Page 108 of Steal My Heart
“Let’s keep this between us until I can do some digging.”
“Of course, that’s why I came to you, Mr. Chairman. What’s that?” he calls, and a female voice answers in the background. “Coming, dear. Have you ever played pickleball, Mr. Calvani?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. I’ll have those design plans worked up and sent your way.”
Pocketing my phone, I continue my walk with Nola as I mull over the conversation. “'Throw my hat in the political ring?’ Vitto preferred to pull the political strings from the shadows, and I’ve followed in his footsteps in that regard…but who the hell says I have to?”
Nola listens to my musings without comment as we return to the house. I unclip her leash, and she paws at my ankle. “Spoiled,” I tell her with a smile, going for the new treat jar that’s been placed in the cabinet, out of harm’s way.
She accepts the treat before going to her water bowl, taking a few laps. Tucking away her jar, I head down the hall and to the bedroom.
“What do you think?” Remi says when I enter. She does a spin in her emerald gown.
“That I don’t ever want to see you dressed like my sister again.”
“That’s rude,” Al grumbles.
“Would you like your boyfriend to be my double?” I point out.
“Considering I no longer have a boyfriend, it’s a moot point,” she mutters. “Remi, you look great. Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“It sucks we don’t get out of school for Mardi Gras week,” Al gripes.
“You’re not going to school on Monday, not with you being in the ceremony on paper.”
“So I can skip school when it’s convenient for you.” Al crosses her arms and stares me down.
“Fabien tried to murder me; the mayor is hellbent on extorting me. Neither of these things I’d call ‘convenient.’”
“You don’t know that about Fabien for sure,” Al argues. “You just want a reason to kill him.”
“I have text message proof our brother was plotting my downfall!”
“No way. He doesn’t even have a cellphone,” she says with conviction.
“Someone smuggled it in for him.” My hands fall to my head. “Christ, Al, are you really this naive?”
“How can you be sure it’s him?” she snaps. “Did he say in the message, ‘This is Fabien Calvani?’”
“No, but from the context, it’s safe to assume…”
Assume.
“In other words, you still don’t know for sure. Let me see the messages,” Al challenges.
My hands fist at my sides. “To what end?”
“I’ve heard the whispers; I know you’ve ordered the hit. Let me see what got our brother killed,” she says, swiping angrily at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
“Your sympathy for Fabien isn’t going to change my mind, but fine, have it your way,” I tell her, storming out of the room and to the study. She’s hot on my heels, followed by Remi.
Grabbing the cloned phone, I pull up the text exchange, handing it to Al.
“Cornbread?” Her forehead bunches. “That’s not Fabien; that’s his cellie.”
