Page 63 of The Crowned Garza
When he deposits my bag in the back seat and returns to hold the door open for me, I ask, “Where’s Guy?”
“He’s not here tonight.”
“Should I be afraid of that?”
“You should always be afraid of Guy. He’s illusory and unpredictable.”
“And Santo?”
“Never,piccola regina. Never.”
The palpable sincerity in those words is what gets me to unplant my feet and get into the car.
“I’ll take you to the loft,” he tells me once he’s behind the wheel and we’re on the move. “But I have some important visits to make, so I’ll be gone for a little while.”
“Are those visits with any of my relatives?”
“No.”
“Then why can’t I come with you?”
“Because it could be dangerous.”
“You’ve never hidden yourself from me before. Why start now?”
“I’ll be making these visits as Santo Luciani, Tillie. Being seen with me—”
“I don’t care, Saint. I’m already under the veil. And I like it here.”
Under his breath, he mutters so quietly it’s a miracle I heard it, “And I’m too selfish to fight you on it.”
He wants me with him.
After several minutes of stubborn silence, I ask, “Are expensive suits Santo Luciani’s thing? Is this how he’s known?”
“No…” He exhales a sharp breath. “I buried Papa today.”
Yikes, land mine. “Oh. Wow. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
“Was your relationship with him that bad?”
“We didn’t have one.”
That bad, then.
~
THE FIRST STOPis at a mansion in the hills with men in suits milling about.
Men, who’re apparently underhiscommand and awaiting his arrival, nod at him in deference and greet him as “Don Luciani.”
Yes, Don.
Nope, I didn’t mishear.
The man’s a freakingDon.
