Page 17 of The Pretenders of Copper County
Chris’s face worked, flitting from annoyed to nervous to stubborn and back to nervous. “No. You’re wrong about my uncle, so it only makes sense that you’re wrong about me, therefore I’m not your protectee. But, um, thank you anyway?”
“Jesus,” I muttered.
I’d never had to convince a protectee that he was supposed to be my fucking protectee before. The guy was straight-up lying—had to be, since no one could live with Dante Fromadgio and not know exactly how his uncle made a living—and I really loathed the idea of having to play along like I bought his little act.
But I was a trained Division agent, and there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do to keep my job. Charming my protectee—my fake-adorkable, mobster-Bambi protectee—and playing along so he wouldn’t make another escape attempt was simply another part of the punishment I’d have to endure for deliberately fucking up my last assignment.
Besides, how hard could it be?
I leaned forward and gave Chris a smile I hoped was friendly and disarming. “We got off on the wrong foot, I think. Maybe your uncle didn’t tell you that he was taking a plea deal. Maybe that happened after you left town. So maybe you don’t get how much danger you’re in?—”
Chris blinked and visibly softened before shaking his head as if to clear it and squaring his shoulders. “Of course he didn’t tell me about a plea deal. He hasn’t done anything wrong. So either you’ve made a mistake, or… or…” He gasped, literally gasped, and gave me an accusing stare. “Maybe you’re framing him for a crime he didn’t commit! I saw that once in aJohn Ruffianepisode?—”
Jesus Christ.Framing him?Was he serious with this shit?
“I’m definitely not.” I forced a smile. “Let’s review the facts, okay?”
Chris looked like he wanted to protest some more, but he shifted back on the bed and shrugged. I took this as agreement.
“Great,” I said, still smiling. “Now. First things first, your uncle is Dante Fromadgio?—”
Chris’s lips parted in a startled O.
“—aka Dante the Cheese?—”
At this, he jumped to his feet with a little gasp of outrage. “No. Nuh-uh. I… I’m very confused right now, but I was trying to be respectful and kind. But I’m not going to listen to you insulting my family, okay?”
“Whoa! What did I say?” I held up both hands,genuinely surprised. We hadn’t even gotten to the crime part of the “facts.” I hadn’t expected him to protest yet.
His voice trembled. “I was only seven when my mom died, but I remember her telling me how hard it was growing up with the last name Fromadgio when her family owned a cheese shop. People mocked her all the time. She told me she was so relieved when she got married and got to be Carmelita Winowski she never used her maiden name again. She askedmenever to mention it. Can you imagine? My mom was beautiful and kind, but she was ashamed of her own name because of the thoughtless, cruel comments of thoughtless, cruel people.”People like you, his tone implied.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again because it turned out Chris was stunning when he was angry… and because I felt like an asshole for even noticing that when he also appeared to be on the edge of tears.
You’re falling for it, Sunday. He’s giving an Oscar-worthy performance, and you’re about to fuck up your redemption assignment.
“Sit,” I commanded. But like Chris’s nonna’s voice was in my head, I added, “Please.” And then, even more grudgingly, “I didn’t mean to insult you. I won’t use that name again. Okay?”
Chris’s fingers clenched and released on the cuffs of his sweater, but eventually, he sat, his gaze fixed on the wall over my head. “Fine.”
“Fine,” I repeated. I took a deep breath. “Your uncle is Dante Fromadgio, yes?”
He glanced at me, then away. Though he looked troubled, he nodded once.
“Right.” I relaxed slightly. “As you probably know, Dante Fromadgio has been under investigation foryears for various crimes. Tax evasion, money laundering, et cetera. Last March, he turned himself in. He and his lawyers have been negotiating a plea deal, which will probably require him to testify against his former business associates the Evanoviches to avoid jail time. He’s currently in protective custody, but he sent you out of state and must’ve had someone protecting you who alerted him when—why are you shaking your head?”
“Because I don’t know anyone called Evankavich or whatever you said, and I know every supplier and business associate the Cellar has… orhad. And Danny’s fishing. And he didn’t send me out of state; he gave me the opportunity to visit his old army buddy because he thought it would be good for me to decide what I wanted to do with my life. And Van—you know Van, right? From the Bugle?”
“Obviously,” I huffed. “He coached my hockey team when I was a kid.”
“Right. Well, unless he’s a secret agent like you, I haven’t had ‘protection.’ And I think I’d know,” Chris added, “since ‘protection’ feels an awful lot like being kidnapped.”
Was it possible that Van knew Dante Fromadgio, or was that another lie? It was something to look into, but not now.Eyes on the prize, Sunday.
“Can we keep going?” I asked, determined to make this guy admit he knew exactly what was happening here and wasn’t the innocent he claimed to be. “This week, the Division was contacted because whoever was keeping an eye on you had credible evidence that you’d been tracked to the Hollow. The Powers that Be decided to put me in charge of picking you up?—”
Chris flinched, and his gaze met mine. I’d swear those shiny brown orbs were fucking weapons. Every time he flashed them at me, I felt like I’d been gut-punched.
I really fucking hated it.
