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Likely, the short notice is his attempt to get ahead of any effort I might make to avoid looking guilty.
I nod, my smile unwavering. “Absolutely. I’ll have my chef prepare something special. Consider it a small celebration for the start of this new partnership.”
The mayor nods, but his expression still holds a hint of trepidation that hadn’t been there when I first arrived. It would seem my success in this endeavor might rely more heavily on Tia than I ever could have imagined.
Hopefully, she’s up for painting me in a good light tonight. And though she’s shown me nothing but gratitude and dangerously enticing attention in the days since our fight, I can’t help the feeling that she hasn’t forgiven me for what she saw in the woods that day.
She hasn’t brought it up, but I can see it in her eyes, as if the image of me pulling that trigger plays in her mind on repeat.
It feels a bit risky to be welcoming the mayor back into my home when such a heavy secret still weighs on Tia’s mind. She could possibly destroy all the progress I’ve made—and throw me into a thicket of legal troubles—if she decides to let slip the reason she was running.
But based on the way Mayor Romney’s attitude shifted when he heard Tia was hurt, I think it would be far riskier to let him sit on his suspicion any longer than is strictly necessary.
“I look forward to tonight, then,” he agrees, rising from his chair to shake my hand once again.
It’s a subtle gesture to indicate our meeting is over. And frankly, I’m grateful because, without Tia present to diffuse the tension, I feel as though I’m walking on eggshells every time I speak.
Still, despite barely scraping by in a precarious conversation, I leave Mayor Romney’s office with a newfound sense of accomplishment. I’ve managed to salvage a potentially disastrous situation.
Tia might be out of commission for a while when it comes to social events, but her charm and our invitation for dinner will keep suspicion at bay.
The chess pieces are moving in my favor, and I can’t help but smile as I contemplate the upcoming moves in this delicate dance. It’s a small step toward the chance to reshape the power dynamics in this town. And my plan puts Mayor Romney unknowingly at the center.
30
TIA
Sun streams through the heavy brocade curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. I watch the dust particles dance in the sunlight, a distraction from the dull ache in my twisted ankle. The crutches lean against the bedside table, a constant reminder of my current state.
I’ve spent the majority of the past few days in bed, listening to the doctor’s advice to take it easy. I haven’t wanted to push my luck, mostly because of my anxiety over the trauma my baby might have suffered. But I’ve also been phenomenally stiff and sore from head to toe until this morning.
My ankle feels as weak and useless as when I sprained it, and the small lump at the base of my skull from hitting my head is still a little tender. But the rest of me is on the mend. Even the dark bruises that color my wrist don’t hurt as bad this morning.
The distinct fingerprints from where Leo grabbed me to stop my fall raise conflicting emotions within me. I trace them delicately, mesmerized by the strength with which he held on. The sheer determination on his face as he pulled me to safety using one arm. It could almost be enough to prove he truly cares for me.
That day has been coming back to me in flashes of brilliant clarity—the scenes like snapshots in my mind. The terror of looking down to find the jagged ground a hundred feet below me. Leo’s arms lifting me effortlessly from my vulnerable state. His breath soft by my ear as he reached up to cut the roots tangled around my foot. His steady calm when he told me we would have to climb.
But what sticks with me most is the intense concentration on his face as he watched for an opportunity to pull me up, the fear in his eyes when I lost my footing right near the top of my climb. And the fierce desperation with which he saved me.
It shakes my confidence in my decision to take him down. And at the same time, I can’t stop thinking about the man he killed in cold blood. That could be my father if the alliance between our families continues to grow more tense. I don’t know how I’m supposed to trust Leo. In anything. Because he can be so incredibly tender at times. And utterly brutal at others.
But my family is depending on me, and that, more than anything, is what drives me from bed today. Collecting the crutches Luigi provided to give me a bit more freedom around the house, I tuck them under my armpits and head toward the door leading from our bedroom.
My twisted ankle hampers my movements, a cruel reminder of what took place after I fled from Leo’s brutal scene at the cottage. That man, falling lifeless to the ground, blood staining the dirt around him. I can’t shake the image from my mind. But with my current physical state, I’m confined, unable to explore what else might have taken place there. I can’t gather evidence concerning his execution either.
So, instead, I’m confined to looking for any weaknesses Leo might have hidden somewhere around the house. He must have a few skeletons in his closet. And I know the best place to start.
His office.
He showed it to me casually the night I first met him, when he was giving me a tour around the house. And I haven’t cared to explore it until now. But it seems the most likely place he would want to keep something locked away that he doesn’t want me to find.
The halls are fairly quiet as usual, aside from my thumping three-legged walk. The servants move with silent intent, the Moretti men I pass only offering respectful nods on their way to do Don Moretti’s bidding. I’m starting to get a concept of which men work more closely with the don, seeing as he seems to operate from the estate more often, whereas Leo is gone for the better part of every day.
Where normally, I might welcome the brief interactions and wish for more human connection, today, nervous tension makes me jumpy every time I hear footsteps. Still, I hobble around the house, determined to find something, anything, that will help me uncover a chink in Leo’s armor.
With no small amount of effort or exertion, I finally arrive at the door to Leo’s office. With bated breath, I look up and down the hallway to ensure no one’s watching.
Then I reach tentatively to place my hand on the cool metal knob. I twist, but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked. It would seem it’s off limits when he’s not home, a fortress I can’t breach without drawing attention to my intentions. And I can’t risk alerting the staff to any suspicious activity.
