I sit back in my chair, confused. I feel like there’s something he wants to tell me, but he’s holding back. Do I push him for answers, or just leave it?
What the hell? What do I have to lose? Our friendship? It’s not like we have much of one anymore.
“Is this about my parents?” I ask. “If you know something about what happened, tell me, man.”
His expression darkens. “Damn it, Pietro, you need to let that go. I told you, I can’t help you with that.”
But even as he speaks, he won’t meet my eyes. He’s hiding something. Why won’t he just tell me the truth?
“If it were your family, could you just let it go?” I ask quietly. “Look, if you’re not willing to help me, then I don’t see the point in me being here.”
“I am trying to help you,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You have no idea how much shit you’re stirring up, do you?” He laughs, his eyes blazing. “A fucking private detective, man? Are you insane?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I say, confused as to how the fuck he knows about that. And if he kno
ws, who else knows? “How do you even know about that?”
“How I know isn’t important,” he says quietly. “What’s important is that you let this go now. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Pietro.”
“Who is Gambero?” I ask, eyeing him for a reaction. His eyes widen. He slams his fist down on the table, clearly pissed off. “Talk to me, dammit. I won’t stop until I find out.”
“Trust me, if you don’t know Gambero, you don’t want to know. You’re stirring up a whole lot of shit that is going to ruin you,” he threatens.
“Since when is wanting answers stirring up trouble? I just want to know what happened,” I growl.
“When you’re dealing with people like your father. My father. Giovanni—”
He sighs and rubs his neck.
“I shouldn’t be even talking to you, Pietro. You have no idea how much trouble this could get me into. I’ve got a wife and kids. I can’t get mixed up in your mess.”
He stands up, his fingers closing around his glass. He gulps the contents down and then slams the glass onto the table.
“Just watch your back, okay? And be careful about who you trust.”
I stare after him, bewildered over what the hell just happened. My trying to get answers has obviously caught someone’s attention. Pulling out my phone, I send Lucca an email to make sure he’s okay.
—
A few hours later, I look at my phone as it continues to ring, and I sigh. Giovanni. Again. Maybe it’s my conscience’s way of making me feel guilty about what I’m doing behind his back. I pick up the phone and say hello.
“I’m going to need you to pay a little closer attention to Lucia over the next few weeks.”
It’s the fourth time Giovanni has called me today, but this time he has my attention. Is Lucy in danger? His no-nonsense tone makes me unsure how much information I’ll get out of him, but I have to try.
“Sure,” I say rubbing my forehead. I’m already sleeping with her. How much closer can we get? I wince, knowing he would disembowel me if he ever found out. “Is everything okay?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures me. “If there is an immediate threat, I’ll let you know.”
He ends the call abruptly in true Giovanni style before I can ask anything else. Frustrated, I toss my phone onto the coffee table. What the hell is going on? Does it have something to do with the men I met last week? This is the perfect example of why I need to be more involved. If I knew what was going on, surely it would be easier for me to protect her?
I contemplate calling him back and demanding he tell me more, but I decide against it. Instead, I pick up my phone again and text Lucy, wanting to make sure she’ll wait for me after training.
Me: Wait for me at the studio when you’re done. I have a surprise for you.
Today is the day she finds out whether all the stress and pain she’s gone through was worth it. I’m confident she’s in, and I’m planning a big night to celebrate. Surely they see what I see when she floats across the room.
How could they not want her?