Page 220 of Ricardo

“I am trying to keep this from becoming a much larger problem for you.”

“How generous of you,” I say sarcastically.

“You have no idea what a man like Calhoun—” He stops abruptly.

The car goes quiet.

I turn my head slowly. “Now, would that be Frank Calhoun?”

Rusk says nothing.

Lorenzo exhales through his nose, amused. “That was almost too easy.”

A short while later, the circling car stops, letting Lorenzo and me out.

Rusk leans toward the open door, his dignity gone with the rest of his composure.

“Ricardo,” he says quickly. “Listen to me. I gave you what you wanted. You don’t need to do this.”

I look back at him.

His face is damp with sweat now, his tie loosened, his careful hair disturbed from running his hands through it too many times after Calhoun’s name split him open.

I simply shut the door, and the locks automatically engage.

Rusk’s mouth keeps moving behind the glass, but the car pulls away before I bother reading any of it. Edoardo drives. Matteo sits still in the front passenger seat. Neither of them looks back.

They know where to take him.

Beside me, Lorenzo has his phone to his ear, his voice low as he speaks to Mario. A second car glides to the curb a moment later, black paint, tinted windows, engine quiet. Alessio sits behind the wheel and gives me a nod through the windshield

I reach into my jacket and pull out my phone.

I tap Julia's name and press the phone to my ear.

It rings once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then her voice comes through, soft and recorded, telling me to leave a message.

A bit of panic goes through me, but I tell myself to remain calm. Maybe she fell asleep.

I end the call and immediately dial again.

Lorenzo ends his call as we sit in the car.

“Mario says he will stay until the last donor leaves,” he says. “Then he wants the full report.”

I nod, phone still pressed in my ear.

When it goes to voicemail, I lower the phone slowly.

Lorenzo sees my face. “What?”

“She didn’t answer.”