Page 59 of The True Garza
“Here, cousin,” a handsome Italian man, seated next to an almost identical version of himself, says to True, pointing at the nameplates.
Stefano and Lorenzo Castello. Begrudging relatives of the Garzas. The relation between the two families is hush-hush, though. Very few people know the Garzas and the Castellos are blood. Blew my mind when I read it in their profiles.
True guides me over and pulls out my chair for me to sit, before taking his own.
He takes a drink of water. Everyone watches.
From inside his jacket, he retrieves a small metal case. Unlocks it with his fingerprint and takes out a flat, rectangular device, along with a bug jammer and a silver marble with a bright blue beam at the top of it. He places them all on the table, then flicks his wrist in a gesture for them to begin.
According to the information given to me, the silver marble emits waves that will blind any hidden cameras that might be in the room—including cellphone cameras—or disguised inanimate objects.
The flat, rectangular device is another high-tech recording device developed exclusively for Red Cage. Everything said at this table will be recorded and backed up in real time to a highly secure Red Cage-exclusive cloud server.
I don’t quite understand the extent of all that’s happening, but the people in this room, at this table, are not friends. They don’t like or trust each other. Nor can any of them be seen in public together.
What they all have in common? Being the most powerful in the city of Las Vegas. And their agreement to work together to keep each other at the top. With Red Cage appointed to hold each one accountable to their oaths.
The meeting starts off stiffly, with lots of veiled insults and bitter sarcasm. Because, of course, the district attorney would rather not be sitting across from suave Italian criminals. As the champagne begins to flow, however, tense shoulders relax, and sarcasm and cynicism dissolve into genuine laughter.
They discuss events of the year, favors exchanged, orders carried out, figures made and lost, businesses sabotaged….Long,deepdiscussions that bore me. All sorts of things that are completely lost on me.
The food is excellent, though.
Beside me, True’s right thumb is tapping rapidly on the white tablecloth but he’s staring straight ahead. When I follow his gaze, I collide with my own in the mirror across the room. Because that’s what he’s been staring at.
Me.
Leaning to him, I whisper in his ear, “It’s been almost an hour. Are you sure you don’t want to leave?”
He gives a small shake of his head “no,” but his thumb keeps drumming against the tablecloth.
“Put your hand under the table,” I whisper.
He hesitates, but then obliges.
Once his hand is under the table, I furtively slip mine under as well, then slide my fingers between his.
Greedily, his fingers tighten around mine.
I meet his gaze in the mirror.
“I just wanted to see you without you knowing that I’m seeing you.” He’d gone through the trouble of tricking me into thinking he was Trent so he could see me. Now… he justlooks. Shamelessly. Endlessly.
Don’t stop looking at me, True. I want you to look at me. Always look at me. Only me.
From my periphery, I notice someone else is also staring at me. Intently. Head cocked.
Leaning slightly forward, I look past Stefano to his twin. Lorenzo Castello.
He pulls his gaze from the mirror to meet mine, a devilish curl to his lips.
“What’s your deal, man?” I demand.
His soulless eyes examine my face as if they’re familiar with it. “You look like her. Not as flawless as her. But it’s… nice to see her on you.”
Huh? “Look like who?”
He cocks his head as he drinks me in and, on a gruff whisper, replies, “Brooklyn.”
