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Knowing Nevio’s inability to control himself, a single stab wound seemed odd, but maybe that had been his intent. Maybe this controlled kill showed that he didn’t really care about me, wasn’t really deeply emotionally involved, but acted out of a sick sense of possessiveness.
The girl looked uncomfortable. It wasn’t normal to ask these kinds of questions as a bystander. Tomorrow, the police would probably want to question me because of my suspicious behavior, but I needed to find out more.
“I think he was stabbed once, but I didn’t ask for details.” The way she said it made it clear I shouldn’t have asked either.
“I should probably…uhhh…get your order before my manager notices the long line,” she said quickly, then turned on her heel and began to work on our beverages.
Valerio raised one blond brow. “What was that about?”
I gave a shrug. “Just curious. He seemed like such a nice guy. It’s horrible that he got killed.”
“Horrible,” Valerio repeated as if he couldn’t care less, which was probably true considering he was Luca Vitiello’s child and had killed his own fair share of people in his life.
The barista returned with our orders, and we left. When we got into the Porsche, Valerio didn’t start the engine.
I pretended to be busy with my Americano. Since Valerio had introduced me to it, I’d developed my own addiction to the concoction.
“I’ll ask again. What was that interrogation about?” His voice lacked his usual cheer and lightness and gave me a glimpse of another more serious and dangerous side of him.
I frowned. “I was just being compassionate. The girl must feel bad after such horrible news.”
“Horrible,” Valerio repeated with a hint of sarcasm. “Even I could tell the girl was freaked out by your questions. She certainly didn’t get compassionate vibes from you.”
“Maybe I had a crush on him,” I muttered, feeling defensive. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, and it was only a matter of time before I’d let something slip.
“I didn’t get the vibe that you had a crush on him. He had the hots for you, no doubt, but you weren’t into him. I have a feeling this isn’t just you being your caring self.”
I sipped my coffee, hoping Valerio would stop prodding. On the other hand, maybe getting him and, in consequence, Luca involved would make Nevio retreat.
Peace was still a fragile construct, though. What if Nevio’s actions caused a new rift that led to war? With Greta in New York, things would get even more complicated. Could I really risk this out of an unfounded suspicion?
Valerio angled his body my way, his back against the door and one elbow propped up on his steering wheel. “It’s strange. You get lost when a fire breaks out in the hospital, and Flavio finds you completely flustered. You keep checking our surroundings as if you know someone is after you. My instincts tell me someone has been watching us. Someone who’s really good at staying in the shadows, someone who’s used to creeping up on others, on hunting them. And now a guy who was into you is dead.”
“People get mugged and killed all the time.”
“Sure, they do,” he said. “Still, I find the string of events odd. Are you promised to someone in Las Vegas?”
“You know I’m not.”
“Does someone think you belong to him?”
“I’m not a pet. I don’t belong to anyone.”
Valerio just smiled as if I’d said something funny. I had underestimated him. His funny nature made you forget what he was at the core of his being. A Made Man and Luca Vitiello’s son. “Sure. If the lie makes you feel better.”
He finally started the car and pulled away from the curb. I really hoped he’d let the matter drop. I couldn’t do it. I needed to find out more about Marcos’s death. The problem was how to do it without making the police or the Vitiellos suspicious.
Luckily, Greta and Amo were invited over this evening again, and I used my chance to have a private chat with Greta right after dinner.
We settled on the Hollywood swing in the backyard, away from prying eyes and ears.
“Is Nevio still in New York?” I asked in a whisper.
“He hasn’t been in contact with me in over twenty-four hours, so I assume he has returned to Las Vegas.”
“Or he’s laying low in his own way,” I muttered, then told Greta what I’d found out today. My pulse spiked just talking about it, and my eyes burned as they had done every time I’d considered my role in an innocent’s brutal death.
She didn’t say anything, only looked thoughtful. Nobody knew Nevio better than Greta, even if I’d often wished it were me. Now I wasn’t so sure anymore. “Greta?”
