I hug him back. “You’re welcome.”
When he releases me, I point toward the door.
“And if you get emotional about this later, I will deny it happened.”
“Same.”
“Good.”
He starts toward the hall, then pauses. “Also, I’m serious about visitation with Mocha.”
I laugh. “Get out.”
“That sounds like a maybe.”
“It isn’t.”
He leaves smiling.
I stay behind for a moment, soaking in the quiet.
That conversation affected me more than I expected.
I have solved cases before. Helped people before. There were victims who hugged me, families who cried when we gave them answers, people who thanked me because something I did mattered to them.
This feels different.
Maybe because Alessio was the first case that was entirely mine after the FBI.
Nobody standing over my shoulder. Nobody waiting to take credit if it went well or find somewhere to put the blame if it didn’t.
Just me.
I trusted what I saw, followed what did not make sense, and found the truth.
And it worked.
I feel a little surge of pride as I push away from the chair and head into the hallway. The house is quieter now than it was during dinner, although quiet by Conti standards still involves several conversations happening simultaneously.
I find Mocha in the family room stretched across the rug with Edoardo sitting nearby. Matteo and Tomasso have claimed opposite ends of a sofa, Dante is in one of the chairs, and Diego is standing near the fireplace talking to Ricardo.
Don't these people ever sleep?
Mocha lifts his head the moment I enter. His tail thumps.
“There you are.”
He gets up and comes straight to me. I rub my hands along his neck and shoulders while he presses against my leg.
“Aw, have you been abandoned?” I tease.
Edoardo looks at me. “He has had constant attention.”
“Maybe a little too much, huh?” I ask him. “You did eat your body weight in chicken tonight. And that was after dinner.”
His tail whacks my leg as it wags.
“Yeah, you're fooling no one. I see that guilty face,” I tell him, then I look around. “Where is Lorenzo?”