Page 43 of Empire of Temptation

“Dai, Papà. I’m not so stupid. Niccolò and I use this app and we have our locations turned on only for each other.” His thumbs moved rapidly, then he showed me the screen. “See this? He switched it to ghost mode.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I believed what Gabriele was saying. “When?”

“I don’t know, but he was last active the morning you left. Which means he wasn’t in prison.”

I would need to call Sergio right away. But first, I owed Gabriele an apology. “I’m sorry I doubted you. This is helpful, figlio mio.”

He sat back, a grin splitting his face. “So does this mean I can stay with you here in New York?”

“I’m afraid if I tell you no that you will hire another plane to bring you back.”

“Probably. Grazie, Papà.”

I held up my hand. “It’s not up to only me. You must ring your mother and ask her permission. If she says yes, then you can stay.”

“I will.”

“And ring your brother. You scared him half to death by disappearing.”

“Yes, Papà. I’ll do whatever you say, whenever you say it. I won’t cause a bit of trouble.”

“You’ll do whatever I say? Even if I confine you to the house and grounds?”

His enthusiasm dimmed considerably. “But why would you, when no one knows who we are in this town? They told me you are going by the name DiMarco.”

“Because it’s safer. And you don’t question my orders, figlio mio.”

“Will you tell me why you are here?”

“No—but not because I don’t trust you. I need to sort some things out first.”

“Okay, but I’m here to help. I’m worried about Niccolò, too.”

I sent him off to ring his mother and brother, then I stared through the window, thinking. If Niccolò wasn’t in prison, then why had Rossi lied about it? It was possible Rossi had been given false information from Palmieri, but the more likely scenario was that Rossi lied to me. But why? Just to find Flavio Segreto?

I didn’t like being used. I liked being lied to even less.

I needed to find out how these pieces were connected. And something told me Flavio Segreto was the key.

Chapter Eleven

Valentina

There was too much to do to take a sick day.

After Luca dropped me off, I forced myself to get ready for work, nibbling on crackers and sipping ginger ale the entire time. Of course I looked up what “fiore mio” meant as soon as I got home. It translated tomy flower, an endearment in Italian.

My flower.

It was both beautiful and sweet and totally disconcerting. We weren’t really at the endearment stage, were we? He must be humoring me. Maybe “flower” in Italian meant a foolish girl who drank too much and vomited on you?

“Wow, you look . . . ” Roberto pressed his lips together as I walked into the trattoria around one o’clock.

“I know,” I said. “I look like shit.”

“I was going to say ill.”

Giovanni’s brow creased as he examined me. I had learned he wasn’t overly talkative, despite my efforts toengage him in conversation. “Too much wine,” my new chef said. “I will make you something.”

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