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Sally breathed a humorless laugh. “Like that ever happens.”
“Not often, no. More likely is that you catch the eye of another mafioso who convinces Torrio to move you to another brothel, maybe even pays your debt—but then you just owe him.”
A sigh leaked out of Sally’s painted lips.
Ava gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. “Do you know how much you owe?”
In actual debt? Down to the penny. But once Al tacked on this fee and that interest and decided she owed him for the very air she breathed, too? “Not exactly.”
“Find out. If it’s reasonable, I’ll talk to Manny about getting you out from under them and bringing you in here. Daisy’s retiring after her birthday in September, and we’ll need to fill her room. You’re my first choice.”
Wariness came as easily as breathing. “And why would Manny pay to bring me in when he could pick up a new girl without my debts?”
Ava smiled. “Because I want you here. And because if you help get this O’Reilly character off his back, he’ll consider himself in your debt.”
“I guess that’s something to consider, isn’t it?” It would be, honestly, if Roman weren’t dangling actual freedom in front of her. Any pimp had to be better than Al. And Ava’s Place had class, at least. She wouldn’t have to stand on the corner. Wouldn’t have to scrub her hands until they were raw just to feel clean.
No—that wouldn’t change. Gold-plated filth was still filth—another something Dad had gotten right. She freed her fingers from Ava’s and reached for the crystal necklace that would go best with her new dress. “I’ll tell O’Reilly you were close-mouthed and bring this back in a few days. Thanks, Ava.”
As soon as she was back on the street, the smile she had given Tom on her way out faded into nothingness. Funny how quickly loyalties could get hazy. She liked Ava. She really did. She considered her a friend, maybe the only one she had in Chicago.
The thing was, Sally couldn’t afford to have friends. They cost too much. And she already had more debt than she did years to pay it off.
The long table in the conference room was all but covered with paper. They had even tacked up a large sheet on the wall to use as a chart, where Helen Gregory dutifully cataloged the evidence. This would be the first time Lorenzo assisted against charges of homicide, and he had to admit that the complexity of the case was overwhelming, especially when Stein stood up with a frantic exclamation. “I’m going to be late for court!” Shaking his head at himself, the older man made haste around the table. “You two keep at it, will you? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Lorenzo got out no more than an affirmative before Stein disappeared into the hall. The moment he was gone, unease pounced. He sent a covert glance to where Helen sat at the other end of the table. He had tried to convince his boss that they didn’t need her help with this. His argument might have been more successful had she not proven herself a huge help in past cases. He ran his hands through his hair.
From behind the files he heard her say, “Relax, Enzo. I don’t have time to flirt.”
“Good.” He was careful to keep his mutter low enough that she wouldn’t hear. After the greeting she had given him that morning—leaning over his shoulder to put his coffee on his desk and all but falling into his lap, then having the audacity to touch her nose to his neck and comment on his cologne—he fully expected her to use this opportunity to get under his skin.
His focus returned to the deposition in his hands. His job was to find something in it that would substantiate their client’s claims of innocence, and thus far he was coming up empty. He got through one more paragraph before Helen interrupted him.
“Going to the Mancari house tonight to pass on the news from the senator?”
He looked up, fully prepared to relate his impatience with a glare. All he saw was the top of her red head over the file she had open. “Obviously. He’ll want to know the charges are dropped.”
“Mm. And did you have a nice lunch with Miss Mancari?”
“Very nice. Now I really need to concentrate on—”
“Guess you didn’t tell her then.”
Because his gaze was boring into that folder, he saw her peep up over the top, though she retreated again quickly.
“About the senator?” he answered. “I didn’t hear back from him until after lunch, if you recall.”
She dropped the file and pursed her lips in obvious exasperation. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. Are you going to tell her about last night?”
Lorenzo sighed and removed his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. Truth be told, he had felt guilty all through lunch because he hadn’t mentioned it to Sabina. It would only upset her, and she had enough to work through. Why add the worry that her idiot fidanzata might give into temptation and betray her like she had him? She’d probably think she had it coming. She’d probably remind herself that their mothers had to deal with this all the time, bite her tongue, and paste on that smile that every mafioso’s wife had learned.
He didn’t want to do that to her. He didn’t want her to have to worry about him. But a fist clenched up in his chest, because maybe she needed to. Maybe he’d been right to fear his own blood.
“I love it when you do that.” Helen rested her elbow on the table and propped her head on her hand, her eyes dreamy and her grin lethal. He lifted a brow in question. “When you pinch your nose. It’s so…scholarly. Makes you look like you’re thinking deep thoughts.”
His indignant snort turned to a laugh. He couldn’t help it. “You’re an odd bird, Helen.”
“Maybe. But you just used my first name at the office, so I think my approach is working.” She winked and sat up straight. Her expression moved swiftly to sobriety. “So are you? Going to tell her, I mean.”
