Page 117 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“There might have been a few times I needed help here and there over the years.”
“How many times?” I demand, my voice too loud. “How much money did he give you?”
“Doesn’t your ledger say?” he asks, hedging.
I hedge back. “I want you to tell me.”
Silence. Then another heavy sigh. Then he names a number so large I almost fall over in shock.
Then the jerk decides it’s time to change tactics. He says sternly, “This was between your father and me, Kimberly. It’s no business of yours. And it’s disrespectful of you to ask me. Your poor father—”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about my ‘poor’ father, or about disrespect! Not even two minutes ago you lied about never getting any money!”
He sniffs. “It’s beneath me to speak of.”
I swear, one of these days one of the men in my life is going to push me too far, and then my name will be in all the newspapers for a very different reason than being left at the altar: “The Cast-off Couturier Goes on a Murder Spree!”
“You’re stonewalling me now? Then I guess you won’t want to talk about your relationship with the marchesa.”
There’s a long icy pause. “She has poisoned you against me.”
“Are you denying it?”
“Whatever she told you is a lie.”
“Okay, then answer me this: Why did you say Matteo was vicious?”
Another pause, but this one is long and cavernous. I sense he’s carefully choosing his words. “He wouldn’t allow me to attend the wedding. I tried to go, but he blocked me at the door. He threatened to rip off my head. He’s an animal.”
An animal who goes into beast mode when someone he cares about is disrespected. I wonder what Dominic said about the marchesa to make Matteo threaten him.
I bet it wasn’t nice.
“At the hospital, you told me you weren’t invited to the wedding. That no one attended. That it was done in secret. This sounds like a much different story.”
Dominic decides he’s had enough of my interrogation and launches into a full-blown rant.
“Your father and I were friends for fifty years! I was the only one who came to the hospital when he was sick! I was the only one who stood by him after your mother died and he fell into the bottom of a bottle for so long you had to be sent away to live with your aunt in the States! I was the one who cared for him during his depression and made sure he ate, and showered, and his business didn’t go under! Me! If anything, I deserved the money he gave me! I earned it!”
My first thought is: you dick.
My next thought is: Matteo.
I already know the title search on Castello di Moretti will show no government lien.
I click end to disconnect with Dominic, then I make one more call, to the number Lorenzo left for the hotel in Milan.
THIRTY-THREE
“Pronto?”
“Lady Moretti.” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I can’t believe I called her that. “It’s Kimber. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Kimber? Is everything all right? Is it Matteo? What’s happened?”
Her tone is edged with panic. I don’t blame her. If the roles were reversed and she were calling me, I’d assume the worst, too.
“Everything’s okay. Matteo’s fine. It’s not about him. I wondered . . .” I have to clear my throat of the frog stuck in it. “I wondered if I could speak to you for a minute. If we could have a chat.”
