“II Lido,” I stammer out, testing the name on my lips. “I swear I’ve heard of that restaurant.”
Smith nods before he opens up a secondary screen. It reveals that II Lido is an Italian restaurant in New York. It’s owned by none other than Mr. Isaac Holt.
My next question is barely heard since my words are ground through my clenched jaw. “Why is Roberto working as a dish hand for Isaac?”
The worry blazing through Smith’s eyes tells me I won’t like the answer to his question, but he gives it to me anyway.
I’m an unforgiving, malicious man, however even I have a hard time stomaching the image of my eldest brother huddled on the floor, tearing his hair out as efficiently as the tears streaming down his face tear my heart out. He’s completely undone, wholly destroyed by the horrid world we were born into.
Once the footage ends, Smith brings up several news clippings on the death of a Rochdale woman. She was struck by a drunk driver, killing both her and her unborn son. Although the reports don’t say Roberto is responsible, my heart knows that’s the case. He was a drunk longer than he was a man.
Can you blame him? He was our father’s firstborn son. He didn’t just have the world on his shoulders. He had our entire legacy as I do now.
“How is he living?”
Smith gives me a halfhearted shrug. “It’s not close to luxurious, but he’s comfortable.”
“Like CJ?”
His second shrug is nowhere near as willy-nilly as his first one. “Similar. He just works for what he has instead of his little brother handing it to him.” His underhanded ribbing isn’t to maim, he’s just stating things as he sees them. CJ does nothing for his money. He merely waits for me to deposit a check every month. “We can fix that if you want?”
I take a moment to deliberate before shaking my head. “If Roberto stayed hidden this long, he wants to remain hidden.” My brows join when an ill-timed grin crosses Smith’s face. Unlike Rocco, he knows the right time to express himself. Now isn’t the right time. “What?”
“Nothing.” He places down his laptop and fiddles with some papers on my desk like he can’t feel my scorning wrath burning a hole in the back of his head.
“Smith—”
“It’s nothing, I swear.” When I growl, he squawks like a canary. “Roxanne said the same thing. It’s kinda cute how you two are synced like that.” He steals my chance to respond to his ridiculous statement by gathering up his stuff and making a beeline for the door.
Since he believes he’s seconds from safety, he gets on my last nerve. “Rocco wanted me to tell you he only kept Roxanne’s sheets warm for two out of the three nights you were out cold.”
Not thinking, I pick up the stapler on my desk and peg it at his head. It smacks into the drywall a mere second after his head darts past it. Although he’s sprinting down the corridor like I’m hot on his tail, I hear his chuckles as if he’s standing next to me. He isn’t laughing loudly. His voice is being projected through the speakers above my head.
He should count his lucky stars his breathless chuckles remind me that I’m anal about security, or my next aim would have included a bullet.
After ensuring my door is closed, I grab my tablet off my desk and log into the security app Smith installed months ago. With Smith’s disclosure at the forefront of my mind, I drag the timeline back to three days ago. I still feel like shit, and my brain is pounding like drummers are going to war between my ears, but this can’t wait. I haven’t been out of the loop this long in years. I’d hate to think about what I’ve missed.
Yeah, right.If you believe that, you need therapy even more than me. All I care about is discounting Rocco’s claim he kept Roxanne occupied the past three nights. Considering everything that’s happened, it should be the last thing on my mind. Regretfully, the unknown can send the most stable man insane. Why do you think I went off the rails? Staying one step ahead of the game is exhausting, but it has nothing on the tiredness you feel when you’re forever chasing your tail.
I stop the footage just as Ollie requests privacy to make sure I don’t piss the bed. His demand sees Rocco dragging Roxanne to the far corner of the somber space for a chat. It’s clear from the strain on their faces that their conversation isn’t flirty, much less what Roxanne says next, “If that’s what Dimitri would do, do that. Burn it down.” Although Rocco’s voice is too low for me to pick up, Roxanne keeps me in the gist. “I won’t let anything happen to him. Ollie agreed to stay until he’s awake, and I won’t leave this room. I swear, Rocco, I won’t cause any trouble.” After a few seconds of deliberation, Rocco agrees to her request with the slightest lift of his chin. “Thank you.”
My jaw tightens when Roxanne rubs her hand down Rocco’s arm in a comforting manner, but it clears when her return to my side of the room sees Rocco requesting a minute with Smith. “Keep this place on tight lockdown. As far as anyone is concerned, Dimitri and Roxie are still in New York. We don’t want any unexpected visitors.” He doesn’t say my father’s name, but I know that’s who he’s referencing because nothing but disgust is seen on his face whenever he talks about my father.
They discuss protocol for a few more minutes before Rocco leaves the room. Within minutes of him doing so, Smith sets up a command station on my desk, where he stays for the next three days. Roxanne also doesn’t move from this spot. She floats between the couch across from my desk and my bed during the day before spending the entire night in bed, with me, where she belongs.
It’s the fight of my life not to jump out of my skin when Smith’s voice suddenly booms through the speaker of my tablet. “She’s real smart, you know. She organized the search of her grandparents’ estate, unearthed Roberto’s whereabouts, and coordinated the events for your guests Friday night all from the room you’re standing in.” The creak of his office chair sounds down the line a second before his snarky comment, “Imagine what she could achieve if you’d let go of the reins just a little?”
Either panicked he’s about to be hit with my wrath, or confident he has no reason to fret since he smacked the nail on the head, he disconnects our feed just as the shower faucet in the bathroom switches off.
Eight
Roxanne
After sliding my drenched arms into my dressing gown, I twist my hair until it’s held off my face by a low-riding knot, then pace to the vanity mirror. I’m still not a diva, but the gold-leaf framed mirror is housing more condensation than usual. I had the faucet at the highest setting, hopeful a good dose of scorching water would conceal the red marks my cheeks have been wearing the past three days.
I understand Dimitri is exhausted and am aware he had enough drugs in his system to kill him, but I wish he’d wake up. There’s so much going on right now, I feel like my head is about to explode. Someone tried to end Dimitri’s life, the brother he believes is dead isn’t, and I’ve lost the ability to look at my grandparents’ property with anything but disgust.
Although the hundreds of men who scoured every inch of the mostly unused land didn’t find any bodies, there was enough evidence to expose my parents were a part of the baby-farming industry.
