Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“And I’m not asking him to come back. Just need a favor.”
The guy sized me up before he walked past me, purposely hitting me in the shoulder as he passed. On his way out, he bent down and stuck his hand underneath a table, pulling out a pistol stowed out of sight. “Wait here.”
There were several buildings to the winery because they grew their harvest and processed it on-site. We walked across the gravel between buildings, far away from the wine tasting being conducted outside the restaurant, and entered a storage facility with barrels stacked on shelves fifty feet in the air.
Crow appeared from behind one of the shelves, in a black t-shirt and dark jeans. His olive skin reminded me of Laura’s, and his dark eyes reminded me of bullets. For a man who could be my father, he looked just as in shape as I was. His eyes were just as ruthless too, seeing right through me. “I left that life before my children were born. It’s been over thirty years, but somehow, random men like you still show up from time to time.” He came close, his intelligent eyes challenging mine. “My wife is working at the restaurant, my son-in-law is doing the books, and my brother is in the bottling room—and you think it’s wise to provoke me?”
I liked this guy. He still had the swagger of a gangster. “I wanted to ask a favor.”
“I don’t owe you anything, asshole.”
I gave a slight smile. “For being out of the game, you seem to know exactly who I am.”
“I live a quiet life—but I don’t bury my head in the sand. Now leave my property, or I’ll put a bullet in your stomach.”
I ignored what he said. “You’re going to Antonio’s funeral today?”
Crow stared at me for a solid three seconds. “Yes.”
I could tell his son-in-law revered him, just from the way he looked at him, the way he stood beside him like they were allies on a battlefield.
“Why?” Crow asked.
“I need you to get me some information.”
Crow’s eyes narrowed. “I said I don’t owe you anything. And don’t try to buy me off—because that won’t work either.”
“I have nothing to offer a man who has everything.”
“Then we’re finished,” Crow said. “Leave.”
“But I’m trying to help someone, and I think that might matter to you.”
Crow stared at me, standing at my height, his sleeves tight on his muscular arms. “If it’s not a member of my family, I couldn’t care less.”
“Someone very close to me was raped by a couple of guys. I’m trying to track them down, but since it’s been seven years, I need some leads.”
Crow had no reaction.
“It’s Leonardo’s daughter, Laura. And I have a feeling Leonardo didn’t do a damn thing about it.”
Crow still didn’t react.
“I know what happened to your sister. I know this is a cause that’s important to you. All I need are the names—and I’ll do the rest.”
He had the best poker face I’d ever seen. “I don’t think this is appropriate to mention at a funeral.”
“It’s my only option.”
After a long stare, Crow finally gave a nod. “I’ll get what you need.”
“Thank you.”
The man always looked angry, even when his face seemed to be at rest. His eyes bored into mine like he was just as pissed off as at the start of this conversation. “I’m not doing it for you.”
13
LAURA
I walked through the streets as I made my way to the church. Without looking at a map, I knew exactly how to get there, because it was just a mile from Bartholomew’s home and I knew this area of the city like I knew my own body.
When I rounded the corner, I saw the hearse at the curb, saw all the people in black filing inside while the sounds of organ music mixed with the traffic. Greeting everyone was my aunt Rebecca, in a black dress and shawl, her son Alex beside her.
My father was also there in his black suit, looking fit other than the small belly he carried. His beard had lots of gray in it now. He had wrinkles in the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He seemed shorter too. But his presence was everything I remembered. The way he exuded power effortlessly—and also instilled fear.
I wore a black pencil skirt and a white blouse with pumps. Wearing heels all day, every day had made me a pro at sporting them down the streets of Florence. When I reached the sidewalk, I felt my heart tumble into my stomach. As much as I tried to remain fearless, the anxiety was potent. It was like taking a shot of absinthe. It burned as it slid down my throat—and then frothed in my stomach.
I approached them.
My father was the first one to notice me. He turned to regard me, his dark eyes taking me in with an indifferent expression. It seemed to take him a moment to recognize me. I liked my dark hair and I never dyed it, so that wasn’t different. He must have noticed that I had aged as much as he did. Now I was a woman—and not a girl he could push around.