Page 69 of Wicked Rivals

Tony shrugged again. One more time, and he’d be picking himself up from the fucking floor.

“I need to talk to her myself,” I snapped.

Something undefined stuck in the back of my mind. I was missing an important piece of information that could lead me straight to the shooter.

Maybe Benedetta could shed some light on it.

I grabbed my phone and sent her a text, telling her to get to the estate as soon as possible.

She immediately replied. From my kitchen.

Not wanting it to be true, I stared at my phone.

“Tony, find out if Val’s still in the kitchen with my son.”

Nothing good could come from the two women meeting without me there, though I had given no thought to what I might say to keep the peace between them anyway.

Tony texted one of Val’s guards and received an instant reply.

“Yeah, she’s in the kitchen with the boy, baking cookies. He says you told him they had the run of the place.”

“Yes, I did. Who else is in the kitchen?”

Tony sent and received another text, then met my gaze with his “oh shit” expression.

“Benedetta’s down there,” he said.

“Fuck!”

I threw my phone. It shattered against the wall.

“Get that replaced… and stay out of my sight until you have a lead. I don’t care how small… just get me something we can use to find this asshole and put him in the fucking ground.”

Then I quickly headed for the door. The second I opened it, the familiar scent of orange spice cookies hit me—the addicting cookies Val used to make every morning at Con Amore.

She had always set aside a handful for me each day.

My mouth watered, and my stomach rumbled.

The sweet smell instantly took me back to those anticipated stops on my way to school in the morning, hoping to see her.

Back to where I’d gone during my breaks to study on that old couch. Back to where, if I leaned the right way, I could see Val in the kitchen with hernonna.

She’d be standing over the counter, her expression relaxed and happy as she rolled out the cookie dough.

That was what she’d been doing when she agreed to go to dinner with me. I had stormed into that kitchen to stand face-to-face with her, my foul-mouthed little barista with powdered sugar on her cheek.

I hadn’t even asked. I told her she would go.

Her grandmother had shouted at me.

“It’s about damn time you got off that couch!”

Others laughed and applauded.

Val’s cheeks had turned the prettiest shade of pink. Then she nodded and gave me her beautiful smile.

Goddamn it, that memory still left a hollow place in my chest. I shook myself out of it and marched downstairs, bracing myself for what waited for me in my kitchen now.

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