She’s My Queen

21. Not my girlfriend

21

NOT MY GIRLFRIEND

SEVERIO

O ne week later

After a year in the military, I found the rhythm of civilian life too chaotic for my tastes. I enlisted for three more years and might’ve stayed even longer had Corrado not joined as well. Unless necessary, the two of us don’t stay in the same place at the same time.

This is why Corrado is in Switzerland while I’ve remained behind on the island.

But we speak daily, mostly in the mornings while I work out. I can’t use the treadmill the way I used to yet, but I’m getting there. My physical therapy exercises and walking on the sand will help me make a full recovery. I’d forgotten how quiet mornings at the shore bring peace and clarity of thought.

My niece, Rosa, another early riser like me, is “talking” while I stretch after my workout. Her cute face, smeared in pureed carrots, is on the television in the living room. When I’m working out and talking to my family, it’s easier to connect with them on the big TV screen than on the smaller one offered by my phone.

“You’re healing well,” Corrado says as he tries to shove mashed carrots into his baby’s mouth. She turns her head away.

“Drago brought the flesh glue.”

“Whatever that means.” Corrado sighs loudly. “Pudding?”

My niece’s eyes light up.

“Don’t tell Mommy.”

His wife seizes the spoon. “Mommy’s here.”

Corrado grabs his phone, and I wave at my niece before he walks into his office.

He props the phone on his desk, giving me a view of the Swiss Alps.

He grabs a thick file, then spins his chair around once, twice. “I’m going through the Order records Gio provided you and cross-referencing the properties I found in the book from Capone’s office. How is Cristina, by the way?”

I woke up alone after the night we returned from Frenchy’s. She’s avoided me for a week. Work, charity, friends, etc. I let her. I want to know how long she can keep it up. We don’t even eat dinner together. “She’s fine.”

Corrado looks up from the papers, hazel-green eyes bright and observant.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Something’s off about the resort.” He closes the folder and tosses it. I hear it thud on the floor.

“In Capone’s will, which is legitimate, by the way, because I checked with the lawyers, he left everything he owned to Gio. Some things were left out. Properties in his wife’s name, for example, which I’m sure never belonged to her, or she wouldn’t have behaved as if she depended on my mercy when I went to her house. Gio never told Maria she still has properties she could sell.”

“Had. The Order owns everything now. Are you going to pick up the file you threw?”

Corrado smirks and disappears from view, then shows me the file. “Happy?”

“Thank you.”

He sits back down, pen in hand. He twirls it. “When Capone gave Gio the resort, it was whole. Gio separated it, making me think he intended to sell it in pieces.”

“Was it going under?” We acquire and then sell individual properties or businesses when it makes more sense.

“I don’t think so, but Paulina is double-checking their books.”

I’m avoiding my sister. Nobody’s told her I’ve been shot. She thinks I’m staying behind because I’m hunting down Gio’s assassins. I am, but that’s not the only reason I’m staying. The other reason I’m staying is the woman who’s not sleeping in my bed. “Where were we?” I ask.

Corrado lifts an eyebrow. “Distracted?”

I ignore him and recall the resort conversation. “If the resort isn’t going under, why would Gio dismantle it?”

“He needed money?”

I finish stretching and wipe my face, then throw the towel over my shoulder. I disconnect my phone from the TV so that the video call continues on my phone and move into the kitchen. I sit behind the island while Drago opens the fridge, takes out a pitcher of cold water, and pours us glasses.

He hands me mine, and I down it in one gulp. Refreshing.

On my phone screen, Corrado’s twirling the pen. “I recognize the Capone house, you know.”

“I thought you might.”

“It’s a little early to be there, isn’t it?”

“We’ve been here for a week.” We haven’t video conferenced since the shooting.

“Is Cristina with you?”

“Mmhm.”

“So you’re living together?”

“Sleeping together,” Drago says in his native tongue, not looking up from his phone while playing internet chess with some poor soul. Corrado doesn’t speak Drago’s native tongue, but I understand enough to know what he said.

“What was that?” Corrado asks, tapping the pen on the desk.

“Drago said the Capone house is better secured.”

“I did say that,” Drago confirms.

“The resort?” I prompt Corrado.

“I can’t figure out why Gio would dismantle it. It makes no sense. But I bet your girlfriend knows.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” It comes out of my mouth just as Cristina walks into the kitchen. Clearly, this morning, of all mornings, she was going to walk up to me and maybe speak to me or even kiss me on the cheek, but when I declare she’s not my girlfriend, she stops at the door.

Fresh out of the shower, her hair is combed straight down and covering most of her upper body. She’s wearing a pink pinup dress, and her cute French-manicured toes curl over her navy sandals as I size her up.

I open my mouth to bid her good morning when my brother says, “She’s not a good choice for a fuck toy.”

Cristina spins on her heel and heads for the exit.

“Hey,” I call out.

Nothing.

“Return.”

Nope. Out the door, slams it so hard, the walls shake.

I glare at Corrado, who’s laughing. “I see everything is fine.”

We’re not talking about Cristina. “After Gio disbanded the resort, which property did he sell?”

“None of them.”

“Great. I’ll put it back together, and we can move on.” The door opens, and Cristina walks back inside, heading for the office. Minutes later, heels click over the foyer, and Cristina is at the exit again. She leaves with a file under her arm.

“What is that?” I ask as the door slams again.

I stand to peek out the window, making sure she’s really taking something without permission while Drago is still on the phone.

“Dragomire.” I call him in a way that I know will make him look up. “I hate to bother you while I’m paying you a seven-figure salary, but little Miss Liability left the house with a file from my office.”

Drago slips the phone into his pocket. “I didn’t realize she was my target.”

He’s childish when I interrupt his game. “Her movements should be monitored.”

“That’s why we have cameras in the house and her place of work. I’m tapped into the streetlights, bars, restaurants, marinas, everywhere.”

Why that dress?

“On foot, Drago.”

With a sigh, he throws on his baseball cap and opens the kitchen cupboard, which no longer holds plates, but weapons and ammo. He picks out a gun for the occasion. Once ready, he tips his cap. “If she cheats, I’ll get it on video.” He exits through the mudroom.

I remain by the window.

“You’re fucking her, and you like it,” Corrado concludes.

“She’s a virgin.” Was.

Corrado’s eyebrows shoot up. “A virgin?”

I nod. “It’s a small island. She hasn’t gotten out much except for a stint at the culinary school that only lasted a week. It’s to be expected.”

“Wait, wait.” Corrado sifts through the papers on his desk and then chews his lip. “Wait here.” He disappears from view, which gives me an excuse to part the blinds and monitor the street as if Cristina might magically appear on it, having never left.

She’s not my hostage or a prisoner in her home, but for her safety, I must know where she went. Where is she going in that dress?

“Severio,” Corrado calls, and I sit at the counter.

The leather-bound ledger he found in Cristina’s dad’s office down the hall lies open on his desk. He points. “The restaurant she works at has a name. Terra… Something. It’s unimportant. It’s the only business that Gio didn’t break off from the hotel.” He looks up. “And guess what?”

“What?”

“The hotel deed is missing. It’s in the house somewhere. You need to find the deed before we can legitimize all these businesses.”

“If it’s here, I’ll find it. But if he sold it to someone…”

“He better have not.” Corrado clears his throat. “You could ask his widow.”

I grit my teeth. “She’s not his widow.”

Corrado strokes his jaw. “Gordon told me he tattooed a red serpent on her.”

“I was feeling territorial. Sue me.”

“That’s the issue, brother. Usually, you are not a territorial creature.”