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Watching Sally refold his trousers, on the other hand, was almost entertaining. She lined up the creases as if war might break out in Europe again if they bore an extra wrinkle. “Want me to introduce you to Capecce?” he offered. “You can help him see what a lousy match he and Sabina are.”
Sally laughed and picked up the stack of shirts, headed for the chest of drawers against the wall. She opened several drawers, her eyes arching up another degree with each one. “Good grief, what have you been wearing? They’re all empty.”
Suppressing a smile, Roman motioned to the single chair, where a few clean clothes lay stacked from the last sack of laundry. “Why put them away? I’ll just have to get them back out again.”
She mumbled an observation about men and inserted the shirts into the top drawer. “Hey, wait. Not quite empty.”
It took him a second to recognize the object she pulled out—the framed photo of Sabina she had given him a month ago. “This her?” At his nod, she tilted the portrait so that it better caught the light. “She’s beautiful. Easy to see why you’d fall for her. So do you love her or what?”
“Yeah.” He shocked himself at the ease with which he admitted it.
Sally put the photo carefully on the bedside table and turned to face him again. “Then why are you so set on bringing down her father? Just because you can’t have her?”
He lifted a shoulder and finally stepped into the small room. “It’s my job.”
“No, champ. Enforcing the Volstead Act is your job. Not solving murders.”
“It used to be.” Until he realized that solving them didn’t accomplish anything. The criminals just walked free, and it didn’t bring the dead back to life. He had to stop them before they could do the killing. He had to stop the bosses that paid the thugs.
He picked up two more stacks of clothes and shoved them in the dresser. Sally put the pants away, but somehow even her silence accused him.
Her words were worse. “Getting him pinched won’t make it better, you know.”
He spun around to face her. The afternoon sunlight made her golden hair glow and lit a fire in her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a half-smile. “But you do. You’re a man with ghosts if ever I saw one.”
His mind flooded with the image of that last corpse he’d processed, the last murder he’d helped to solve. The last widow who had wept onto his shoulder.
His hand closed over the St. Michael medallion he always wore. It clearly did nothing to keep good men safe. He yanked it off and dropped it into the drawer, slid Sabina’s photo back in, and slammed it closed. “What, are you a philosopher now?”
“Always have been.” She grinned. “It just doesn’t pay very well.”
Determined to change the subject, Roman returned the grin and tackled her playfully onto the bed.
The complex series of jumps Little G executed left one lonely red checker on the board. Sabina groaned. Either her head wasn’t in the game or her brother had been practicing in secret because usually she did the trouncing—she’d never been on the receiving end before, and frankly, she didn’t like the experience.
From behind her came the unmistakable sound of Lorenzo’s suppressed laughter. “You know, Bean, you should have moved—”
“Aa.” She held up a hand, then snapped it closed to show him what his mouth should do. “The day I need advice from you on checkers…”
“Would be today, it seems.” He leaned over her shoulder, and she shoved him away.
“This is all your fault, Enzo. Hovering and distracting me. Go bother Mama. Or visit Cook—she made some arancinu earlier. With cheese, just like you like. Go get one.”
Instead, he put his hands on the table on either side of her, caging her with his arms. He winked at Little G, whose grin was broad and victorious. The imps. “My hovering has never distracted you in a game before. You usually just ignore me.”
He had a point, but rather than think about that, she studied the hopeless board before her. One piece left, and it wasn’t even a king. Well, there wasn’t much strategizing she could do. She only had one move that wouldn’t result in instant elimination and was about to make it when Lorenzo’s breath tickled her neck. Turning her face to glare at him, she found his nose nearly touching hers.
It took all her willpower to keep from laughing at the glint in his eye. Oh, how she’d missed him. “Go away, me amuri. You’re going to make me lose, and you know how I hate losing.”
“You do?” He widened his eyes in feigned innocence. “But it happens so rarely, how can you be sure?” Chuckling at her narrowed gaze, he drew away by a whole inch. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can play me next, me tisoru.”
She hadn’t lost a game to him in eight years—which was why he usually refrained from playing her. She grinned and seized the offer before he could retract it. “You’re on.”
Little G leaned over to snap a finger in front of them. “Hey, remember me? I’m about to win here. Stop procrastinating and let me taste the sweet flavor of victory before you move on to destroying Enzo.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Not much caring about the loss in light of what was sure to be a win in another few minutes, she moved her red piece to the only possible black square. It took two more moves before her brother whooped with joy, leaping out of his chair and running out of the room with arms held high. Silly boy. Maybe she should have let him win a time or two before, just to watch his antics.
