I stifle a groan. She has no idea what that means, but I can’t help but admire her effort.
“Will take a damn cappuccino, though, the real kind. Americano coffee,” I mutter with a shudder. “Not my favorite.”
Staff bustles to bring me a cup of cappuccino, and one uniformed member of the staff asks Emma what she’d like. “I’ll try the Italiano cappuccino, please,” she says with a smile.
Minutes later, we’re drinking our cappuccino and catching up on intel we’ve all gathered from the day before.
“So,” Santo begins. “Grady. Full name’s Lance Archibald Grady. Nearly flunked out of the police academy, but Daddy knew someone on the inside. Looks like there was a bit of fudging it on grades and scores, a little bit of ‘cooking the books,’ so to speak.”
“Figures,” I mutter, shaking my head. But I’m a little more than annoyed at myself for not knowing this sooner. “So he’s been helped along from day one.”
“Looks that way,” Santo says with a nod. “I’ve found traces of speeding tickets and fines that mysteriously vanished, and within one year of him becoming a policeman, he was named Detective Chief Superintendent.”
Emma’s brows rise. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”
I shrug. “You knew he was your boss. You knew he was an asshole. You had no reason at all to believe that he was up to anything.”
She nods slowly. “I guess, yeah, but I’m a naturally suspicious person who should’ve known to guess things.”
Tavi grins at me, the asshole. He likes the fact my girl is “naturally suspicious.” He wants to see her give me shit. I scratch my forehead with my middle finger to tell him to shut the fuck up.
“So let’s look at this timeline then,” Santo says. “Joined the police force, elevated to a position of leadership within months, and elevated into a position of leadership in the CID only last year. Sound like a normal timeline to you, Detective?”
Emma snorts. “Absolutely not.”
“And yet, here we are. Your boss, barely off his mama’s titties before he’s running the unit responsible for finding murderers and taking down serial killers. Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.”
She grumbles.
“Santo.” He looks at me. “Did you find anything at all that might indicate he’s working for someone?”
“Like another mob? Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Nothing on the record, he’s clean as a whistle. No communication we could intercept, nothing. But I flagged a 10k deposit in his personal account on the first of every month for the last six months, from someone called Ishmael. One word, no more information. We need to dig up more.”
We spend hours, all of us, sitting around the Great Hall, refilling our cappuccinos and digging into information that could give us a lead. Romeo checks in, but only briefly, as a few of the men are still trying to acquire new property. Around lunchtime, Emma stands. “Oh my God, I’m congealing here,” she says. “Need to take a walk.”
Tavi’s eyes meet mine. “Pavilion,” he says. I nod.
Emma looks from him to me. “Excuse me?”
I rise and take her elbow. “Can’t just take a walk anywhere you want, doll. You can take a walk, but I’ll escort you. The pavilion’s under surveillance, and there’s a privacy wall, but it leads to a pathway to the water.”
“Ah, right,” she says with a tight nod, but she doesn’t say anything else, only lets me take her hand and walk toward the back of The Castle toward the pavilion.
The kitchen is bustling with lunch preparations. Nonna’s got staff peeling veggies, and she’s yelling at someone in Italian to move their ass. When she sees Emma, she grins, lifts her hands, and moves as quickly as she can to us. “Ah, mia bella,” she says, pulling Emma toward her so she can kiss both cheeks. “So lovely. You need more fat, eh?” She tips her head to the side curiously. Emma blinks in surprise and looks to me.
“She thinks I’m fat?”
Marialena snorts from the large wooden table in the corner of the room. “Ah, no. She thinks you need fattening up. It’s how she is. She thinks everyone needs to eat more and takes it as a personal insult if you don’t stuff yourself to the gills until even your stretchy pants are too tight.”
Emma looks over at Marialena and grins. “Ah, well, I can eat with the best of them. And I’m starving.”
Marialena teasingly narrows her eyes at her. “Don’t you go trying to make yourself her favorite, girl.”
I roll my eyes and pull Emma toward me. “Falla ingrassare, Nonna.” Marialena gasps when I basically give Nonna permission to fatten Emma up. Feed her. Mangia.
Nonna chuckles and claps her hands with glee as she opens the cabinet and pulls out a huge container of flour and sugar, then a full pound of butter from the fridge.