Page 6 of The Broker

“Let’s see. I emailed a hundred influencers last week, asking if they’d be interested in collaborating,” she says wearily. “So far, none of them have bothered to reply. Oh, and I have a date this week.”

“You do? With whom?”

“Some guy I met online.” She doesn’t sound too enthusiastic. “This is our second date.”

“Second? How come I didn’t hear about the first?”

“Because I never talk about first dates. The only purpose of a first date is to figure out if you want to see that person again. I have a rule—I only start swooning about a man if he makes it past the third date.”

I fight to keep from grinning. “How very practical of you.”

Rosa ignores my mirth. “Anyway, Franco has a single friend. Do you want to double-date?”

And there it is. The question that rips away the illusion that Roberto didn’t affect me. My palms go clammy, and my throat closes up. “When were you thinking?” I make myself ask.

“Thursday.”

I let out a relieved breath. “I can’t. I’m meeting Enzo at Casanova.”

“Enzo,” Rosa says, disapproval vibrating through her voice. “Your friend-with-benefits that you only meet once a month at a sex club.”

“Yep.” I busy myself with my lasagna to avoid meeting her gaze. I’m not a good liar, and Rosa isn’t a fool. If she sees my face, she’ll immediately know I’m hiding something. “I have a job and a kid. Once a month at a sex club is all I have time and energy for.”

“Hmm.” She sounds unconvinced. “And at this sex club, you let him tie you up?”

The thought of being bound, restrained and unable to get free makes me panic. “Yes,” I lie again.

“Maybe I’ll come to Casanova on Thursday and see what the fuss is about.”

I freeze. “Really?”

Rosa bursts out laughing. “Valentina, you should see your face. You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm. Relax, I’m not going to show up at your sex club. It’s not my thing. I just think you could do better than someone who only wants to see you once a month.”

I hide my trembling fingers in my lap. Rosa can’t come to Casanova—not this Thursday, not ever. Because if she does, she’ll know at once that Enzo and I aren’t involved.

And then my carefully constructed web of lies will start to unravel.

I can never let that happen.

The next morning, once I make Angelica breakfast and set her up with her Sunday morning cartoons, I get to work on the Verratti files and immediately hit a wall.

The files are encrypted.

Nothing I throw at the encryption works. None of the tools in my arsenal can break through. And as I work through one failure after another, I wonder if I’m missing something.

Salvatore Verratti is not tech-savvy. Family Verratti earns their money through extortion, smuggling, and drugs. They’re old-school to a fault. Federico, Salvatore’s father, doesn’t use computers at all, and his son isn’t much better.

And yet, I can’t make any headway decrypting the data.

Where are all these sophisticated tools coming from? The ten-digit electronic lock on the cellar door, the encrypted data files stored on a computer that isn’t routinely connected to the Internet—these precautions betray an understanding of data security that nobody in Verratti’s organization should have.

There’s only one possible explanation. Salvatore Verratti has hired his own hacker. And not just any hacker—this is someone with formidable skills.

I have a rival.

Breaking this encryption and defeating my adversary is a challenge, and I normally love those. But something about this one makes me uneasy.

Four days later, the only thing I’ve figured out is that my mystery hacker is Revenant.