Page 99 of Disarming Caine

But she was not Faith, and I shouldn’t act like she was. Nor was she one of the shallow women I dated in the past. Samantha had a depth to her which I’d longed for much of my adult life.

She swiveled one of the guest chairs at the desk and sank into it, staring at the leather armrest. Picking at lint, which was not there. “I need you to listen until I’m done.”

“Sì, I can do that.”

Her eyes met mine for an instant, but then fell to the armrest again. “I met with Elliot Skinner this morning. He gave me his regular Scott case debriefing in person. He’s looped himself in with the shootings, too.” The words tumbled out, coming faster and faster as she went, so unlike her. “I told him about the Constable while I was there, showed him the pictures, and he asked me to do some more digging. He wants me to work for him, so he’s treating this like bait.”

I nodded, the jumble of energy in my stomach becoming more frantic the longer she spoke. None of this felt like a problem or even a surprise yet. When I met Elliot in Napoli, he’d told me he wanted her to work for him. And based on what she did while she was there, it was hardly a shock.

“As part of it, he’s doing a background check.” She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was it. “He said my relationship with you may pose a problem in obtaining security clearance.”

“Scusi? How would I pose any problem to that?” Unless he meant… of course he did.

She looked up slowly, flexing her jaw. “What can you tell me about your uncle who lives in the big estate outside of Rome? I’m assuming that’s the one you never talk about.”

Heat exploded through every molecule of my body, and I launched off the couch. “Cazzo Madre di Dio!”

I stalked to the back of the room, looking for something to throw or break. Cristian and Gio. It always came back to them. No matter how many good choices I made, the poor ones continued to haunt me.

“So there’s something to it?” Samantha’s voice trembled.

I spun back to her. “That was for me to tell you, not Elliot Skinner.”

“You were planning to?”

“Of course I was.” I yanked a sheet of paper off the printer and crumpled it. “What did he say?”

“Not much more than I just said.” Her eyes stayed on me, features difficult to read. Disappointed, most likely.

I threw the paper into the recycling bin, losing all its momentum as it dropped only as quickly as crumpled paper ever did. Paper was not the right choice.

Neither was anger.

I eased onto the edge of the desk, facing away from her, and dragged my fingers through my hair. “Is he involved with the Constable?”

“I didn’t even think to ask.”

I gripped the desk. Where to start? And how much to tell her?

“He’s speaking of my Zio Giovanni. My father and he were close when I was growing up in Roma, and my middle name is after him. He worked as an accountant with the International Monetary Fund. At least, that’s what I was told, true or not.” I paused, scarcely able to remember myself as the innocent boy running through the hallways, the gardens, or through the vineyards. “His homes became larger and larger every few years, and I recall Sofia telling me she thought he was involved in criminal activities. I was still naïve enough that I just knew him as the uncle who gave me the best presents.”

Samantha’s hand slid over mine, and she gripped tight.Thatwas something. She may have been hurt, but she was still mine. For now. Once I finished, though, would be another matter entirely.

“My Nonno ran the office in Brenton back then, and Papa ran the main studio in Roma. He and Gio had a falling out after Nonno died, and Papa decided it was best for us to move here.” All my friends, my cousins, my aunts and uncles. All that Italia offered, given up for small-town Brenton. Because those two couldn’t get along. “I was furious.”

Samantha squeezed my hand while I stared at the floor.

“As soon as I finished my undergraduate degree, I left the States and went back. I lived with Gio’s son Cristian—”

“The guy from the nightclub in Sorrento?”

“Sì, one and the same.” I’d met with him in private more than once while she visited me in September, hoping she would never meet that part of my family. “Papa was livid, but I was on my own and thought I could make the best decisions for myself. Cristian was the one who helped me lose the weight and become strong. He had a large place in Roma, with plenty of room for me, which was just the way of things in our family, so I thought nothing of it.”

I shook my head slowly, eyes closing. “Until one night, Cristian arrived home drunk after being out with his friends. He made such a ruckus I came out to be sure he was alright. Marone, his shirt was stained with blood—not his, he’d said with a laugh. He was so proud of himself for beating some man who… I don’t know why, but I know it was for his father.”

She put her other hand on mine. It was a comfort. I could have stopped there and pretended that was the end of the story. Let her feel sympathy and never know the rest. But every time I failed to tell Samantha something, it came out, and hiding it from her would only make the discovery worse.

“You said this morning I was acting like the shootings didn’t affect me. The truth is, I saw much violence after that night with Cristian and became numb to it. Except when I thought you could have been hurt.”

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