Page 14 of The Broker

“It’s always you,” I mutter. The drugs are making me woozy and chatty. “In the hospital room, all those years ago. And now. You’re making a habit of being around when I’m sick.”

His face goes expressionless. “Two times is hardly a habit.”

“Mmm.” I bite back a yawn. “Good night, Dante.”

I stagger to my bedroom, strip off my clothes in the dark, and get under the covers. The soup, the coffee, the tea, the drugs have all helped to ease the pain. I didn’t think I could sleep an hour ago, but now, rest feels possible.

It would be nice to be held. Not by Dante—he is, after all, my nemesis—but by someone else. A man I can lean on. One I can trust. Someone kind and protective, who will always watch out for my daughter. One that will bring me soup when I’m sick. “Maybe Enzo is right,” I mumble to myself. “Maybe it’s time to stop being scared.”

9

DANTE

Iswallow hard as Valentina strips off her clothes. I can see tantalizing glimpses of her body through the doorway to her bedroom. I avert my gaze until she gets under the covers and then release a breath.

Then she murmurs, “Maybe Enzo is right. Maybe it’s time to stop being scared.”

I wash her mug and tidy up her kitchen. Peron is right about what? Stop being scared of what? Or who? I straighten her cushions, fold her throw, and realize I’m looking for an excuse to stay.

She’s fast asleep. I can hear her breathing, deep and even. I don’t want to leave her alone, but she doesn’t want me around. She’s fine on her own.

I put the uneaten spring rolls in her refrigerator. Shutting the front door quietly behind myself, I leave.

Valentina’s feeling better by the weekend. On Sunday afternoon, after a late breakfast of croissants and fruit accompanied by an espresso for me and hot chocolate for Angelica, I take my niece back home to her mother.

“Are you coming up, Uncle Dante?” Angelica asks cheerily, holding up the bag of pastries we brought for her mother. “You can give her the chocolate croissants.”

“No, cucciolina.”I’m strangely reluctant to see Valentina. Ever since she joined the organization, we’ve established defined roles. I stop her from following her more reckless instincts, and she hates my guts for it. But our truce on Thursday felt like a seismic shift in our relationship.

Until I regain my footing, it’s best to avoid her.

“You go up by yourself,” I continue. “Your mother is recovering from a migraine and will not want visitors.”

Angelica rolls her eyes as if I’ve said the stupidest thing in the world. “You’re not a visitor, Uncle Dante. You’re family.”

That fantasy died a death a long time ago. “I have to work.” That’s not a lie. My inbox is overflowing with the day-to-day minutia of the organization, and worryingly, Giorgio hasn’t checked in. “I’ll see you soon, okay? When’s your dance recital?”

“That’sagesaway.”

I check my calendar. “It’s in three weeks.”

“Yes, ages.”

I smother a grin. “Well, I’ll see you then. Off you go, kitten.”

I’m walking back to headquarters when shit falls apart, and I get a phone call from the padrino. “Where are you right now?” he barks.

Something’s wrong. “I just dropped Angelica off with her mother. Why?”

“Head back there. I need everyone here for an emergency meeting. Joao, Tomas, Leo, and Valentina. You can serve as her escort.”

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. “You want Valentina too?” I demand. This is bad. Valentina is a specialist—she doesn’t attend regular meetings. It’s safer for her to stay arms-length away from the nitty-gritty of our business. Whatever this emergency is, she shouldn’t need to be at headquarters for it.

Not unless. . .

“Okay, the downstairs neighbor can watch Angelica for a few hours.”

“No,” Antonio says tightly. “Bring her too.”

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