Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Angelo
“And outside on our veranda, you and your guests can enjoy the fireworks display over the majestic Mississippi River,” a woman gives us the sales pitch.
“Love it,” Al says, moving her phone to record every square inch.
Having left Remi at my apartment in the city, I resist the urge to grab my own and check the security feed; my obsession with the woman bordering on the absurd.
“So shall we put down the security deposit?”
“We have other venues to consider before we make our decision,” I tell her, ushering Al to the door.
“Thank you,” Al calls over her shoulder.
We return to the vehicle, with Maks opening our door. “How’d it go?” he asks when he slides behind the wheel.
“It’s actually a really cool space,” Al says. “It’d be perfect to host Fabien’s welcome home party.”
I reply with a noncommittal grunt.
“You realize he’s getting out of prison in less than a month?” Al presses.
“I’m well aware.”
“So you’re just going to ignore him when he gets out? That’ll go over big.” Al snorts.
“Was Fabien pumping you for information about me during these visits?” I demand.
She rolls her eyes. “Believe it or not, Angelo, not everything is about you.”
“The attempt on my life was about me,” I counter.
Al gasps. “What?”
“If I find out your brother was behind it, I will show no mercy. Do you understand me?” I warn her.
“You two are going to kill each other, and over what?” Al cries.
I remain silent.
“ La famiglia prima di tutto , or have you forgotten?”
I laugh acridly. “How could I forget? My life was sacrificed on the holy altar of ‘family above all else.’”
“Sorry to have ruined your life,” Al snipes.
“Believe it or not, Alessandra, not everything is about you,” I childishly throw back at her.
“Oh, I believe it alright,” she says between her teeth, putting in her ear buds and ignoring me on the ride home.
Remi
Opening Angelo’s cologne, I bring the bottle to my nose. Ahhh. So this is why the man smells so good allllll the time.
Nola darts into the bathroom, looking at me expectantly. “What am I doing? I’m snooping every square inch of the apartment. But don’t act all innocent, because so are you.”
She doesn’t deny it as I place the lid back on the cologne and position the bottle exactly how I found it. “Come on.”
We move to Angelo’s closet; although calling this just a closet is like calling the weekend house just a house.
It’s a huge room, with a seating area in the center.
“Of course the man’s wardrobe is color coded.
” Running my fingers along the fine Italian silk, I stop at the tuxedo in its garment bag.
“Bet he wears this on his ‘date’ with Laurie.”
Nola meows .
“He’s supposedly not ‘with her’ with her, but I’d be a fool to believe that,” I argue.
She meows again, this time louder.
“You’re taking his side?” Rising to my tiptoes, I go to reach a large box on the top shelf, but it’s just out of reach.
“What do we have here?” Angelo appears in the doorway. “Upgrading from larceny to burglary?” he drawls.
“It isn’t burglary, because there’s no breaking and entering; I’m an invited ‘houseguest,’ remember?”
Nola darts over and rubs her head along Angelo’s ankles. So much for my sidekick.
“Traitor,” I gripe at my cat.
“She knows not to bite the hand that feeds her.” He turns his palm over, revealing a treat. Nola nibbles it right up.
“Anything in particular you’re hoping to find?” Angelo asks in a rather menacing tone as he takes a step toward me, and I take one back. Another step forward he goes, and another step back I go, and so on, until I’m out of closet space.
Angelo moves his hand, but to my unhealthy disappointment, it doesn’t wrap around my neck. Reaching over my head, he grabs the box and carries it to the seating area.
“Can I look inside?” I join him on the couch, eyeing the box.
He snorts a laugh. “A little late to be asking now, don’t you think?”
“Exactly,” I agree.
With a heavy sigh, he lifts the lid, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it’s a professional-looking camera and some stacked newspapers.
“I was a photographer for my school’s newspaper,” Angelo explains. “It wasn’t a practical extracurricular for my business major?—”
“Who says you always have to be practical?”
“Vitto Calvani, for one.” The words are out, and it looks like he wishes he could take them back.
“Your dad?”
He affirms with a nod.
I grab a newspaper from the top of the stack. “Is this one of your photos?” The cover story includes a lovely image of the fall leaves with some sort of important college building in the foggy morning background.
“Yes.”
“You’re a very talented photographer.”
“I’m not a photographer,” he corrects me.
“Says who? Vitto Calvani?” I raise an eyebrow. “Because the photo credit says ‘Angelo Calvani.’” My finger traces his name in small print.
“You want to know why I applied to the most prestigious business schools in the country?” His arm drapes over the couch, and I have to stop myself from scooting closer.
“My father was the most successful illegitimate businessman, and to one-up him, I’d become the most successful legitimate businessman.
” He laughs mirthlessly. “Of course, my old man had an ace up his sleeve and won the game between us.”
“Was it a game worth playing?” I wonder.
Angelo considers thoughtfully. “No, but that’s both the gift and the curse of hindsight.”
He’s silent, lost in that handsome head of his, and I pull out each of the papers, examining his photography.
Hidden beneath the last one is a stack of photographs.
“She’s beautiful.” The top photo is a black and white of a woman looking off into the distance, half of her face hidden by a cool shadow effect.
“My college girlfriend,” he says, and that strange feeling when I thought Alessandra was his daughter is back, squeezing my heart like a vise. “We broke up when I moved back home, but it wouldn’t have lasted anyway. According to her, I was, quote, ‘a broody bastard.’”
“Where’s the lie?” I tease.
His eyebrows crease. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s an expression,” I tell him with a smile, flipping through the photos.
Dark. Dreary. Somber. And yet somehow beautiful.
“This one is my favorite.” My gaze lingers over the photo of an empty cobblestone street illuminated by a single lamppost.
“Why?” Angelo watches me carefully.
“Endless possibilities. Who knows where that cobblestone street leads, but I bet it’s someplace magical.”
“You might be the most optimistic woman I’ve ever met,” he muses.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I play elbow him.
Angelo eyes me with amusement, retrieving his photographs.
“I haven’t decided if it is or isn’t.” Placing everything back in the box, he silently closes the lid; the brief moment of vulnerability coming to an end.
He rises, extending his hand. “We need to watch the surveillance video of the party space.”
“Yes, Mr. Cal—Angelo.” I correct myself as I accept his hand, despite my pussy fluttering at the idea of challenging him again.
Business. Strictly business.