Celeste;
Pacing restlessly from one end of my room to the other does not cut it at all.
A cocktail of terror and fear mixes in my blood, pumping hard through every part of me.
I need to speak to Angelo again. Not some cell phone bullshit.
Actually, I need to see the gang.
Something is definitely not right. It takes me a while, and after thinking it through, before I realize that Caruso is on a case. My case, apparently.
And that drawing of the tattoo? How the fuck does he know it belongs to a gang?
The pressure in my chest intensifies with every thought and possibility that crosses my mind. I inhale, my shoulders going rigid, then relaxing once the breath leaves my mouth.
"Calm down, Poppy, calm the fuck down," I vocally assure myself, needing it to ground me.
Once I notice my body starting to calm, I halt just in front of my bedroom door.
"Is it a spy?" My brows jump at the idea.
"Impossible," my head tilts sideways.
Unlike the Mafia, our organization is just a small number of stray people I can count on one hand.
Mentally assessing—Angelo is the supposed suspect here, so he can't be the one that provided intel. Matt…My tongue pokes my left cheek as I let my brain guzzle the probability.
Probably not. The fucker is loyal to a fault. He practically sees Greg as a second God.
Another idea trickles into my brain, and I shut it off immediately.
It obviously cannot be Judy. I mean…I believe she and Greg have a little thing going on, and she can't just betray him like that.
Sparks ignite in my head, my eyes widening. The name pours out from my lips. "Alexandro."
Damn that fucker. I really need to speak to Greg.
Fingers entangled in my hair, I feel like I'm about to cross that thin line between sanity and madness.
This is huge trouble.
The sound of someone making contact with my door startles me.
"Cazzo," the Italian curse slips straight from my lips without me realizing.
Tutting, I pull the handle open, only to be stunned for a second before collecting myself.
"Sorry—come in, please." Stepping aside, he swiftly passes through.
"You have a habit of not taking off your dress after important events," Romano says, stopping in his usual spot in my room.
Befuddled and brain-fried, my mouth falls open with nothing to say. When it clicks, my cheeks tingle the faintest shade of pink.
"Ahh, it skipped my mind." Forcing a cackle, "It always does," I retort.
He faces me and says nothing. His heavy gaze on me makes my nerves uneasy.
The shiny tip of his shoes glitters as he takes a step further. I follow suit—almost staggering backward.
"You're squirmish today." Hard set of forest eyes fixed on me.
I blink, throwing my head up at him. "What?"
"You're acting all shifty. Is it because of dinner earlier?" Romano clarifies, watching me with a scrutinizing calm.
Damn. There's something about this man. Buried beneath his facade of suits and dimpled smiles.
I felt it before, that day in the club. I sense it now too.
It's not that simple.
I breathe out my anxiety, ignoring my clammy palms as I plaster on a sweet, tired smile. "I guess." I hitch a shoulder.
"I was actually nervous out there, you know." I fling dolly eyes his way. "Your family, they're really scary. Especially your uncles." I confess. Because why not?
Romano chuckles. However, that glint doesn't leave his gaze.
"You wanted to know what they were like, didn't you?"
I nod.
"Well, you found out." He steps further, and I force myself not to mirror him. Then he takes my hair and coils it between his fingers.
My pulse pumps faster.
Pushing through the lump thick in my throat, I giggle. "They're terrible." I snort playfully. "I actually believed I wasn't going to survive through the night."
Amusement flickers in his grim eyes. "Why?"
"Your uncle…Paolo?" He nods in affirmation—the action slow and regal.
"Yeah, I believe he thinks I'm an imposter."
"Really?" The man's attention is on my hair, having already wound a few strands thrice around his long, bony finger.
"Uh huh," I bob my head. "I actually believed I'd end up with a bullet between my eyes before I get to prove my innocence."
"Why? I told you I'd protect you."
But he didn't.
His brother had.
I have an intuition that it's not because he couldn't—but because he didn't want to.
Romano skims my face, like he sincerely wants to know why I doubted him.
Then something flashes in his steady gaze, disappearing just as fast.
As if he realizes, at the same time I do, that I know.
God, my heart thunders a drum-like beat, heavy in my ribcage.
I knew it. He's not the lesser of two—no, three—evils. He never was.
A tight smile crawls up my cheeks. "I forgot," I spout.
The twirling of his finger in my hair abruptly ceases. I suck in air, warily assessing him.
"The contract, did you sign it?" He pulls away.
I battle a frown as I nod instead, taking the opportunity to retrieve it from where I'd placed it in my bedside drawer.
While at it, I feel a daggering sensation prickle my back. It makes my skin tighten with tension.
Walking back to him with the documents in my grip, I flash him a toothy beam. "Here,"
He calmly takes them, veiny digits flipping the laminated cover open.
Whether he's pleased or not by what he sees, he doesn't show.
He simply shuts it and nods at me.
"I'll inform you about further procedures." His rich baritone settles in the room.
"Okay," I mouth, fidgeting with my hands.
"Goodnight, Celeste," a corner of his mouth pulls back.
"Goodnight, Romano," I reciprocate, faking a blush.
"I like it. The sound of my name on your lips." He walks all the way to the exit.
This time, the sides of my face burn for real.
"And, Celeste?" Romano's knuckles press the handle open.
"You aren't an imposter…right?"