Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

“And he taught Galante all of that. Luca is a son to him. You may wonder how that is, if he was the son of an informant. That’s a question I have, too. I’m not sure how Galante became next in line after Roberto, but I have heard he views informants as traitors of the worst kind. No one in his circle is going to turn.” He taps the podium and offers me a phony smile. “Just a tidbit.” He taps his head. “Helps to know the background.” He nods at me, arches a brow, and saunters out.

By the time I open my office door thirty minutes later, I’m still reeling from the shock of learning Luca’s father was an FBI informant—working against the Arnoldis! Also reeling from the way Chris dropped by and commandeered my meeting. He doesn’t even have an office in the building now. He’s been retired for weeks.

When I turn toward my desk and find him sitting in the leather chair adjacent to it, I’m so shocked I stand there blinking for a second.

“Well, hi.” I blink a few more times, and he nods.

“I won’t take much of your time.” He gives me a friendly smile—or one I would have thought was friendly in bygone times. Now I can’t be sure.

Despite the knot that’s cinching in my stomach, I sit at my desk, the one that was his less than two months ago. I straighten my spine and look at him the way I’d look at anyone who came into my office.

“I’m ready to hear it,” I say, this time giving him my own fake smile.

For a moment, he looks troubled—maybe unsure. Then his face takes on a look of calm assurance, and he says, “Well…the subject matter.” He tilts his head toward the door, as if I’ll understand the gesture. “I was throwing you a bone. Trying to dampen all that. I know they waited for you—all these…officers,” he says with what looks like an eyeroll. “But it doesn’t mean you’re locked in. All that trafficking rumor stuff—” He waves like he’s dismissing something. “We all have alliances and compromises, Elise. I had mine, and you’ll have yours. What matters is the way you leverage your baggage. And where you draw your lines. But a task force like that can go nowhere. Other things come up, and you get busy…” He shrugs, getting to his feet.

“Is this because—” I blink as all the wheels in my brain spin different directions. “I’m sorry, did you say this because of my…”

“Your father,” he says, holding my eyes before dropping his gaze to his feet. “I…came to know. Over the years. And he was a fine prosecutor. Never acted inappropriately. It helps that Roberto was—” He shakes his head. “He never dealt in harder drugs, and he would try to…do less harm. I think the way I saw it was just…let them have their world. If they stayed out of mine, there weren’t such problems.” He lifts a brow.

I can’t find my voice. I open my mouth like a fish that’s flopping on the shore, and close it and then open it again before I can say, “My…father?”

He narrows his eyes at me. Then his face transforms into a look of horror.

“Christopher, what are you telling me about my father?”

Now it’s his turn to pale. He backs out of the office, muttering something about “can’t believe it.”

I cut out of work an hour early, waiting till I’m in my black car to give myself over to my feelings. I pull up a picture of a linen hanky I found once on Reddit when I googled “Arnoldi family.” Someone uploaded it, claiming to be a housekeeper of the deceased elder Arnoldi. I stare at the “A” on it, and stare and stare some more, as the car drives me to my father’s place. But I don’t need to look hard. I’ve seen this “A” my entire life. Because there’s a handkerchief that looks identical to this one framed atop my father’s desk.

I shut my eyes and think of Isa—how her eyes look just like mine. I noticed it in high school, how she wore the same eyeshadow palette I did…because we had the same color eyes. Brown like autumn, almost amber. Then I’d started noting her eyebrows, and how their curve looked so much like my own. It seemed crazy, because Isa was so beautiful. But I thought about it, and I thought about my father calling me cara, and I remember for a time I really thought my dad was “in the mafia.” That’s why I’d been snooping in the Columbus Building that night that I encountered Luca.

My heart flutters at the base of my throat as I ride the elevator to my father’s floor and march to his door, knocking hard.