“Or that he wouldn’t trust his hot-as-hell partner,” Raimondo added.
“For your information, Raimondo, he does have the place wired, although not because he’s the jealous type,” Brielle said as she pulled the container of masarepa cornmeal from the pantry, measured out two cups and put the container away. She would have given anything to look at her bodyguard, but she worked fast, collecting the other ingredients to make the Venezuelan arepas, griddle-fried corn cakes she needed for what she wanted to serve.
“Wait. What? Why would Elie wire this place? You mean he’s recording what we’re saying? He just heard me call you hot as hell?”
She pressed her lips together as she worked, quickly mixing the dry ingredients together and then adding in water, milk and butter, kneading the dough until it was very smooth.
“For God’s sake, Raimondo, you just said it again,” Leone pointed out. “Now you’re sweating. What an idiot.”
“Why would he wire the place?”
Brielle covered the dough to give the cornmeal time to absorb some of the moisture. She turned to face the two men as she leaned against the counter. “Mice. We’re overrun with the little rodents and he’s tracking them.” She said it without hesitation. “The audio has a special algorithm built into it to detect the sound of their little feet when they run across the floor so we can find their nest.”
There was absolute silence. She put a heavy cast-iron skillet on the stove and then retrieved two tomatoes and the pulled pork she’d prepped the day before from the fridge, setting both on the counter before she looked up. The two men were staring at her. “What?” She did her best to look innocent.
“I’ve never heard of that. Is that really a thing?” Leone asked suspiciously.
“If you’ve never had mice everywhere, why would you have heard of it?” she countered as she sliced the tomatoes and set them aside.
The two men exchanged another long look and then turned back to her. “You’re full of shit,” Raimondo accused her. “There aren’t mice in this house. If there were, you’d be standing on a chair right now.”
“You mean you’d be standing on a chair right now. I would still be cooking because I’m not afraid of mice.” She glanced at the clock, took the cover off the dough and began kneading it again. She spent some time on the job before once again covering the dough and glancing at the clock.
“What are you making?”
“Venezuelan arepas. They’re a griddle-fried corn cake. Sweeter and a little milder than regular corn tortillas. You’ll love the sandwiches, trust me. Let me do my thing.”
“No mice in the house, right?” Leone said.
She laughed. “You boys are so easy.”
“That’s what I thought. And no wires.”
“Not to my knowledge.” She added a few drops of barbecue sauce to the pork and heated it on low in the oven.
“You took ten years off my life, Brielle,” Raimondo accused.
“I’ll make it up with dinner.” She began shaping the arepas into round disks nearly an inch thick and a good three to three and a half inches wide. Once she had them made up, she heated a light amount of vegetable oil in the skillet and placed the arepas into the oil, turning the heat down to medium-low. She wanted them crispy brown on each side, but not overcooked. It took only three to four minutes to brown on each side. She cooked all of them.
“I hope you really like these. They’ve always been a favorite of mine.” She sliced open the arepas, spread them with mayonnaise and then a generous helping of the pulled pork. She added lime, cilantro and garlic along with a slice of tomato. “Try that. If you don’t like it, I can make you a regular sandwich with just the pork.” She made herself a sandwich from the arepas and sat at the dining table with a bottle of water.
Leone had already wolfed his down. “Where do you learn to make this kind of thing, Brielle?”
“I like cooking. When I like something, I tend to spend a lot of time researching it and trying to find people who will help me learn the things I want to know. I’m fairly good at researching so I can usually get in touch with the right people pretty quickly. I don’t like to waste my time.”
“I watched how you made this. Stay there, I’m going to make a couple more.” He got up and went to the counter to fix himself two more sandwiches.
Brielle smiled, shaking her head. It was a good thing she’d made plenty. They really could eat. Raimondo joined Leone in the kitchen, making more sandwiches for their dinner.
Shadows were lengthening outside. She liked this time of day, although she had a view of the gardens and trees, not so much the lake from the dining room. She could see the front of the house and all the surrounding landscaping. She and Elie spent so much time outside in the back on the patio watching the beauty of the lake that she had all but forgotten they had the other side.
Finishing her sandwich, she studied the trees as they swayed in the breeze. The leaves turned and spun like dancers, glittering as the last rays of the sun fell over them, showing the dazzling colors of fall. She found it mesmerizing to see one side of a leaf appear orange and the other side green or gold. Somewhere in that thick expanse of trees, on the property that Elie had purchased, there was a hidden road that ran between Dario’s home and theirs. You needed a four-wheel drive to use it, but it had been built between the two properties recently.
Valentino and Emmanuelle’s home lay on the other side of Dario’s. If Brielle hadn’t promised Elie she would stay put, she would have been tempted to explore. She’d been here awhile now and hadn’t really gone to see either place. Nor had she seen much of anything in Chicago for that matter. When she was with Elie, the isolation didn’t bother her. She enjoyed just spending time with him, getting to know him. But when he was away, she wanted to begin establishing her own life. Go out, find little places she enjoyed going to on her own. She’d always been independent. She would have to talk to him about that.
“You’re sighing. Loudly,” Leone observed.
Raimondo cleared the dishes from the dining table. He shot her a quick, worried look. “What’s up, babe?”