"Well, tonight in my room, you can take them off me. How’s that?”
I grinned and walked over to my temporary chest of drawers and took out my sexiest set of lingerie that I’d brought with me. With a bit of show, I put them on for him, watching as he swallowed lightly and a bulge began to form in his pants again. Groaning, he sat up, grabbing his brace and tearing his eyes off me. "You're a witch, that's all there is to it," he grumbled. "I can't take my eyes off you without doing something painful."
"It's magic, for sure. But I'd say the enchantment is mutual," I replied as Tomasso tightened the straps. "Because you have put thoughts in my head that I've never had before."
Tomasso stopped and looked up, his eyes full of pain. "Like you said last night, maybe it’s safer if we don’t give words to those thoughts. Safer for both of us."
I gulped and nodded, a cold dose of reality crashing in on our fantasy. I nodded and went back to my drawers, dressing quietly while he found his clean t-shirt. We left the disguise he'd worn the night before on the floor to be disposed of later, unneeded any longer. I found his crutches and picked them up, bringing them to him. He looked at me with pain in his eyes as he took them from me.
I smiled at him and shook my head. "Just promise me, for the time until I leave—no regrets? I want to have a happy memory of my time in Seattle. It’ll give me a reason to try to come back."
Tomasso smiled and got to his feet, setting his crutches aside to pull me close and kiss me. "That I promise. Now, let's go deal with the fallout from last night."
We left my room, finding Margaret working on a laptop out by the pool. "Good afternoon, you two," she greeted with a smirk. "Sleep well?"
"Best I've had in my entire life," I said honestly, chuckling when Tomasso blushed. "And you?"
“I’ve had better,” Margaret replied, laughing quietly as she knew exactly what we were talking about. "Well, your timing is perfect. I just got off the phone with Carlo, and he'd like to talk with you both when he gets home. After last night, he’s cutting his business trip short and coming home, so he's flying into King County Airport in a few hours. Chartered flight."
"Still not getting that Dreamliner flight he told me he wanted," I commented as I sat down. "Although a chartered flight is also a luxury. I hope he isn't put out by it."
"Oh no, Carlo does that about half the time anyway, and almost all the time when he flies internationally," Margaret said. "As you know, it sometimes helps to not have to file enormous amounts of paperwork with the FAA about destinations—things like that."
I nodded in agreement as Tomasso reappeared with two Tupperware containers in a bag, one of which he set in front of me. "Here, it was what was still hot on the stove. When is Dad getting back?"
"He said his plane is scheduled to arrive at four, so you two have a few hours to make sure you've got all your information lined up," Margaret said. "I don't think he's angry, but you never can tell with him. After all, Pietro did just shoot his own son, then there's the diner staff to shut up and some other stuff to deal with. How about you two walk me through your thought processes in all of this?"
Tomasso did, and Margaret nodded, asking few questions. "Why'd you go to Daniel and not Carlo or me?" she asked at one point, when that came into the conversation. "Didn't trust us?"
"I didn't know who I could trust," Tomasso said simply. "Daniel’s separated from this situation. He's also one of the best I know at quickly hacking out information, and I knew he could get me what I wanted."
Margaret nodded. "Okay. I should be hurt, but I'm not. You acted the way you should have. I'm impressed you thought to bring in Daniel. He's the perfect person to bring in."
We finished our story, with me adding in a few details until the point when we left the diner the night before. “Well, I can't find any fault in what you did. You were caught in a Catch-22, and you did what you felt was right. Now, if you two don't mind, I have some work that I need to finish up before Carlo gets back. Tomasso, if you have a chance, check in with Pietro before you get ready to go to the airport. He did just shoot his son, regardless of what his words were."
We found Mr. Marconi at Bertoli Pizza's offices, cleaning out his son's desk. He looked older, like a man nearing sixty instead of the well-composed early fifties that I'd seen earlier. "Pietro, I hope I'm not interrupting."
He looked up, his face grave, and shook his head. "No, not at all. What can I do for you, Mr. Bertoli, Miss Mendosa?"
So we were still with the formal titling. Like Tomasso, I detested it with someone who I'd formed a closer relationship with, but I understood it at least. Most of my father's men called me Se?orita Mendosa—I tolerated it.