Page 19 of The Lies We Tell

Matteo yanked open the first folder in the stack, gritting his teeth against his father’s words in his head. Being replaced by Dom had been his father’s favorite threat. Things had really deteriorated between them when that particular threat no longer worked.

Not that it mattered much anymore. Lorenzo was dead, Matteo was in charge, and Dom was busy maintaining their hold on the Varda territory they’d acquired a few months ago. They were each playing to their strengths now, Luca and Carina included. It was nice.

And it was paying off. Profits were up at the casinos. Q4 always did well for them with the holidays, with people either celebrating or avoiding something. The renovations on the high-stakes poker lounges above two of the casinos were already paying for themselves, and Matteo made a note to revisit the discussion with Luca about hosting tournaments to garner more interest.

The strip clubs in the old Romano territory were likewise doing well. In fact, compared to the last two years of data they’d been able to find, money was better than ever, thanks to new girls, better menus, and the themed nights Davide had suggested.

Matteo spent the next hour signing paperwork where Maeve had indicated with little sticky notes, stacking them up for her to take care of on the corner of his desk. Lorenzo had hated this part, the tedium of paperwork and logistics, but Matteo thrived on it.

When everything was in order, it was easier to see where something was lagging. Something his father had been blind to. So much so he’d nearly run the casinos into the ground with his apathy. If Lorenzo hadn’t killed himself when he did, there might not have been much of an estate to come back to.

His office door opened, and Matteo looked up, expecting to see Maeve, but it was Luca standing in the doorway instead. He’d only recently started working from the second corner office Matteo had set up for him, usually with Sienna. He had no idea how the two tolerated each other after being together from sunup to sundown seven days a week.

“Maeve said you gave the girl the new phone,” Luca said by way of a greeting.

“I did. Maeve is running a full scan.”

“She’s finished.” Luca closed the door behind him and crossed to one of the chairs across from Matteo’s desk. “Nothing out of the ordinary. The girl doesn’t appear to have many friends or people she communicates with regularly. Either she wiped it before we could get our hands on it, or her life in Syracuse was pretty bleak.”

Matteo frowned. He couldn’t say why, but he didn’t like the idea that she might have been lonely before. “She fought pretty hard to keep it, so I don’t think she wiped it.”

“Unless she was faking it.”

“Fuck’s sake, Luca,” Matteo said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve got her pinned as some kind of criminal mastermind. I confiscated the phone. What else do you want?”

“She doesn’t go anywhere without a driver until we know for sure she’s not a plant.”

“Fine.” Matteo had no problem agreeing to that. He didn’t like the idea of her going out on her own anyway. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t heard from Antonetti about her.”

“Don’t you find that strange?”

Matteo shrugged. “Not particularly. We both know Antonetti doesn’t exactly value women, and she said he wouldn’t miss her.”

“And you’re satisfied with just taking her at her word, I guess.”

“Give it a rest, Luca. You’ve been screaming in my ear about it since I woke up. If Antonetti tries to get to her, I’ll handle it. But I would bet money he’s more worried about the threat I pose to him to spend much time and effort reclaiming the daughter he loves with his fists.”

“You don’t know he—”

“A call on line one, Il Signore,” Maeve’s voice said over the intercom. “A Mr. Jurgen Braun about some wine.”

Making eye contact with Luca, Matteo accepted the call and put it on speaker. “Mr. Braun, thanks for returning my call.”

“I can’t say it did not intrigue me. Then I spoke to Franz Schmidt in Frankfurt, and he further piqued my interest.”

Matteo glanced at Luca, whose brows had shot up. He’d never mentioned Schmidt by name before. “We’ve known each other quite a long time. He vouched for me, I hope.”

“He did.” Static crackled over the line when Braun paused. “What can I help you with, Mr. Bianchi?”

Matteo smiled. “What can you tell me about Salvatore Antonetti?”

Chapter Eight

Pacing the short stretch of space beside the bed, Tessa kept glancing at the clock. Matteo had left his room nearly two hours ago. A week into her stay, she knew he should be coming back right about now. Then he’d spend close to an hour in his room again and emerge dressed in a beautiful suit that fit every inch of him perfectly.

She had no idea what he did in those two hours he was gone, but he hadn’t deviated from this routine for seven days in a row. And if she didn’t catch him now, he wouldn’t be back until dinner. She couldn’t wait that long.

A noise on the other side of the door stopped her, and she pressed her ear to the wood. Matteo or a maid? It was impossible to tell. It’s not like the man made a lot of noise.

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