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One thing I sure a hell won’t do now: apologize. Not that I had any intention of it before now, but I’m more determined than ever. Not if he insists on giving me this attitude. “How was it out there? Really?”
“Really?” He can’t conceal a smile before lifting a glass to his lips. “Not awful. Beautiful, even. But boring as fuck. Sometimes I felt like I was on the moon, so far away from everything here.”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t spending days on the beach, eye fucking every leggy blonde with nice tits who strolled past.”
“Why stop at eye fucking?” We both laugh quietly at that, though his dies quicker than mine. “I’m sorry I left you holding the bag. I am. I fucked everything up.”
Now that I hear him say it, why does it feel wrong? What’s worse, I’m almost overcome by the impulse to correct him. “It wasn’t that simple,” I admit. “Dad should’ve taken decisive action against Bernardi from the beginning. I know he didn’t want shit to blow up the way it did, but…”
“He figured it was unthinkable,” Vincent finishes for me. “I know. He figured everybody was too scared of the Bruno family to start a war. I did pay attention to some things around here.”
“It wasn’t all you. I want you to know I’m aware of that.”
He stares into the glass for a long time before muttering, “Thank you.”
“Now I need you to tell me how to get out of this without losing too much more.”
“Who, me?” He chuckles, approaching my desk.
“It’s either that or help me make sense of the fucking mess this desk has turned into.” I shove a pile of doctored invoices his way. “From the ports. You could arrange them by date. I need an assistant.”
“No, thanks. What’s this?” He picks up an envelope sitting on the corner of the desk and examines it.
“Oh, that.” I rub my temples, irritated at having forgotten about the invitation. “That’s been sitting there for days—no, weeks. It slipped my mind. An invitation to an engagement party at Paul Giordano’s. It should be coming up soon.”
He pulls the gilt invite from the envelope. “This coming Saturday. You didn’t RSVP?”
“Like I said, it slipped my mind.” I find him looking at me in frank disbelief. “What? Did you forget the part where we’re still scrambling to set up shop where the few honest detectives left in the city won’t think to look? Not to mention the fact that my childhood best friend is dead in a landfill somewhere? I’ve had bigger problems on my hands, which you would know about if you’d been here.”
“Which is it? You’re pissed at me for coming back, or you’re pissed at me for going in the first place? Because that wasn’t my choice, in case you forgot.”
Resentment bubbles up in my chest, but I’m able to tamp it down in time period “You’re right. Sorry.”
His eyes go wide. “Wow. An apology?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
He settles for chuckling, still studying the invitation. “That’s kind of shitty, not bothering to decline.”
“I’m a busy man. Giordano understands that, I’m sure.”
“Fine, but what about diplomacy?”
“What about it? What, you think he’s going to cut ties now that I didn’t go to his daughter’s engagement party?”
“Maybe not openly, but if shit’s about to go down with Bernardi, you might find yourself needing all the allies you can get in your corner. Wouldn’t it be a nice show of friendship and support to make an appearance?”
I’m not sure what I hate more about him: his arrogance, or how easy it is for him to cut to the heart of a situation. Because he’s absolutely right, as much as it pains me to admit it even to myself. This is the time for kissing a little ass, solidifying relationships.
He continues, plopping into one of the chairs opposite my desk. “Think about it. Paul and Dad were always friends, and there’s no love lost between him and Bernardi. Show your face, extend your support, maybe offer a gift to the happy couple. Flatter Constanza, tell her she’s too good for Paul, all that shit. Make sure he knows the family is still solidly behind him. You might need him, sooner rather than later.”
A wicked grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “And just think. You’ve got a prime piece of arm candy upstairs who I’m sure would be devastating in the right dress.”
Something about the way he says it makes me intensely uncomfortable. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Come on. You know what a commodity a beautiful woman is. All eyes will be on her, which means they’ll be on you, which means everybody will know Luca Bruno is doing just fine for himself, thank you very much.”
He makes it sound so simple. Then again, does it have to be more complicated? “You might have a point,” I admit, stroking my jaw.
