Page 11 of Blood Money
Closing my eyes, I dropped my head as I slowly shook it. Then I lifted my exasperated gaze to hers. “Mrs. Romano, you’re losing a lot more time being here in the hospital than you would taking bathroom breaks.”
The stubborn woman refused to reply because she knew damn well I was right.
“If you sold me the bakery, you wouldn’t need to worry about working at all. You could live out your retirement years in comfort.”
“You only want it so you can run your dirty blood money through it. My parents would be rolling in their graves if I let that happen,” she practically hissed.
I stood up and buttoned my jacket. “Or maybe they’d be thankful that their daughter isn’t working herself intohergrave.”
Silence as she stubbornly glared at me. Then her expression softened. “What happened to you, Tory?”
The use of the childhood name she’d had for me was a punch to my gut with all the memories that assaulted me. “I stepped into my rightful place,” I emotionlessly explained.
“And I did what I thought was best,” she whispered.
The pain that lashed through me at her words brought a momentary sheen over my vision before I blinked it away.
“Is there anything you need?” I asked her, though I knew the answer.
“No.”
I nodded. Then, without another word, I left the room.
My silverware clinked on the plate, and I cut into my chicken parmigiana. Though I didn’t look up, I knew the moment Luciano entered the back room where I was enjoying my dinner.
Without asking, he took the seat across from me. Taking my time, I finished chewing, set my utensils down, then used the linen napkin in my lap to carefully wipe my mouth. When I gave him my attention, I cocked a brow. Then I reached for my wine and took a drink. “Is there a reason you’re interrupting my dinner, Luciano?”
The detective strummed his fingers on the table but didn’t speak. Dario stepped closer and slipped his hand into his jacket.
I sighed. “If you have nothing to say, please leave. I was enjoying my meal before you so rudely interrupted.”
“You have a problem,” he finally announced.
Unconcerned, I blinked at him but didn’t reply. Luciano Moretti might have been on our payroll, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. There were few people I actually trusted outside my immediate family.
He leaned in and spoke softly, though there was no need, as I had the entire back room of Horatio’s to myself. “There’s been some talk with the gangs on the West Side. One of our informants told us they’re planning to infiltrate your areas. The last thing I want is for innocent civilians to get caught in the crossfire of a Mafia gang war.”
Still, I held my tongue.
Luciano huffed, then rolled his eyes and reached into his inside pocket. Dario immediately had a gun trained on the detective. “Jesus Christ, Vittorio. I’m not your enemy.”
Though we paid him well—private school for five girls was rough on a cop’s budget—I gestured to the exposed badge on his waistband. “That would say otherwise.”
“We fucking went to school together all of our lives. You ensured that my girls all got ‘scholarships’ for their educations. I’m not stupid.” More than that, we had another connection, but neither of us discussed it. He slapped a thumb drive on the table, then made a show of wiping it down with the edge of the tablecloth before he flicked it closer to me. “This is everything I have regarding their numbers, plans, and timeline.”
Dario plucked the device from the table and slipped it into his pocket. My friend and bodyguard was loyal to the core. He would gladly throw himself on a sword to make sure I wasn’t caught with something from law enforcement.
“Thank you,” I told Luciano. Once I had a chance to look it over, I would determine if it was worth worrying about. At that time, I would speak with Gabriel, and we would make plans, if necessary. No way would I show an ounce of concern in front of the good detective—my childhood friend.
He sat there staring at me, his leg bouncing. A nervous tell I knew he ordinarily wouldn’t let show.
“Did you have something else?” I asked in a bored tone. “My dinner is getting cold.”
“She’s here.”
I didn’t ask who he was talking about. We both knew.
And though I was aware that would be a strong possibility, I had hoped I was wrong, and she wouldn’t come. But of course, she would. Anguish burned through me, but no one would’ve known. I’d had years to learn how to school my expression and bury my emotions.