Page 32 of Where the Wind Whispers

Kaz. Chicago. Lying. Running.

All of it.

For whatever reason, Alberto was sweeping it under the rug.

Or so it seemed.

Violet didn’t trust her father, and she didn’t think it would all be forgotten in the way Alberto was making it all seem as if it would.

“Who are we having lunch with again?” Violet asked.

“Friends.”

“Anyone I know?”

“People you know will be there,” Alberto replied, glancing down at his watch as they rounded the restaurant steps. “Carmine is here, obviously. To learn.”

Violet’s brow knitted together at that omission. She knew better than to ask questions, though. Alberto wouldn’t answer one if she did ask him.

“Where’s Andrea?”

Alberto waved a hand high, waving off the question as his attention focused on the door opening for them. “Your mother is somewhere.”

Violet took note of the fact Alberto hadn’t called her out on using her mother’s given name. While she could pretend with Alberto, Andrea Gallucci was a whole other story. Where Alberto would stay quiet and punish Violet from afar with his silence and demands—not that Violet minded the distance—Andrea had no qualms with being vocal.

That was … when others weren’t around to hear her spewing her hatred.

No surprise.

The first time her mother had muttered puttana under her breath had been a bit of a shock. Violet simply smiled and shrugged in response.

What the hell else could she do?

“This way, Mr. Gallucci,” the man said. He was dressed in a simple black uniform with a tablet in his hands, much like the other servers milling between the fancily decorated tables they passed. He led them straight through the main dining room to a semi-private section at the back, blocked off by a partial wall and sheer curtains draped in such a way that the layers made it difficult to see through. “We’re only waiting on one person.”

“Which one?” Alberto asked.

“One from the other side, of course.”

Alberto smiled thinly. “Of course.”

Violet wasn’t quite sure what to make of the strange interaction, but all seemed to be forgotten as the server waved them in to where Violet found her brother waiting at the table with another gentleman. A man that was, guessing by the deep lines in his face and graying hair, closer to her father’s age.

Carmine didn’t stand when they entered the private area, but the older man did, stepping back from his chair and offering a hand to Alberto.

Violet thought she knew what the action was meant to do—she’d seen it play out a dozen times before whenever she attended dinners her father had put together. It was a sign of respect for a man in a lower position to take Alberto’s hand and kiss the signet ring he wore on his middle finger.

That didn’t happen this time.

Instead, Alberto took the man’s hand and they both gave a slight nod and nothing more.

Alberto dropped the man’s hand without a word and reached for the chair at the left side of the table, nodding for Violet to sit. She did and pulled in the chair herself as Alberto took the empty seat at the right hand side, directly across from her.

There would be no distractions for her.

Not with Alberto in a prime position to both watch her and the table without even having to turn his head to do it.

“It’s been a while, old friend,” Alberto said, gaze turning on the older man to his left.