Page 65 of The Mob Boss' Pet

Vincenzo asked me to accompany him to the funeral. Not demanded. I could have declined, but I didn’t. I saw the need he had for me, he needed support and I offered it up to him.

When time stretches and my ability to speak remains muted, I swing my gaze to Vincenzo. He’s glaring at me, like he’d like to see what my answer is as much as Anderson.

“I’m... I mean Vincenzo here is...” Words stumble out, but I can’t get them in the right order. “We’re friends,” I finally blurt out.

Anderson’s eyebrows raise as though it was the last thing he thought I’d say.

“Friends.”

Vincenzo grabs my arm and jerks me to his side, draping his arm around my waist in a possessive stance.

“More than friends,” he says as though he’s making a permanent claim. He keeps his steady gaze on Anderson. “Is there something I can do for you, Detective?” Vincenzo tightens his hold on me.

I relax; it’s the only sign I can give him that I’m not scared. I’m not trying to get away from him.

Fool that I am.

“I like to attend the services for the victim. Sometimes there’s a clue in the way one of the mourners behaves,” Anderson explains.

“And did you find anything out of the ordinary? Is Sergio’s killer here?” Vincenzo’s tempting fate here, but I keep silent.

Anderson’s jaw clicks and he looks away from us. He’s hit a wall in his investigation; I’ve seen it before with him.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure you’ll be able to close this case soon,” Vincenzo taunts. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re expected at the luncheon.”

“Of course.” Anderson’s words are clipped. “Stephania, if you need anything, don’t hesitate.” He offers his card to me.

“She won’t need you, but just in case. It’s good to have a friend in the police department.” Vincenzo’s voice tightens and he takes the card, handing it to me. I lightly pull it from between his fingers and slip it into the pocket of my jacket.

“Again, my condolences.” Anderson offers Vincenzo his hand and for a second, I think he’s going to ignore it. Moving his arm from around my waist, he takes Anderson’s hand and pumps it hard once.

“Let’s go, Stephania.” Vincenzo links his fingers with mine and tugs me toward the car.

“He recognized me,” I try to explain to him once we’re halfway to the car. His grip tightens.

“Not now, Stephania,” he grits out. I can’t tell if he’s mad because I was talking to Anderson or because of something else happening.

Charlie opens the door for me, and I climb into the back. I scoot to the other side of the car expecting Vincenzo to sit beside me, but as soon as I’m seated the door shuts. Charlie and Vincenzo climb into the front seats.

“The restaurant, boss?” Charlie asks. The scent of stale cigars lingers in the air. I haven’t seen Vincenzo smoke, so I assume this is Charlie’s car.

“Yeah,” Vincenzo says, leaning to the side to dig out his phone. I watch him quietly as he taps on the screen. Preoccupied.

I want to explain I wasn’t trying anything. I didn’t tell Anderson anything, but Charlie is here. If Vincenzo had sat in the back with me, we could talk quietly.

“Vincenzo.” I finally crack the silence. The restaurant is only half a block away now, and I need him to understand before we get there.

“We’ll talk later,” he says, still glaring down at his damn phone.

The clouds have opened up enough to let thin streaks of sunlight through, but the dark cloud filling the car becomes denser. I watch him. Maybe if he feels me staring, he’ll turn toward me. What I’d give for an angry glare from him right now. Even a threat to have my ass beat when we get home would be better than this choking silence.

Charlie pulls into the restaurant parking lot and brings us to the front door. I don’t wait for Charlie to get out. I throw open my door and step out, straightening the skirt of the dress Sarah lent me.

Vincenzo waits for me on his side of the car. When I reach him, he wraps his arm around my waist again, holding me tight against him.

“Family and friends are here, Stephania. Important people from other families are here too, to show their respect. I don’t want you talking to anyone other than Roberto and Sarah,” he instructs me.

“What about Anton or Maria?” I question. Wouldn’t a snub like that be noticed by the others?

---