“It’s a dangerous job, but someone’s got to do it.”
“I think the word you’re looking for isdirty,” he said. “Not dangerous.”
“I’ll talk to my editor about it, but it sounds like a personal opinion to me.”
Our eyes held. He had a tight look on his face, like he was holding back. He wanted to say more, to probably give me advice, but I think we both knew it would be a waste of time. The moment he broke eye contact, he sighed and sat up on the edge of the bed. His back faced me for a second before he stood.
I turned over and studied the ornate ceiling as he walked toward the bathroom. “Who is she?”
I could sense his smile before the door closed to the bathroom. It only took a second before I rolled out of bed and went snooping. He knew I would. I wasV. City’stop investigative journalist when it came to digging up the darkest secrets. Love shouldn’t have been something to hide from the world, but most of these men kept that part of themselves hidden. Love was as dangerous a game as any in the life.
My phone chirped. I ignored it as I dug through his drawers. All of them. Nothing. Not a man to keep his secrets buried in his underwear drawers then. His leather wallet sat with his expensive gold watch. It was probably worth thousands. It had diamonds on the inside. They were nothing compared to the treasure I found inside his wallet.
His eyes met mine as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Kettle,” I said, holding up the picture.
It was of Rocco Fausti’s wife, Rosaria Caffi. She was a world-famous opera singer in Italy. And again, the wife of a Fausti, even if they both had marital affairs. I was sure there was an agreement in place there, but if Tigran was sleeping with her, or more, his life was at stake. One wrong move and they would steal his heart. No questions asked.
The Fausti family was one of the most powerful families in the world. Behind their “royal” facade, a den of ruthless lions lived beyond the golden gates. I knew everything about them. Because, as some claimed, I was obsessed.
It was true. I was. But I preferred the wordpassionate.
“Kettle?” he asked, not understanding.
“You were just giving me a lecture on how dangerous they are.” I pushed the picture closer to his face. “And I find this in your wallet? Kettle meets pot.”
“It’s a picture.” He shrugged. “A piece of paper.”
“Is this really the hill you want to die on, Macaluso? Rosaria Caffi?”
Although she was beautiful and talented, there was something about her that screamedtrue bitchto me.True bitchmeant not just bitchy on the surface, but truly a bitch. I never thought she deserved Rocco Fausti. She definitely didn’t deserve Tigran.
“Have you ever met her?”
“No,” I said, refusing to lie. I hadn’t met any of them, but I would. It was the only dream—no, life purpose—I ever had. “Wait. Have you ever met her?”
Maybe Tigran was like me. Obsessed—passionate—with the idea of her. Of that family.
He laughed and flung my T-shirt at me. “Get dressed, Ava.”
“Is that how you treat family around here?” I slipped on my shirt, then caught my jeans when he threw those at me too. I had to go anyway, and he knew it. The only place I ever hung around was my office. Crime didn’t take a day off, and neither did I.
“We’re only family during the holidays.”
“Should I call you Unc from now on?” Brio (or as his family called him, Lilo) didn’t have a close relationship with his uncle because of Michele, his father. But things were changing. I could feel it. Especially after Lilo and my sister, Lucila, were banished from New York for a while.
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“I’m going to take that ‘we’ll see’ and—” I stuck my thumb at the door.
He nodded, and I slipped my blazer on as I headed toward the exit of his fancy penthouse. I was rolling up one of the sleeves when he stopped me. Suddenly, I was ready to go, to be free to do whatever I wanted.
“Ava. Remember what I said about the Faustis. It would break your sister’s heart if something happened to you. They’re not worth it.”
“See you around, Unc.” I waved and left.
His words swirled in my head as I dodged foot traffic, hunting down coffee and a bagel. An hour later, after I took both to go, I realized New York was too quiet. The insistent chirping from my phone was silent.