Nonno nodded at Brandi and smiled. “She’s out.”
“I knew she was going down for the count.” Roberto stood up and looked down on Brandi, hunched into one corner, her chin settled on her chest. He moved her sideways so she was reclining. Nonno slid a pillow under her head while Roberto lifted her feet onto the sofa. She murmured and frowned, her nose wrinkling as if her dreams weren’t pleasant.
Well, of course not. How could they be? She’d had one shock after another. Altogether, it had been one hell of a day.
“Get her cell, Nonno. We don’t want her to wake up.”
Nonno plucked the phone out of her pocket.
Roberto took the afghan Nonno offered and tucked it around her. He liked seeing her here, asleep in his Nonno’s home, her golden hair spread across the dark upholstered pillow. He tucked a strand behind her ear, then turned to go with Nonno.
Nonno was watching him, hands on hips.
“You look like an Italian fishwife,” Roberto said softly.
“Yeah. Sure.” Nonno took the decanter and an extra bottle of wine and headed for the kitchen.
Roberto shut the door behind them. They settled down at the old table, glasses between them.
“So who is she?” Nonno demanded.
“A girl I met.”
“A nice girl. What are you doing with her?”
His nonno could be damned cutting when he chose. “She picked me up. I let her. Then when I found out she was my lawyer?” Roberto spread his hands in a typical Italian gesture of resignation. “What was I to do?”
“You’re crazy, bringing her along on a job.”
“I’m not doing the job yet, and you should have seen the Fosseras when I introduced her. They didn’t know what to make of her—or me.” Roberto laughed softly and poured the two glasses full. The men clinked them and drank. “They didn’t know whether to believe she was my lawyer. They couldn’t take their eyes off her. I won’t put her in danger, Nonno, but I’m going to use her to blind them to what’s really going on.”
“What is really going on?”
“We’ll know soon enough.” Roberto glanced at the back door, then at his watch.
It was gone. “Give it back.” He held out his hand, offering his grandfather a handful of change.
Nonno groped in his pocket, and a smile blossomed on his face. “Hey, boy, you’re getting good. I didn’t know you’d been in there.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
“Damned straight.” Nonno handed over Roberto’s watch. “For a job like this, you have to be the best. Tell me again why the girl is involved?”
Roberto took a breath that made him aware of his expanding lungs, of his swelling chest, of the blood pumping in his veins, of an excitement he barely understood and had never experienced before. “I want this job to go down perfectly. I want revenge for your hand. I want to show the world what I can do. I want those bastards who hold my feet to the fire to realize who they’re dealing with. And I want her with me. I want her at my side.”
Nonno nodded his head, a slow bob of acknowledgment. “Boy, for so many years you buried the Contini deep in your soul. But I see it now. You’re as crazy as the rest of us.”
“I don’t like to be pushed into a corner.”
“No. And I like the girl.” Nonno bent a dark glare at Roberto. “Are you sure she’s who she says she is?”
“No. Not sure. She could be a plant, from the Fosseras or the FBI, most likely.” Anything was possible.
“Yeah.” Nonno rubbed his chin. “According to gossip, Mossimo’s in trouble.”
“Why in trouble?”
“He’s got no skills. All he’s ever been good for is planning these jobs and bullying people to pull them off. And it’s been a long time since he’s successfully delivered a big payoff. Rumor is that the younger men are getting restless, starting to branch off on their own, setting up their own protection rackets, making trouble on the streets—fights and robberies. Big family. Big trouble. None of them have been caught yet, but I think maybe there might jockeying to see who replaces him.”
“Fascinating.” Roberto thought of the men around Mossimo’s table today. Which of them would take Mossimo’s place? Greg? Dante?
No. Fico, the man with the acne scars and the sharp, intelligent eyes. He’d watched the action between Mossimo and Roberto without emotion, as if he had no vested interest in who won and who lost.
