He wipes his mouth with a linen napkin, then he sets down his fork and leans back, eyes locked on mine. “I can give you the names of the people I suspect. But if you think this is going to be a quick, easy path to closure, you’re mistaken.”
“I don’t want closure,” I tell him. “I want a body count.”
Maximo’s expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes darkens.
“You’re not a killer, Constance.”
Now that I’m his houseguest, I guess I’ve been upgraded from Ms. Monroe to Constance.
“I could learn how to be one. I’ve certainly got the proper motivation.”
“You think it’s as simple as pulling a trigger?” He shakes his head. “It’s about what comes after that—the guilt, the silence. The weight of another soul on your own for the rest of your life.”
“I already carry all of those things.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Then let me carry the rest. I have to do this, but you don’t.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavier than anything he’s said before.
For a moment, my chest seems to tighten, and I can’t breathe. I’m afraid I might want his words to mean something more.
“Why do you care?” I whisper as I pull the robe tighter around my neck, suddenly feeling exposed. “About me. About any of this.”
“I don’t,” he replies, too quickly.
But that’s a lie. And we both know it.
If I had to guess, avenging the loss of my father is more about maintaining his reputation than anything else. But I can’t help but suddenly feel self-conscious, even exposed, as his eyes sweep over me.
Maximo wipes his mouth again and throws his napkin on the table, then picks up a file and walks towards me. He lays the file down by my untouched silverware.
“What’s this?”
“Your father’s security reports for the last month. There are notes from my crew, call logs, payment records.”
I don’t move to touch it. “Why give this to me?”
“Because that was our deal. I’m giving you all that I have to go on so far.”
I study him, his sharp jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something human behind all that control.
Enzo was right.
“You feel guilty,” I say, and the way his jaw tightens tells me I hit the mark.
Maximo walks back to his seat and picks up the wineglass by his plate. He takes a sip before saying, “You’re free to stay here as long as you want, but you’re also free to leave if you decide that you can’t handle this world.”
“And what do you get out of this deal?” I ask curiously.
“I want revenge as much as you do, and I don’t know who I can trust right now. Except for you. I know you didn’t betray your own father. I want that same loyalty if I can earn it.”
“Earn it?” I laugh bitterly. “Good luck.”
He lifts a single dark eyebrow, as if he accepts my challenge, and maybe even likes the fight in me.
I wish his approval didn’t fill a sliver of the emptiness inside of me, and I hate that itdoes.
After dinner, Luca escorts me back to my room. “Maximo said you could have this now,” he says as he hands me the cell phone I had left in my car when I stormed in. “It’s clean.”
