somber. “You know what happened to his family.”
“What I know is that when he was eleven, someone broke into his childhood home and brutally murdered his parents and younger siblings. And he walked in on the carnage.” I’m no stranger to carnage or death, but the thought of walking in on people I love, vacant expressions, blood everywhere—I don’t know how he got through it.
“It was a revenge killing. My mother says that my father swore he would get the bastards who did it before he took his last breath. Most of them have met justice, but he’s never found the person who ordered the hit.”
“And he’s worried he’s going to die before he finds him.”
She nods. “My mother thinks the diagnosis isn’t what’s gotten under his skin, but it reminded him that he’s running out of time. And it also reminded him that once he’s gone, he won’t be able to protect us. She believes his irrational behavior is a response to it.”
“What do you believe?”
“I believe that she knows him better than anyone. She’s an expert at deciphering his moods.”
“Have you talked to him?”
