Chapter 21 Roman #2
Isabella laughs, a genuine sound I want to hear more often. "I meant all of this. The effort."
I hand her the scissors. "My daughter is the center of my world. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.”
She smiles. “She’s a lucky girl.”
I’m reminded of my visit to Isabella’s father. I’m pretty sure he never curled ribbon.
Isabella works with me, wrapping the avalanche of presents I’ve bought for my daughter.
"You're good at this," I say, sliding a finger under a piece of tape to secure the snowman paper around a science kit for Angelica.
"My mother taught me." Isabella's voice softens at the memory. "Every Christmas, we'd spend an entire day wrapping gifts together. She had this rule that every present needed three elements. Perfect paper, ribbon, and some special touch. An ornament, a candy cane, something."
Her mention of her mother gives me the opening I've been waiting for.
"Speaking of your mother," I say carefully, "I saw your father today."
Isabella's hands pause mid-fold. "Why?"
"I keep thinking about that notebook that Vinny mentioned your mother having. The one the cops kept. There has to be something in it."
"Like what?"
I shrug. "That's what I went to your father about. He gave me some bullshit that she was always writing things down."
"She was, but that notebook was different. A diary, maybe. I don't know." Isabella's eyes widen slightly. "Actually, I asked her about that one notebook because it was never not with her. She said it was her insurance policy."
This is exactly what I need, confirmation that the notebook matters. “What sort of insurance did she need?”
Isabella shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“Could it be related to her attempt to gain your freedom from your father? Maybe she had something on him or La Corona.”
Isabella considers this, her fingers absently smoothing a piece of ribbon. Her expression turns stricken. "God, would she really do that? Take on La Corona—"
"You have."
"No. I wasn't looking to take on my father or La Corona. I was looking for answers. It's different."
I suppose it is, but it still put her in our crosshairs.
Still, if her mother found something and one of us killed her, that's a whole other ball of wax.
Isabella looks at me, and I can see she's thinking the same thing. "If she did find something, that means La Corona—"
I shake my head. "I feel like that is something I'd know."
"But would you? You're close to Marco, but you're not actually part of La Corona. They must meet and make decisions without you."
Isabella asked me once what I’d do if it turned out her mother was killed by La Corona. I feel like I’d know if they did, but now I have to consider that there are things I’m not privy to.
"It could be just as easy that she found something else. Maybe Ernie killed her because she figured out he was playing both sides. Once La Corona found out, he'd be dead."
"He is dead. Maybe by my father, so that notebook and my mother—"
"Maybe one of your father's police contacts told him what was in the notebook and that’s why Ernie is dead," I say, grasping at straws. All of this is conjecture.
"Then why not tell you? Why is my father being obtuse?"
I shrug. "Maybe the hit wasn't approved by La Corona and while Ernie wasn't made, he was Salvatore's brother." I shake my head. "Honestly, I don't know."
"I'm sorry I'm not more help."
"You're a lot of help. Your perspective helps, Isabella. It gives context to what I'm finding."
She looks surprised, then pleased. "You actually value my input?"
"Of course I do." I reach across the desk, my fingers brushing hers. "We're partners in this now."
I catch Isabella staring at me, a question in her eyes.
"What?" I ask, setting down the scissors.
"Nothing." She shakes her head, smiling softly. "It's just nice. This side of you."
I reach for the silver ribbon she was handling earlier, letting it slide between my fingers. "I've got many sides, Isabella."
"So I'm learning."
The air between us shifts, electric with possibility. I stand, moving around the desk until I'm behind her chair. She tenses slightly but doesn't pull away when I drape the ribbon over her shoulder.
"You know," I say, my voice dropping lower, "Angelica's presents aren't the only things I'd like to wrap tonight."
Isabella's breath catches as I trail the ribbon down her arm.
“And then unwrap.” I take the ribbon and slowly draw it around her wrist, not tight enough to bind, just enough to feel. "I've been thinking about you all day. Even when I shouldn't have been."
"Like when?"
"Like when I was with your father." I wrap the ribbon once more around her wrist. "Like when I was planning tonight's business." Another loop. "Like every minute in between." I tug gently on the ribbon, drawing her to her feet. "Do you think of me?”
“Sometimes.”
I trace the ribbon up her arm, across her collarbone. “Like when?”
“Like always.”
I smile, ridiculously pleased by her answer. "I want to unwrap you. Slowly. Thoroughly."
Her eyes meet mine, and I’m even more pleased that I don’t see fear anymore. "Then do it."
Right there in my office, I unwrap her body and touch her until she comes undone in my arms, and then I follow her over into the sweetest pleasure.