Page 55 of The Broker

My security guards start to close in. I give them an ‘I’m okay’ hand sign and smile pleasantly at the man in front of me. “Neil, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”

“I work in this neighborhood,” he replies. He looks down at Angelica. “And this must be your daughter.”

I didn’t tell him about Angelica. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “Can you go sit there for a minute, please?” I ask her, pointing to a bench at the edge of the piazza.

Angelica gives me a curious look and says, “Yes, Mama.” I glance surreptitiously at my bodyguards. Yes, Silvio’s already moving toward Angelica. Perfect.

Once she’s out of earshot, I look squarely at Neil. “I didn’t tell you I had a daughter.”

“No, Rosa did.” He laughs awkwardly. “I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

I’m probably being prickly for no reason. “I’ve been good,” I reply. “Busy. You know how it is.”

“Tell me about it,” he says. “It’s the end of the year, and payroll is a nightmare. You think the managers would know how much bonus money they want to give their employees, but no. They wait until the last possible minute to figure it out.” He gives me a disarming smile. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to apologize for last week. I wanted to make a good impression and then. . . Well, you know. When the machine kept glitching on my credit cards. . . I’m afraid I wasn’t at my best.”

That’s actually a half-decent apology. And I can relate to first-date nerves. “Stuff happens.” Specifically, Dante Colonna happened. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Anyway, I like you, Valentina, and I’d really like to see you again.”

I hide my grimace. Ugh. He’s being nice, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings—it feels like kicking a puppy. But even if I wasn’t in love with Dante, nothing would happen between Neil and me.

“I’m just really busy, you know? My calendar is jammed.” His face falls, and I add, “Maybe sometime in the new year?”

And why did I say that? I don’t want to go out with him. I should have just said that.

“Absolutely.” He reaches out and plucks my phone from my hand. “Why don’t I give you my number, and we can figure out when?”

He starts navigating to my contacts. I stare at him in bemusement. Did he just grab my phone out of my hand? He did. I’m so astonished by the intrusion that I don’t say anything for a few seconds; I just gape at him.

And then, I react. “Please don’t touch my phone without my permission.”

“Relax,” he says with a laugh. “I’m not looking at your photos or anything. I’m just adding my number—”

Out of nowhere, Dante materializes at my side. “I believe she told you not to touch her phone,” he says, his voice glacial. “Give it back before I break your wrist.”

“Break my—” Neil splutters, puffing his chest out. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Somebody you should be afraid of if you know what’s good for you.” Dante gives the other man a dismissive nod. “Coffee break’s over. Give Valentina her phone, Mr. Smith, and get back to work.”

Neil gapes at Dante and finally seems to realize it would be a bad idea to cross him. He thrusts my phone at me. “I’ll text you,” he snaps. He gives Dante a poisonous glare, then pivots on his heel and marches away.

I glance at the Broker. “Break his wrist, really?” I ask lightly. “Isn’t that a bit dramatic?” Then I notice the look in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Giorgio was attacked,” Dante says. “I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. I need to head to Bergamo immediately.”

This is his nightmare coming to life. Poor Dante. I squeeze his hand. “Do you want me to come with you?”

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t know what the situation is, and I don’t want to worry about you. Can you stay at home with Angelica? Whatever happens, don’t open the door, and don’t leave.”

“Yes,” I promise, fighting to keep the fear out of my voice. Dante needs to focus, and he can’t do that if I’m freaking out. “I can do that.”

25

DANTE

Giorgio is in surgery. Someone—probably his wife Mara—wisely took him to the hospital in Milan. That move might have saved his life. Milan is Ciro Del Barba’s territory, and unlike Verratti, Ciro can be reasoned with.

Leo refuses to let me go to Milan alone. “Take Goran and Benito,” he says. “I insist.”