“Mossimo’s got to force you to work for him and got to pull this job off or he’s going into retirement whether he likes it or not,” Nonno said. “Make sure you have a care for the girl. Mossimo is in a corner, and a cornered beast is dangerous.”
“I won’t let anything happen to Brandi.” Roberto would tie her up before he allowed her to step into harm’s way. And he would kill before he allowed anyone to hurt her. “Anything else I should know?”
Nonno grinned. “I got the museum plans.”
“I never had a doubt.” Roberto grinned back.
“But they cost me a bundle.” Nonno fetched a clean, crisp roll of blueprints from behind the chipped, green ceramic bread box.
“I’ll pay you back.” As Nonno unrolled them, Roberto stood and put his full glass on one end to anchor it.
Nonno put his glass on the other. “Ack, no. This is the most fun I’ve had since I landed in the hospital with this hand.”
Their heads almost touched as they discussed the points of entry and exit, what they knew about security, the likely traps they didn’t know . . . what the Fosseras had planned and how to thwart them. It was a war council, and it was missing only one of its generals.
A knock sounded on the back door.
Roberto picked up the plans and stashed them in the pantry. Walking to the bread box, he flipped it open and took out the loaded pistol Nonno kept there.
Nonno went to the door between the kitchen and the living room and checked on Brandi. He nodded at Roberto and shut the door again.
Roberto looked through the peephole at the two men standing there. Their collars were pulled up, their hats pulled down, but their faces were bare and they looked straight ahead, knowing they had to be identified before he’d let them in.
Not that they couldn’t shoot their way in if they chose.
He disengaged the alarm, clicked the lock on the door, and held it open while silently they slipped inside.
Nonno stood beside the table, his lip curled, his back stiff with rejection.
Roberto locked the door behind them and reset the alarm. “Did anyone see you come in?”
“No. They’re watching the house, but they didn’t see us.” The older man shed his coat and hat without consciousness.
The younger man kept his coat on, staring at Roberto as if he were a criminal. Which, Roberto supposed, he was.
No one shook hands.
The older man seated himself at the table. He gestured to the younger man. “Get out the museum plans and sit down.”
Reluctantly, the young man pulled his laptop out of his briefcase. He opened it and the plans for the Art Institute were there—and they looked almost identical to Nonno’s plans.
Almost. But not completely.
Roberto leaned forward and immediately identified the changes. Interesting—and more challenging.
“I never thought I’d be working with the likes of you,” Nonno said to the strangers.
The older guy looked at Nonno. “I’m not thrilled about this myself. Now let’s get to work. We’ve got a jewel robbery to plan.”
16
Brandi opened her eyes. She didn’t know where she was.
Where was she?
She drew in a sharp, panicked breath.
Then, in a gush of memory, the truth was upon her.
Roberto. This was his grandfather’s house—Nonno’s house. His grandfather had suffered such a grievous injury by men she’d met today. And she dared not go to the police.
Her apartment had been vandalized, her treasured dragon broke
n.
Her first day on the job had turned into a nightmare.
She was in an unfamiliar town. She had nowhere to turn. No one could help her except Roberto, and he was a jewel thief—or worse.
Slowly she sat up and looked around. She was alone in the living room. The light in the corner had been turned on, the curtains closed. She’d been prone on the couch. Asleep. When had she gone to sleep?
Had she heard men’s voices in the kitchen?
Where was Roberto?
She leaped up so fast her head spun. She dashed through the door into the kitchen, and stood swaying against the wall, staring.
Roberto stood at the stove. He had his white sleeves rolled to his elbows, wore a ruffled white apron, and stirred a pot with a wooden spoon. Nonno was looking into a pot and arguing with Roberto about the contents.
Head rush. She’d gotten up too fast. Gotten up too fast . . . and seen Roberto. Both could cause a head rush.
Only Roberto made her feel as if it would never stop.
Both men looked up, bemused, at her entrance.
