Marcel Rosano looked pretty much as I remembered him—a hard, grim man with a heavy brow. His carefully trimmed hair was still jet-black, not a hint of gray in it. Considering he was in his late fifties by now, I suspected there must have been dye involved, not that he was likely to ever admit as much.
The room looked pretty much the same too, all posh modern furnishings that contrasted sharply with the aged elegance the Noble men preferred. The only thing my gaze snagged on that struck me was the wedding photo hung on the wall over a side table. At first glance, I thought I’d just forgotten the cut of the dress. Then I registered that the bride’s hair was golden-blond rather than the ice-blond waves I’d seen before.
So the senior Rosano had gotten himself out of and then into another marriage since I’d last been here. What was this now? His fourth? He did have a type. I couldn’t help being glad that my flame-red hair kept me well out of that category.
He liked them young, that was for sure. The woman in the new photo barely looked over twenty. I’d bet his sons just loved that—having a stepmom who was the same age or maybe even younger than they were. They’d chafed at following Holly’s authority back when I was around to observe, and she’d at least had ten years on Darius, the oldest.
I couldn’t say I was sorry to see Holly replaced. We’d never clashed, exactly, but there’d always been something a bit… grasping about her that’d rubbed me the wrong way. Like she expected everything to be handed to her rather than putting in the work to earn it.
I wanted to congratulate Marcel and find out the new wifey’s name, but it wouldn’t work in my favor to show off my observational skills. I settled for giving him a simpering, nervous smile.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Rosano. I know how busy you must be.”
Marcel folded his hands together on his desk. “Your father was a good friend, Anthea. My condolences again for his passing. I wouldn’t feel right about turning you away without at least hearing what you’ve got to say. What are you doing here?”
The question should have sounded concerned, but his gaze felt sharp as a hawk’s. He was listening carefully, preparing to analyze every word I said.
I rubbed my hand across my mouth as if I were uncomfortable about telling my story. Which I was, but not for the reasons he’d think.
“I don’t know if you heard—my husband passed on,” I said. Marcel would have seen me with Clyde at Dad’s funeral. “A few months ago. I went back to the family home since I didn’t want to stay in his old house alone. But… my brother and I haven’t always gotten along all that well. And since Dad died and he took over the business, he’s gotten even more set in his ways. We argued a few times, and this morning he got so furious with me that he gave me ten minutes to leave and said he’d have me shot if I showed my face again.”
I let a tremor creep into my voice with those last words. Ezra had told me that he hadn’t met with Marcel in person since the funeral. All business arrangements had been conducted through middlemen. It’d be easy for the Rosano boss to imagine the already strict man he’d known becoming even harsher under the weight of his responsibilities.
“So why did you comehere?” Griffin asked, as if he was in charge of this interview.
To my surprise, Marcel only raised his hand in a mild rebuke. The guy was definitely pretty high up—high enough that jumping in like that wasn’t overstepping his authority by much at all.
WhywasGriffin here and not any of the Rosano sons?
When Marcel nodded at me, I answered his lackey’s question. “Ezra made it clear he wanted me all the way out of Paradise Bend. I’ve lived there my whole life. Clyde’s house is already sold. I always loved those summer visits here. And I figured it was far enough away from Paradise City that Ezra couldn’t be upset about it, even if you two do business together. I didn’t mean to impose. I just—I don’t have much to get by with. He took over my bank accounts and all that financial stuff too.”
Marcel hummed to himself. “Are you aware that we’ve had our own troubles with the Nobles recently?”
I blinked at him. The woman I was pretending to be wouldn’t have been privy to any of her brother’s business dealings. “What? No, of course not. Why would— The alliance between the Nobles and the Hell Kickers has always been so solid. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. I don’t know what to say.”
Marcel made a dismissive gesture. “You’re not the one who needs to say anything. We’ll clear the air soon enough. I can’t hold your brother’s behavior against you, not when you’ve been harmed by it too.”
My mind latched on to his phrasing—the suggestion thathe’dbeen harmed by something Ezra had done. That Ezra needed to say something. Had my brother taken some action to provoke the ruined deal and not bothered to mention that part to me?
It seemed unlikely. Ezra had wanted me to go in fully prepared so I could sort the problem out. It wouldn’t help him to lie when I’d only find out the truth from the very people he’d sent me to. Chances were Marcel had simply constructed a public fiction that he was the wounded party. No one wanted to do business with a turncoat.
“If there’s any way I can help…” I said hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to stir up bad blood.”
“Not at all, not at all.” The older man paused, leaning forward.
Before he could go on, Griffin stirred at his side. He spoke in a low voice. “Are you sure—when we’re still sorting through the pieces—”
Marcel patted his arm. “It’s fine.” He shifted his attention back to me, his gaze piercing. Analytical.
He was considering how useful having me under his roof might be to whatever negotiations he was going to make. Possibly whether I might have inside info he could coax out of me. I was a bargaining chip yet again.
“You can stay for as long as you need to while you get back on your feet,” Marcel said. “I’d prefer if you maintained a low profile and kept to yourself for the most part. I don’t want there to be too much buzzing about you being here.”
I bobbed my head. “I understand. Thank you so much. Just having somewhere to stay and regroup is all I was hoping for.”
“Good.” He nudged Griffin. “Take her to one of the guestrooms. I’ll have to let the boys know who’s come back to visit after all this time.”
I stepped after Griffin, restraining a grimace. Somehow I didn’t think the “boys” were going to be happy about the news.