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“Please. Go right ahead.”
We chatwhile we wait for the food, although I find that I’m doing most of the talking. I decide not to torment him with a rundown of the latest Netflix shows I’ve been watching to try and fall asleep. Instead, I tell him all about my art classes, carefully avoiding the topic of Chris and what happened earlier today. It’s easy to talk about my paintings, the current ones I’m working on and the ideas I have for future projects.
The food arrives, and we dig in.
“Good?” Nero asks.
I nod. My starter is a scallop carpaccio, and I can’t help sighing with satisfaction as I take a bite. It’s amazing.
“Careful,” Nero’s voice is smoky. “I’ll get jealous. I only want you making that kind of noise for me.”
My eyes meet his and there’s a familiar bolt of heat. My core is already aching from the unfulfilled pleasure I was so close to earlier, and just this one look makes me hungry for more.
“So be jealous,” I tease, lightening the tone. I tear my eyes away from his, taking a sip of my wine. I hope it can cool me off. “Because I haven’t even gotten started on dessert.”
Nero chuckles—and then stops, his eyes narrowing at something behind me.
I turn, just as Agent Lydia Compton appears at our table. “How romantic,” she says, looking back and forth between us. “Just a couple of lovebirds out on the town. Celebrating anything special?”
I tense, as she pulls out a chair and takes a seat. Her smile is tight and doesn’t reach her eyes.
Nero doesn’t seem rattled, though. He just picks up his wine glass and takes a sip as he leans back in his chair, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Agent Compton,” he says, smiling dangerously. “You’re quite a ways from the downtown office. Did you have a reservation? I’m sure I can arrange one if you need.”
Lydia stares back. “We were told you were dead.”
Nero shrugs. “I’m afraid that reports of my death have been grossly exaggerated.”
“And what about your friend, Vance?” Lydia demands. “I’ve been meaning to have a chat with him, but he seems to be missing.”
Nero smirks. “Maybe he’s on a bender somewhere. I don’t keep track of these things.”
Lydia seethes, as Nero gestures to the hostess. “Now, if you don’t mind, you can direct any further inquiries to my attorney. I’m trying to enjoy a meal with my wife.”
Lydia turns her attention to me. “You know, Mrs. Barretti, lying to a federal agent is a crime.”
“Really?” I play it cool, too, even as her presence rattles me. “I don’t remember lying.”
“When we came to discuss your husband’s death—”
“—I never said he was dead,” I interrupt. “In fact, you’ll remember I talked about him in the present tense.” I force a smile. “You’re the one who jumped to conclusions. Which you’ve been doing an awful lot lately, don’t you think?”
“This is serious.” She scowls. “I could charge you with obstruction of justice. You know that we have an active investigation against the Barretti crime organization—”
“You have no proof that any such thing exists,” Nero interrupts. Now, he sounds annoyed. She’s found a way to push his buttons. “If you did, you’d use it to make arrests. Who knows, maybe your mole was just stringing you along?”
“And you killed him for it.”
“That’s a bold accusation, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nero’s voice turns icy and he glares across the table. “You’re making quite a scene, Agent Compton, and I’d prefer to enjoy my meal in peace. It turns out that dying gives you an appetite.”
Lydia seems to realize that she’s not going to rattle us. She slowly gets to her feet and gives a shrug. “Enjoy the meal. Prison food leaves a lot to be desired. As I’m sure your father would agree.”
She walks out, and I watch her go, not relaxing until I see her leave the restaurant. When she’s finally gone, Nero lifts his glass.
“A toast,” he says, “to the end of that little problem.”
“Are you sure that’s the end of it?” I ask, swallowing hard. “She seems to think differently.”
“She’s got nothing.” He says it confidently. “The FBI isn’t going to let her keep chasing after me with nothing to show for it. It’s why she showed up here, she’s getting desperate. I’ll have Miles cause a fuss tomorrow, file for harassment. They’ll have to back off—for a while, at least.”
