“Twins, I hadn’t thought of that.” She looks both nervous and excited at the thought.
Ginevra says, “Chiara’s been telling me that my little Camillo has been making my brother and his friends as broody as hens.”
I let Camillo grasp my forefinger and I wiggle it gently up and down. “How could he not? Look at this adorable bundle.”
“Did you come here to coo over the baby or did you have business with Salvatore?” Chiara asks.
“Business with you, actually, kitten. Things are moving forward on that plan we talked about.”
Chiara’s eyes open wide. “That’s wonderful. Give me a few minutes and then I’m all yours.”
I stroke her cheek and smile. “No rush. Get your fill of baby cuddles.”
“What’s that boring car doing in my driveway, Vinicius?”
I turn around and see Salvatore standing in the doorway. “Oh, hello. That car? We have plans for that car. You, me, and Chiara.”
Realization flashes over his face, and I head over to him. In a soft voice that won’t carry to Ginevra, I murmur, “Detective Johansson, Detective Bartlett, and Junior Detective Bianca Azzuro have appointments this Thursday with the Coldlake cold case team.”
“You’re a magician. I can’t believe you’ve managed it.”
“Believe it. I’m a master. When Chiara’s finished with the baby, I’m taking you both to the factory and we’re trying on disguises.”
I watch Chiara talking to Camillo, her forefinger brushing the tip of his nose. “Doesn’t that sight just melt your heart and harden your dick.”
Salvatore gazes at her, a lopsided smile on his face. “Absolutely.”
Half an hour later, when we’re on the freeway going northeast, I make a call. “I’m headed to the factory. Meet me there in twenty minutes.”
“On my way,” a flat voice replies.
“That was Thane, wasn’t it?” Chiara asks from the back seat. She’s sitting in the middle seat and she’s cuddled against Salvatore. “Is it difficult working with him after what they did?”
I give a humorless laugh. “Yes. Part of me still wishes Salvatore and Lorenzo had shot him for what he and the Strife men did. That’s what my heart wants. That’s what my guts want. But you made the right choice, and you’re the only one who could have granted them mercy. Salvatore and Lorenzo wouldn’t have listened to anyone else.”
“I still fantasize about murdering them,” Salvatore mutters, stroking his fingers down Chiara’s thigh.
When I exit the freeway, Chiara leans forward to talk to me. “I’m excited to see where you live. Yours is the only home I haven’t seen.”
“It’s not palatial like Salvatore’s house or as secure as Lorenzo’s, and it’s not sleek and modern like Cassius’ apartment, but I’m proud of it.”
The north of Coldlake doesn’t have the riches that the south and east does, but it’s not as rough as Lorenzo’s quadrant, either. Residential streets and rows of cafes, hardware stores and fried chicken shops give way to old brick factories. Some have been converted into apartments or offices. Others stand empty and boarded up.
My home stands on a wide, leafy street, an old lightbulb factory across the road from a motorcycle and car repair shop with two dozen vehicles slowly rusting on their lot. It’s not a pretty location, from the outside anyway, but it’s home.
I pull into the lot in front of my building and cut the engine. “Welcome to the factory, kitten.”
We get out, and Chiara gazes up at the four floors.
“Level one, a legitimate printery.” Half a dozen people run the printing machines and take orders from customers. The accounts are scrupulously kept and all taxes are paid. “Level two, offices, computers, storage, many locked rooms with interesting things behind doors. Maybe two-thirds legal.” I flash Chiara a smile. “Level three. Counterfeit operations and my private offices. Only a third of what goes on there is legitimate. And finally, level four. My loft apartment. All mine and entirely illegal.” I lower my mouth to Chiara’s and kiss her as she laughs.
An engine throbs behind us, and a tall, broad-shouldered man on a black and silver motorcycle pulls into the lot. He’s dressed head to toe in black leather with a shiny black helmet. He looks at me, then at Salvatore, and finally gets off the bike and pulls off his helmet off.
“Hey, Thane,” I call, and he nods.
Salvatore says nothing as his eyes narrow. Thane gazes back at him, unzips his leather jacket, tucks his helmet under his arm, and strides into the factory without a word.
“Isn’t he chatty,” Chiara murmurs, and takes Salvatore’s hand and gives it a squeeze.
I give Chiara a brief tour of the first and second floors as we head up the broad, concrete steps. “The building was built in the 1920s. I’ve renovated the whole place but kept the charm of the exposed brick and brass fittings.”
“It’s very stylish, just like its owner,” Chiara says, gazing up at the high ceilings and huge windows that let in the light.
“Thank you, kitten. I like it very much.”
When we reach my offices, Thane’s sitting at the huge oval meeting table and he’s opened his laptop. He doesn’t look up as we approach and goes on typing.
“What a stunning view,” Chiara says, moving to look out the window that takes up the entire wall that faces south. All of Coldlake is spread out before us.
Thane turns his laptop around to face us and stares at me, baleful impatience written on his cold features.
He can wait. My woman is admiring the view from my building.
Finally, Chiara turns to Thane with a smile. “Hello. Have you got something to show us?”
Thane launches into an explanation of the schematics on his screen. “Here are the floor plans of the police station. You’re meeting the detectives here.” He points at a place on the screen and moves his finger. “The evidence lockers are here, and also here in the basement. Cold case archive boxes are probably in the basement. The case number is on this piece of paper. There’ll be CCTV cameras everywhere so try not to look sus as you snoop around the building.”
I shake my head. “We’re not going to snoop. The nice detectives are going to give us the evidence.”
“Human beings don’t always do what they’re told.” Thane’s lip ever so slightly curls. He prefers the mathematical predictability of machines and systems.
“They’ll do it for me. It’s called charm.” I glance at Chiara. “And if my charm isn’t enough, we have Chiara.”
Thane flicks his gaze up and down Chiara and turns back to his computer. “I gave all the Shady Point detectives’ data to Vinicius and he’s made your badges and IDs. Unless you have questions or need tech support on the day, I’ll be going.”
“That’s everything we need,” I tell him.
He closes his laptop and stands up, addressing me. “All the files are in our shared folder. Later.”
Thane moves toward the door and then turns back to us.