Page 50 of Chasing Caine

He frowned and turned away from the woman. We were close enough we only had to raise our voices. “I did. Why’s he here?”

“He wants to talk to me. And Samantha was getting a lot of unwelcome attention.” We both turned to look at her, her eyes closed as she moved with the music. “I just need you to dance with her while I speak with him.”

He pursed his lips but nodded.

I yelled to the woman next to Mario. “I need him to chaperone my girlfriend. Ten minutes and he’ll be back. Wait for him.”

She, at least, had some sense and gave me a thumbs up.

Mario kissed the woman’s hand and stood. He leaned to Samantha. “Will you dance with me, bellissima?”

“Don’t be long, hot stuff.” Samantha kissed my cheek quickly and, with a grin, downed another shot before grabbing Mario’s hand to haul him into the crowd.

Mario was one of the few I trusted completely, without hesitation. He went through women as quickly as I went through socks, but Samantha would be safe with him.

Chapter 18

Antonio

Ipickeduponeof the shot glasses still sitting on the table but thought better of it. I’d need a clear head for this. On the wall opposite the entrance and the bar, double doors led out to a walled-off courtyard where more drinks and food could be had. The music was loud enough to keep conversations private, but at least out here yelling wasn’t necessary.

Pausing ten feet outside the doorway, I scanned the area and found him quickly. He sat off in a corner, at a small round table against the far wall, and waved to the chair next to him. As I approached, he stood and held out his arms in greeting.

“Cugino!” He wrapped me in a tight embrace.

I patted his back while we hugged and gave him the respect of determining its length. As we broke apart, I smiled. “Cristian, long time.”

Shorter than me by several inches, my cousin carried himself as a man much larger than he was. Perhaps the two men who hovered close enough to be obvious had something to do with it. Cristian had far more wisdom in his eyes than his thirty-five years should have earned him.

He gestured to a glass at the table, at my place. “You’ve been in Italia a week and a half and haven’t visited us in Roma yet.”

I leaned back in my chair, waving off his offer of a drink. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but I kept the smile on my face and my voice light. “There’s too much work for me here to go running about the country. I already told your father I don’t have time to visit.” Nor the inclination.

“But your project’s been delayed.” He crossed his legs and picked up his drink. “Something about a piece held up in transit, I believe?”

“How do you know about that?” A question I knew the answer to before it finished forming on my lips.

“You know me. I do two things well. I hear things and I make things happen.” He shrugged as he took a sip. “And right now, Papa wants me to convince you to come and see him. There will be time before your project starts, I guarantee.”

“Sì, but my girlfriend is visiting.” I looked over my shoulder toward the door. “I should get back to her.”

“This is something else I heard.” He leaned forward. “She’s the one in the Versace dress you were dancing with?”

My muscles tensed, but I did my best not to move and confirm his guess. They might see her as a liability or as leverage if they wanted something I was unable to give. “She’s none of your concern.”

“American?”

“She is.”

He uncrossed his legs and rested his elbows on the table. His eyes narrowed. “She was the one you were working with at the auction last month?”

Goings-on here, I would expect him to know. But that? This was the same auction Special Agent Skinner had brought up when we saw him yesterday. Most of the work was Samantha’s, but everyone seemed to want to give me credit for it. There was something deeper going on. Cristian was on the offensive.

“Tell me you were not involved, Cristian?”

“Interested, but not involved.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Papa was proud to hear you were the one who uncovered that art theft.”

“Interested?” Proud? When Samantha brought the burned Chagall to me, my father had said something bigger than one forged painting was going on. Something he refused to speak to me about until he returned from Napoli, and then shipped me off here before I could ask.