“You all right?” Roberto placed the dripping spoon down on the red Formica counter and took a step toward her.
No. She didn’t want him to touch her. She’d pitch over onto her face for sure. “I’m good.” She looked him over. “Nice apron.”
“My grandmother’s.” He winked at her and went back to stirring the concoction. Puffs of steam rose from the pot carrying the aromas of garlic, onion, olive oil, and basil.
“Ah. She’s awake, our little sleeping beauty.” Nonno waltzed over to her, smiling, mellow . . . slightly tipsy. Tickling her cheek with his ruined fingers, he said, “We’re fixing dinner for you, cara.”
“Thank you, Nonno.” She smiled at the old man and thought, Roberto cooks? “It smells great.”
“It’s an old family sauce recipe. We put it on our homemade polenta, and the angels sing with joy.” Roberto kissed his fingers.
She wanted to snatch the kiss out of the air, but she’d made enough of a fool of herself today. Instead she looked around the narrow, old-fashioned kitchen. The table in the middle of the kitchen was set with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth, three plates with silverware, and a large salad in a wooden bowl. Three places were set. . . .
A sleep-drugged memory surfaced, vague and uncertain. “Is someone else here?”
“Someone else?” Nonno lifted his brows, but innocence sat ill on his wrinkled face.
“While I was sleeping, I thought I heard men talking.”
“We were talking.” Roberto gestured between him and his grandfather. “We haven’t seen each other for months. We had much to catch up on.”
“Okay. I guess that was it.” Although it seemed she’d heard different voices . . . it must have been a dream. She pushed the hair out of her face. “What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock. You slept four hours.”
“Oh, no.” She groped in her pocket. “I didn’t call McGrath and Lindoberth and report in.”
“I did it. Your phone’s by your place setting.” Roberto indicated the cell on the table. “Do you like mushrooms? Because we worship mushrooms, and if you don’t like them, you’re going to have to have bottled marinara.”
“Love mushrooms,” Brandi said automatically. “Who did you talk to?”
Roberto smiled a rather crisp smile. “I spoke to Glenn and cleared up a few of his misapprehensions about who’s in charge in the monkey cage.”
“Oh, no.” She groped toward her chair and sat down. Glenn wouldn’t forgive her for that.
“I assure you, cara, this was a fight about what I expect from him. It had nothing to do with you.” Roberto comprehended too much.
“He won’t care.” She cradled her head in her hands. “He’ll take it out on his subordinates.”
“But you won’t be seeing him.”
“What do you mean?” She lifted her head.
“I won’t spend my days sitting in your offices, no matter how luxurious they are.” He tasted the sauce, then offered the spoon to Nonno. “More parsley?”
“And a little more salt,” Nonno said.
To her, Roberto said, “We are chained together by Judge Knight’s ruling, are we not? All the time? Day and night, night and day?”
Somehow the details of Judge Knight’s actions had previously escaped her. She’d been too exhausted, suffered too many shocks today to figure out all the ramifications, but now her brain was working. Sluggishly, but it was coming up to speed. “I have to be in the office. I just started work.”
“I have work, too,” he said. “I’m the head of a large corporation.”
“You’re a jewel thief!”
“It’s a sideline.”
“Damn it!” She slapped the table. The dishes danced. “Who are you really?”
“Exactly who you think I am,” he shot back.
“I doubt if you could be that wicked.” Her voice rose.
“I’m fixing the polenta right now.” Nonno poured olive oil into a skillet and lit the burner.
“Where are we going to sleep?” she asked. “Huh?”
“I’m going to sleep at my hotel.” Roberto had the gall to sound calm.
“I don’t want to sleep at your hotel. I have to go to my apartment. I just moved in. I have things I need to do.” Things she needed to put away—again—after the break-in this weekend. A break-in that wouldn’t have happened if she’d been home instead of lolling around in indolent luxury making love to Roberto.
