Page 34 of Capo
Ivan never shows a single emotion, but I almost hear him twitch. “Yes, sir! Eh… groom?”
“Waxing, nails, hair, that kind of shit.”
“A beauty therapist?”
“Whatever the fuck it’s called. Yes!”
“I know someone, sir. I’ll send for her.”
“Good. Also, have the cook make her three meals a day from now on. Lots of protein. And Matteo. Have Matteo call me.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“No,” I growl. “That’s all for now.”
I’ll fucking wake her up, and wake her up good.
I can’t stand to look at Chloe. Somewhere deep inside there’s an uncomfortable gnawing feeling that I fucked this up. Admittedly, I didn’t think it through for shit, and maybe I should have asked someone. Ivan has given me dirty looks lately but, like everything with him, so subtly that it’s taken me awhile to get it. He’s pissed with me.
Taking my frustration out on the weights in my gym, I wait for Matteo to call, and Elena to get here. When my phone chimes, sweat drips off me and I’m naked from the waist up. I’ve never been in better shape than I am now, at forty-five. I wipe off my face, throw the towel over my shoulder and pick up.
“Man, it’s fucking five in the morning!” Matteo sounds less than happy, and as if he hasn’t slept at all.
“Time to get up.” I try to keep the growl out of my voice.
“What’s up, Uncle?”
“I want you to make preparations to get the girl’s brothers out of prison.”
He’s silent a few moments. “Okay? Feeling goody two-shoes?”
I scoff. “I got my reasons. Give them a place to live. Nothing fancy, just a bed and somewhere to drop their bags. There’ll be conditions. They are to stay in San Francisco, and always at my disposal.”
“Jeez. Fuck. Okay. I can make that happen. Give me a few.”
“A few what?”
“Weeks.”
“You’ve got one week.”
He inhales as if to object. “Do it,” I snarl and disconnect as a soft knock on the door makes me spin around. “Enter!”
Elena, without makeup, in a simple white blouse and a dark gray skirt, her hair in a strict bun, peeks in through the door as she pushes it open a sliver. Her eyes travel my body and then she looks back up.
“You asked for me?”
“Go make us coffee. I’ll shower. Find you in the kitchen.”
She raises an eyebrow and disappears without further questions. Fifteen minutes later I follow the tantalizing scent of freshly brewed coffee and find her in the adjacent lounge, curled up on the couch, her shoes kicked off and her legs pulled up, folded to the side. She still has the body of a much younger woman. I make a detour to the kitchen, pour myself a cup and then steer my steps back to my old partner in crime, my mentor, and the only one I can unload on.
I sink down on the couch on the other side of the coffee table. “I have someone.”
She’s silent, waiting for me to continue.
“A captive. A girl.”
She’s still silent.