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“Don’t tell me anything more, and Sinead, don’t ask them anything else. We hired Mr. Diaz’s firm years ago to protect high profile clients because it's a legitimate business. We know his ties and know that is why his team is so well-trained. However, it’s clear we cannot trust anyone affiliated with other— groups. Mr. Scotto?”
“Yes?”
“Can Ms. O’Malley remain at Ms. Mancinelli’s home tomorrow and rest?”
“Of course. Paola is happy to have her for as long as Ms. O’Malley needs somewhere safe.”
I watch Sinead, who nods. I’m not sure what she’s thinking.
“Mr. Scotto,Iwill speak to Mr. Diaz.”
“So will I. As his client, you can express whatever you feel is appropriate. Whichever way this goes, it’s personal between my family and his.”
There’s a pause before Marta responds.
“Fine.”
Sinead cuts in as things get terse.
“Marta, I have my computer and can work from here. I’ll try to stay on top of everything.”
I can think of something she can stay on top of, but this is so totally not the time to imagine her riding my cock. Though now that thought is in my head, and my dick’s ready to oblige. Fuck me. Like, seriously. Please fuck me, Sinead. Fucking hell. Fucking pay attention.
I push my thoughts away from that momentary distraction and listen to Sinead and Marta finish the call. When she hangs up, Sinead leans back against the sofa.
“She’s pissed.”
“I figured as much. Would she have said more if she didn’t know I was here?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Are you going to call Enrique?”
“I will, but I have to do that alone. I don’t know what else might come up.”
“I understand.”
She rests her head on the couch and closes her eyes.
“Are you hungry? You've eaten nothing all day.”
“Starving now that I think about it.”
“Come.”
I stand and stick out my hand, which she grasps. I help her to her feet, and we walk to the kitchen. It looks like a high school football team tore through it. Carmine’s sitting at the table with his laptop between Lorenzo and him. The guys covered the counters in open containers of pasta, chicken parm, meatballs, antipasti, salad, cold cuts, bread. They barely look up as they continue to scarf down any and everything in sight. You’d think they’d just escaped prison or were gearing up to hibernate for the winter.
“Anything left that you haven’t all slobbered on?”
Marco grins.
“I think we left some celery for you, Gabe. Ms. O’Malley, we made you a plate. We didn’t know what you might like, so we put a little of everything on there.”
He offers her a plate heaped with food that’s practically spilling off the sides. It’s more than any of us could eat, but she’s sure to find something she likes.
“I’ll zap it for you,piccolina.”
“I can’t eat all that.”
She laughs as she hands it to me.