“All right. You sleep at your apartment and I’ll sleep at my hotel.”
“You’ll run and I’ll be holding the bag!”
“I already gave you my word that I would do nothing to harm your career.” Now Roberto had the gall to sound insulted.
“Little Brandi, bring me the plates,” Nonno said.
She stacked them and put them on the counter. “I can’t believe we’re going to have to sleep together. What was Judge Knight thinking?”
The two men exchanged glances.
She pointed her finger at them. “Not like that. I am not sleeping with Roberto. Never again.”
“Aha!” Nonno cuffed Roberto on the side of the head. “What were you doing? Brandi’s a nice girl.”
Shit. She couldn’t even blame her exhaustion for her slip; she’d had a four-hour nap.
But she could blame it on her proximity to Roberto. He obviously blew the circuits in her brain or she wouldn’t make those kinds of mistakes.
“She is a nice girl, and she’ll be nicer when we feed her.” Roberto looked meaningfully at Nonno. “Trust me. I know this.”
“She has a temperament like Nonna, then.” Nonno nodded wisely. “Dear Brandi, would you serve the salad?”
She narrowed her eyes and would have railed at them, but the smell of frying polenta mixed with the scent of the sauce and she was suddenly ravenous. She shook the glass jar filled with oil and vinegar and poured the dressing on the greens, then tossed them with the plastic salad tongs. Nonno put the plates on the table and seated himself on the end. Roberto removed the apron and seated himself on one side. She sat on the other side.
Nonno extended his hands to them both.
She placed her hand in his, then stared at Roberto’s broad palm extended across the table.
She didn’t want to touch him. It was as simple as that. Hearing his warm, slightly accented voice was bad enough, but when she touched him, she forgot the trouble he’d made for her, his dubious honesty, and his unsavory profession, and remembered, in the hidden recesses of her body, how he felt beside her, inside her, on top of her. Touching him made her want, a want she didn’t know if she could resist.
Roberto was no man for a woman with her feet planted firmly on the ground and her eyes on the goal. For a woman like her.
But the men were waiting for her to close the prayer circle, so reluctantly she placed her hand in Roberto’s.
There. That wasn’t so bad. She could deal. . . .
>
Nonno said the traditional Catholic blessing, and ended with, “Dear Lord, we implore your support with our ventures. Amen.”
Both Nonno and Roberto squeezed her hand.
“Amen,” Brandi murmured, surprised at the addition.
Taking her first bite, she barely restrained a moan of joy. This wasn’t food; this was ambrosia. She took another bite, looked up, and realized the men were watching her. “It’s good,” she said.
They grinned, exchanged high fives, and settled down to eat.
Brandi had finished her first slice of polenta when Roberto announced, “I also spoke with your sister.”
Brandi put down her fork. “You spoke to Kim?”
“She called and I answered your phone.”
“Why didn’t you come and get me?”
“You were sound asleep. Don’t worry; we had a good talk.”
“I’ll bet.” Today was one disaster after another. “What did you tell her?”
“That I would care for you.”
“Oh, no.” Brandi could imagine how Kim had responded to that.
Kim was not the kind of woman who trusted a man to do what he promised.
Come to think of it, neither was Brandi.
“She wants you to call her.” He caught Brandi’s hand when she would have risen. “Show some respect for our cooking. You can call her after dinner.”
“I am not grumpy when I’m hungry,” she said in irritation.
“No, dear.” Nonno sounded absolutely placid. Looking up, he caught Brandi glaring at him in outrage. “I’m sorry! For a minute you sounded just like my wife.”
Roberto bent his head to try and hide his grin.
He wasn’t trying hard enough.
“I think you two should spend the night here,” Nonno suggested.
She wanted some time alone to try to figure out how her life plan had gone so awry. So she smiled and patted his hand. “Thank you, Nonno, but I don’t have any clothes. I don’t have a toothbrush. And after my meals today, I really need a toothbrush.”