Page 54 of Steal My Heart
Angelo considers thoughtfully. “No, but that’s both the gift and the curse of hindsight.”
He’s silent, lost in that handsome head of his, and I pull out each of the papers, examining his photography. Hidden beneath the last one is a stack of photographs. “She’s beautiful.” The top photo is a black and white of a woman looking off into the distance, half of her face hidden by a cool shadow effect.
“My college girlfriend,” he says, and that strange feeling when I thought Alessandra was his daughter is back, squeezing my heart like a vise. “We broke up when I moved back home, but it wouldn’t have lasted anyway. According to her, I was, quote, ‘a broody bastard.’”
“Where’s the lie?” I tease.
His eyebrows crease. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s an expression,” I tell him with a smile, flipping through the photos.
Dark. Dreary. Somber. And yet somehow beautiful.
“This one is my favorite.” My gaze lingers over the photo of an empty cobblestone street illuminated by a single lamppost.
“Why?” Angelo watches me carefully.
“Endless possibilities. Who knows where that cobblestone street leads, but I bet it’s someplace magical.”
“You might be the most optimistic woman I’ve ever met,” he muses.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I play elbow him.
Angelo eyes me with amusement, retrieving his photographs. “I haven’t decided if it is or isn’t.” Placing everything back in the box, he silently closes the lid; the brief moment of vulnerability coming to an end. He rises, extending his hand. “We need to watch the surveillance video of the party space.”
“Yes, Mr. Cal—Angelo.” I correct myself as I accept his hand, despite my pussy fluttering at the idea of challenging him again.
Business. Strictly business.
Chapter Seventeen
Angelo
Remi studies the video, while I study her. The little pickpocket has a way of disarming me at every turn. She’s more dangerous than I gave the woman credit for.
“Maks, where will you and IT guy be positioned?” she asks.
He pauses the video. “We’ll be in a van parked in a garage one block over.”
“And how long will it take to do your cloning stuff?” Remi continues.
“At least ten to fifteen minutes.”
She sighs heavily. “So we’re looking upwards of thirty minutes the mayor will be without his phone. Eyes must be on him the entire time; he notices it missing, then I have to scrap the return attempt.”
“Let’s say he notices the missing phone.” I think out loud. “This is his victory lap, so to speak. He’ll likely be drinking, having a good time; his automatic thought won’t be thatsomeone stole it. We use that to our advantage, positioning the ‘lost’ phone so one of his minions finds it.”
“Who is in charge of this operation?” she challenges.
Remi’s boldness should irk me, and yet I find myself enjoying our little game of back and forth. “You can make that call in real time, but we’re not ruling anything out preemptively.”
“Fine,” she relents.
Maks resumes the video, and we watch until the end.
“Well, what do you think?” I ask Remi. “Will you need a ‘duke man?’”
“Maybe?”
