“Goodnight!” I chirp, bustling past, and the housekeeper raises a hand without even glancing over. I don’t dare turn back, don’t falter in my steps, but when I round the next corner, Santo De Rossi is by my side, keeping pace.
“You’re like a cat burglar,” I breathe. “Or a magician.”
The kingpin inhales sharply. “Never,” he states, “eversay anything like that to me again. I’ve killed men for much less.”
But was Diego in love with those men? I think not, and I’m just starting to realize that my man gives me a certain kind of armor in this world. His protection extends around me, even when he’s not here.
I beam at the corridor stretching ahead, and I probably have cartoon hearts floating in my eyes.
“The Governor’s study is around that corner. I’ll poke my head in first, then you follow. Oh wait, what if it’s locked?”
De Rossi’s strides quicken, and there’s a tinkle of keys. “That will not be a problem.”
* * *
In the end, I don’t know what I expected. Pigs’ blood splashed over the walls and a dagger taken to all the paintings? That was obviously never going to happen, though the mob boss looks sorely tempted on that last point.
Instead, Santo De Rossi is controlled. Almost bored in his perusal. He strolls around the bookshelves, huffing at the titles and the way the spines have never been cracked. He glances at the framed photo of the Governor’s son on his wall, and carefully selects the right key on his stolen ring to open the desk drawers.
“Where did you get those?” I ask as the top drawer slides open. We’re working in the dark, not willing to attract attention with any light beneath the study door. Instead, De Rossi settles into the leather chair, then scans the Governor’s private letters by the light of the moon spilling through the windows.
“I had them cut weeks ago. Be quiet now, please.”
I purse my lips and wander to gaze out over the grounds, wrapping my arms around my waist. My stomach hurts.
Even with the Governor gone, this room feels… off. Malevolent. His bad energy clings to the furniture like a foul smell.
“When he called me in here to blackmail me, I thought about braining the old creep with that paperweight.”
De Rossi grunts, his black leather gloves whispering over pages and pages of private documents. “You would have saved me a lot of time.”
I spin and watch the mob boss examine every single artifact locked away in the Governor’s drawers. He’s like an archaeologist, picking over ruins to find something of interest. “But you’re not going to kill him, are you?”
Becausethatdoesn’t fit. All this fuss for the story to end with a stray bullet?
De Rossi’s smile is humorless. He draws a phone out of his pocket and snaps photos of some kind of legal contract. “Not immediately.”
“And tonight is about…”
I trail off, hoping for an answer. And somewhere deep down, De Rossi must be warming to me, because I actually get one.
“Tonight is about saying hello.” The mob boss closes the drawers with a softthunkand locks them all, then pulls an envelope from his pocket.
I squint at the red paper. “A holiday card?”
“‘Tis the season.” De Rossi places the square in the center of the desk. “Do you think he’ll display it?”
Ha. I shake my head, baffled and amused and still kinda thrilled by this little nighttime escapade. “I think he’ll freak the hell out.”
The mobster stands. “Good. Shall we be on our way?”
I wander to the door, then check both ways in the corridor. As we sneak back through the shadowy mansion, something prods at the back of my mind.
“What about those other two men you let in? What about their errand?”
There’s a long pause, and my flash of fear tastes sour.
“Don’t trouble yourself with that,” De Rossi says softly.