“Did he hurt you?”
“Nothing as terrible as he probably wanted to do. I won’t carry scars for the rest of my life.” She lowers her eyes to her lap for a moment.
“Are you and your brother close?”
“We’re not close, but we’re not enemies. We like each other well enough. I have a sister too. Half-sister, actually, from one of my father’s many affairs.”
“How old is she?”
“Seventeen.”
“Where does she live?”
“At a boarding school in England. It’s her last year. She’s a handful.” I smile, though. I like Alysia. She’s a pain in the ass, but tough. I like her.
“You grew up in Italy?”
“We split our time between southern Italy and New York. You spent most of yours in the states.”
She nods but is cautious. I wonder if she’s surprised I know. “My dad thought it was safer. Ironic as it is.”
“He was probably right.”
“Didn’t work for him though.” The assassination took place when he was in the U.S.
“No, I guess it didn’t.” My phone vibrates with a text message. Her eyes move to it, as do mine, and I pick it up. It’s a text from one of my men.
“It’s him.”
“Secure the property and her apartment as well,” I type back.
“What did you mean when you said I look like her?”
I delete both messages before looking up at her, seeing her in a different light. Feeling even more curious now than before. I’m trying to work out whether or not it was her who did it. How she would have managed it. Because who else would have saved that bastard’s life? Who else would keep him in hiding?
“Did you hear me?” she asks when I don’t reply.
I hear her loud and clear. I knew that moment would come back to haunt me. But she gets under my skin. Makes me lose control.
“Nothing. Just wanted to fuck with you.” I check my watch. “Time for bed, Emilia.”
“What?”
I stand. “Time for bed. Go upstairs.”
She pushes back, and I think what I see on her face is close to disappointment. “Can I just go home?”
“Not tonight.” My men will be working in her apartment tonight. “I’ll be up later.”
I walk out of the room without waiting for her to reply. I don’t feel like a discussion right now. I have some work to do.It’s early the next morning. I’m standing over Emilia, putting on my cuff links and watching her sleep. She’s pretty when she sleeps. Soft, with her dark hair splayed out around her, her face relaxed, her lips slightly parted. I guess I’m surprised she sleeps so easily here, in my bed.
But what I learned last night, it shows me a whole other side of her. I know she’s strong. Of that I have no doubt. But what she’s managed to do—who she’s managed to hide—I have to say I’m impressed. And even more curious about her secrets because she keeps them well.
When I finish with the cuff links, I go to my closet, pick out a tie, then return to the bed.
“Wake up, Sunshine.”
She groans and rolls over away from me. I have to smile as I tuck the tie beneath my collar and lean down toward her.
“Rise and shine.”
She stiffens. I straighten, watch her blink her eyes open, see her remember where she is. She rolls over onto her back and pulls the sheet higher, as if just remembering she’s naked. She looks up at me, looks at what I’m wearing. I’m knotting my tie, watching her.
“What do you want?”
“You’re not a morning person, are you? Although you don’t seem to be much of a night person either.”
“Maybe it’s you. Maybe you just bring out the worst in me.”
“Maybe.” I check my watch. “Get up. We leave for Mass in thirty minutes, so we have time to drop by your apartment for something appropriate for you to wear.”
“Mass?” She sits up a little, obviously confused by this.
“That’s what I said.”
“Why?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means why do you go to Mass? Considering…who you are.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I was raised Catholic. It was important to my mother, and I guess it stuck. So, let’s go. Up.”
She holds the blanket up to cover her chest and swings her legs over the bed. “I haven’t been to church since I was a kid,” she says, climbing out of bed and wrapping the blanket around her. She walks toward the bathroom but stops at the door and turns. “This is weird, you know that, right?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Thirty minutes.” I leave her and head downstairs, sit down at the dining-room table, and drink some coffee while checking messages. Twenty minutes later, Emilia appears downstairs, freshly showered and wearing the pretty yellow dress from last night. She looks over the breakfast table.
“Have a seat.”
“Aren’t you supposed to abstain from food before Communion?” she asks, sitting down.