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She lifted her brows, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “He hasn’t talked to you about it? He said he was going to, to see if he needed to hire Darrow. They were talking about someone named Eddie, and how Ava had been seen with him the night he was killed. About the evidence pointing to him. I’m assuming it’s Roman looking into it.”
Lorenzo let out a gusty breath and looked around as he tried to gather his thoughts. His gaze snagged on a head of red hair, and he blinked to try to convince himself he was imagining things. He wasn’t. Of all the times for Helen Gregory to show up, did it really have to be now? He glanced quickly away, praying she didn’t even see them in the crowds of other dark-haired neighbors flocking the park.
Apparently that was too much to ask. “Enzo!” rang through the air, and when he followed Sabina’s lead and looked up again, Helen was waving with far too much enthusiasm and hurrying toward them. “I was wondering if you were around here somewhere.”
She was walking at the side of a vaguely familiar woman, dressed far more casually than he was used to and grinning as if thrilled to be interrupting an obviously intense conversation.
Sabina spoke before he could open his mouth. “Hello, Miss Gregory. I didn’t realize you knew Bianca.” She edged a little closer to his side. A proprietary move that he’d have to be blind to miss…and which made his lips want to grin, despite the lingering echoes of the word “murder.” “You remember Bianca Esposito, don’t you, caru?”
The name rang a distant bell. It took him a moment to remember that Sabina had mentioned her recently—the girl who had moved into the neighborhood a few years ago and thought herself the prettiest thing in the world. A title she certainly didn’t deserve, especially compared to his Bean. Lorenzo forced a smile. “I remember you mentioning her, but I don’t believe we’ve met. It’s a pleasure, Miss Esposito. You and Miss Gregory must be friends.”
Bianca’s face improved only slightly with her smile. “The best. We were in correspondence school together. She works in your office, right? She’s mentioned you too.”
“I’m sure,” Sabina muttered under her breath.
He gave her side a warning squeeze, though her ill humor lit something far more positive in him, and he had to tamp down a grin. “Indeed. Miss Gregory is a fantastic secretary—Mr. Stein would be lost without her.”
Helen scowled at him. She hadn’t been happy when he reported, at her insistence, that Sabina’s reaction to the news of her interest proved her feelings, and that he had no intention of pursuing any other relationship. At work she alternated between brisk efficiency, cold temper, and what struck him as a desperate flirtation. He had prayed nightly that she would call a retreat before she got hurt any more, and before dealing with her every day got any more difficult.
Bianca cleared her throat. “I, uh, invited Helen to picnic with us today—told her she hadn’t experienced the Fourth until she’d seen it Little Italy style.”
Helen flashed a feline smile, a fair warning for Lorenzo to brace himself for a verbal pounce. “And she was right, of course. Though I confess I didn’t expect to see you out and about, Miss Mancari. As reclusive as you’ve been this week, I feared you and Enzo must have had another fight.”
“Tu antipaticu spia!”
Though Lorenzo had to agree that she was acting the part of vindictive spy, he gave Sabina another warning squeeze. “Not at all,” he said to Helen, making his voice deliberately placating. “Your sources have apparently dropped the ball this time.”
“Doubtful. I said that was my fear. I’m well aware it’s her father she actually argued with. And I certainly can’t blame you for that, Miss Mancari. I’m only surprised you haven’t found cause to disagree with him before now.”
He could see Sabina’s hackles rise and almost expected claws to flash. Her voice, however, remained low and cool. “Watch yourself, Miss Gregory. It’s my right to argue with my father, but he’s still my father.”
Helen’s smile bordered on a snarl. “And you’re his daughter. Does that mean I should fear for my life if I offend you?”
Sabina coiled onto the balls of her feet as if ready to leap onto the redhead and tear her to shreds. Lorenzo tightened his arm around her to restrain her. “Calm down, cara,” he murmured in Sicilian. “She’s trying to rile you.”
Bianca’s mouth had fallen open, and her face had gone pale. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was actual fear in her eyes as she said, “Helen!”
“Miss Esposito’s stupefaction is well placed.” Lorenzo narrowed his eyes at his secretary. “This face doesn’t suit you, Helen.”
“So what?” She tossed her head back, chin raised. “I’ve got nothing to lose at this point, do I? Come on, B. I’m not so sure I care for Little Italy’s offerings after all.”
The two walked off—Bianca darting a wary glance over her shoulder—leaving Lorenzo confounded and Sabina still vibrating with rage. Helen had seemed so reasonable about things when she showed up at his apartment. What had happened?
Sabina was apparently wondering the same thing. “It’s been a while since I’ve read Shakespeare, but I seem to recall him making a sage observation about a woman scorned.”
Enzo sighed. “I’ve been praying for her—maybe you could too? Light a candle next time you’re there?”
Was it asking too much? Sabina had plenty of other things to pray about. But she nodded, and they headed back to the bocce ball game.
He’d never realized how aggravating it could be to have a woman in love with him.
Sabina pulled her cloche hat into place, adjusting it until it sat just where she wanted it to and then fussing with the waves of hair underneath. In the mirror, her reflection pursed its lips. It was far too nice a hat to wear to the park with Mary—one of the ones Mama had bought for her trousseau—but Lorenzo was going to meet her there and take her to a movie afterward, so she wanted to look her best. She tilted her face first to one side and then the other, satisfied at last that her hair was in place.
She adjusted the angle of the mirror and stepped back to see how the rest of her looked. Waistlines were dropping, and she’d never worn anything with one quite as low as this. It felt strange, but she liked it. The otherwise simple bodice provided the perfect canvas for the long bead necklace she’d looped twice around her neck.
She drew her lip between her teeth. What would Lorenzo think of the fashion-forward styles? Would he like them, or would he wish his bride-to-be had chosen something a little safer?
A glance at the clock told her she didn’t have time to change even if she wanted to, so she set the question aside and hurried down the stairs. She paused when she saw G in the dining room, an odd assortment of books and tools spread out before him. She stepped inside and ran a hand over his cowlick. “What are you up to, G?”
