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I perk up at Ethan’s praise and jet to the big screen. In black and white, a clear shape of the man’s tattoo crystallizes. Had luck been with me, I would be staring at his face and not his profile, but I’m so happy at this crumb that I leap into Ethan’s arms, screaming with joy.
“Ethan, why are your hands all over my wife?” The frosty bite to Valentino’s question causes Ethan to drop me like a hot coal.
“Would you believe me if I said we were sparring?” I ask with a grin. At Valentino’s dark frown, I say, “Oh, get off it. We were celebrating. Come look.” I drag Valentino to the television and point. “This is the clearest image yet. I bet you can send it to some of your DeLuca contacts to find the artist, or an artist who knows somebody who knows somebody.”
During my pitch, Valentino eyes Ethan who steps far away from me with his hands up.
“First, I find you in another man’s arms.”
“Valent—”
“Next, you try to distract me as if I didn’t see what I saw.”
“Come on. It’s not like we’re—”
“Lastly, you haven’t properly greeted me. Appease me, principessa.”
I narrow my eyes at him. His possessiveness isn’t an act, but neither is his demand. I glance at Ethan, wondering how far Valentino will take this appeasement. He doesn’t give me time to mull over his intentions before he swings me into his embrace and kisses the living daylights out of me. As his beard brushes my face, I fall under his spell.
The floor beneath my feet gives way and I clutch his shoulders for purchase. When I sense we’re in motion, I push at his chest. “Wait, before you take me to maul me in your lair, I want a name.”
Valentino glances at the TV then at Ethan. “Right now isn’t a good time to reach out to DeLuca associates. We’ll have to find another way. Ethan, do I have to tell you—”
“Won’t happen again. Only if she’s dying and you aren’t around, boss. And even then, I’ll get a doctor to certify her condition before I lay a hand on her and a stadium full of witnesses to—”
“Point taken. Don’t push your luck. Tonight isn’t the night.” Valentino nods toward the door and Ethan silently escapes.
“What’s happened?” I ask, noticing the purpling under Valentino’s eyes for the first time.
“We’ll discuss it later. I’m more concerned with how you’ll make up for fraternizing with your protection.”
“Do you even know what that word means?”
Valentino whisks me upstairs to our bedroom. I love and hate when he demands appeasement. I always end up tied to a bed, unable to explore Valentino’s body to my satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sloane
“My condolences,” I say to the grieving woman on the phone while I pet Cielo in my lap. “When did he pass?”
“Over a month ago. The fire department said the fire was suspicious, but have no leads to know who could have killed Decker or why. The other piercers and tattoo artists have been so supportive. They even want to reopen The Body Artiste in his memory, but it feels too fresh, you know?”
Guilt drips down my spine although I have no reason to feel guilty. I was a client to the deceased, but hadn’t seen him in over a year or kept in touch. But Decker’s sister, a fellow piercer and Decker’s business partner, is an oversharer. Everything she tells me layers another shameful brick on top of the last.
I want to hang up but a silent debate rages inside me. Is it worth continuing this conversation just so I can ask a favor? With Valentino’s network a no-go, I’ve sent out feelers to other piercers I know in Douglas and other cities with connections to tattoo artists. The Body Artiste remains my best bet. They employed some of the best tattoo artists in the country, and someone there might be able to identify the ink work and who made it.
When I sense a lull in her list of woes, I bite the bullet and ask. “If I send you a photo of a tattoo, could you share it with your people? I’m trying to find either the artist or the man with the tat.”
“Email it to me and I’ll see what I can dig up. I’ll make no promises.”
“I appreciate your help.”
We hang up and I peer down at Cielo who hasn’t stopped staring at me during my call.
“What? Do you think I should wallow in guilt, too?”
Cielo’s response is to turn her back, roll into a ball and close her eyes. I’ll take it. The little comfort she provides does help with the shame I harbor for asking a grieving sister to do me a favor. I take a steadying breath as I look at my list of names for the next contact.
