Page 48 of Kept

Finally, I ask, “Do you ever think that the universe has some sort of plan? That things aren’t just random? Like maybe stuff happens the way it has to, good and bad?”

Vincent stares into his glass for a long pause. “I don’t know. Fate, God, whatever—is Alessandro’s department.”

“Ah yes, the mafia priest.”

Vincent laughs. “The one and only, I’m sure.”

“Your mother speaks highly of you all. She’s quite proud of his charity work.”

“He has some more events coming up, you know. He would probably appreciate the help.”

“Hmm, I’ll consider that.”

“When is the first performance going to be?” he asks.

“Friday. It’s a special All Hallows Eve event. Nothing different for the dancers, but it’s black tie for the audience and everyone will be wearing masques, for the masquerade theme.”

Vincent smiles. “That sounds entertaining.”

“Meh, yes and no. It’s a great concept, but it always turns into the company directors trying to squeeze more money from the donors.” I sigh. “I do get it though. Sponsorship and even attendance is down, so the company needs the donations.”

Vincent nods. “Money talks.”

“Indeed it does.”

He has a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

“Why do you look like you’re plotting something?” I ask.

“I’m always plotting something, kitten.”

CHAPTER 24

Vincent

She’s focused and hasn’t noticed that I’m watching her. She really is a beautiful dancer. She takes correction from their instructor with grace and helps Bella improve her skills. The image of Sarah leading a class of kids in their first lessons flashes through my mind. Robert is, shocking as it may seem, down in the basement gym with Marco. Go figure.

My phone buzzes. Stepping away from my viewpoint at the door, I pull it from my pocket.

“Special Agent Martinez,” I greet. “How are you today?”

He clears his throat. “Um, fine, thank you.”

Every organization has ties with law enforcement. I have my people with the NYPD, but having a supervisory special agent from the FBI makes a very powerful ally.

I hear the faint hiss and clicking in the background, indicating that he is calling from his encrypted phone, not that it matters because firstly, mine is also heavily protected, and secondly, Martinez knows that by now our histories are so entwined that we have a case of mutually assured destruction. It’s in his best interests to keep our cordial, helpful relationship going.

Which doesn’t mean we’re both not a little paranoid.

He sighs. “Have you been to church recently?”

“Not as often as I should, I’m told.”

“Same. Confession is good for the soul, or so I’ve heard.”

“I’ll take your word on that.”

He chuckles. “Good talking with you.” The line goes dead.

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