Page 37 of Her Dark Salvation

I scrunched my face. “I’m not sure sweetheart is the word I’d use to describe Mr. DeVita.”

The amusement in her smile reached her eyes, and they crinkled at the corners. “No, I suppose you might not. He can be a little intense when you first meet him.”

“A little?” I raised my eyebrows and relaxed against my chairback. “He makes Godzilla look like a teddy bear.”

She tipped her head back and laughed. “I can see how you’d think that, especially if you’re not used to men like him. I, however, am used to it. Painfully so. My brother and all my cousins are just like Marco.” She shrugged. “Most of the time those guys are teddy bears under their gruff exteriors.” She leaned toward me. “Most of the time.”

I tilted my head in question.

“You think Marco’s intense? Wait until you meet Luca.”

I grimaced. “With that endorsement…”

She chuckled.

“Who’s Luca?”

“The Chief Operating Officer of DEI Europe and Marco’s nephew. They’re a pair, the two of them.” She raised her eyebrows and dropped her chin. “The type of men you want on your side, but never want to date,” she said with finality and a firm nod.

“I’ll take your word on that. And honestly, after the past two days, I’m not sure I can handle much more intensity.”

She narrowed her eyes, and worry-lines formed across her forehead. “What happened?”

I waved a hand. “Nothing. A trip to city hall yesterday and an unexpected visitor the day before. It was a lot.”

Her eyes grew wide with understanding. “Right. Mr. Valenzano came by Wednesday. I saw him walk through my lobby.”

“I—I wasn’t expecting that.” I swallowed back the anxiety that surfaced every time I thought about meeting a known criminal. “And his bodyguard, or whatever, he stood there all huge and menacing with sunglasses on like he was a Secret Service agent or something. I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never seen Mr. Valenzano at Terme before. I was just as surprised.” She leaned forward. “Knowing Marco, I’m sure he took care of it. I doubt either of us will see him again.” She reached across the desk and squeezed my arm.

“And what’s with the sunglasses?” I blurted out now that I had an audience for all my questions. “It wasn’t just Mr. Valenzano’s guy. Every day in the lobby there are at least two men like him stalking around. Same type of beefcake, and they’re always wearing sunglasses.”

She snickered. “Beefcake?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Marco staffs his properties with his own private security detail. He’s a bit of a control freak.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” I said dryly.

“Listen. Marco’s a well-connected man, and in this city, being connected comes at a cost. He’s protecting his interests, making sure his employees are safe. As for the sunglasses?” She straightened her spine and slapped her hands against her thighs. “I always assumed it was to make them look more intimidating. LikeMen in Blackor something.”

I snorted. “You’re probably right. I’ve spent most of my life in academia. I’m not used to all this intensity and connections and beefcakes in sunglasses. I think I got spooked by all the…” I waved my hands in a big circle. “All the real.” I shook my head. “Anyway, lunch?”

“Lunch.” She hopped off the desk. “And it’s Friday, which in my book means it can be extra-long and include martinis. A couple of those should take your focus off the beefcakes.” She winked and stuck the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

I laughed. “Sounds perfect.”

* * *

I pushedthe mushroom around my plate, unable to eat one more bite of marsala, but wishing I could so I’d have something to do while David prattled on about himself. It would have been rude to check my watch, but part of me was genuinely interested in how long the man could have a conversation with himself before realizing there was someone else at the table.

It was Saturday night, and I was on my fourth date with David Lancaster. He’d suggested Lombardi, an intimate Italian restaurant near Kendall Square overlooking the Charles. I didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t go out for Italian in Cambridge.

Mr. DeVita, on the other hand, wouldn’t have hesitated. He probably would have fired off a string of Italian curses at the mere suggestion of dinner at Lombardi.

I speared the mushroom, brought it in front of my eyes, and stared at it for what felt like an eternity. Maybe I was caught in a singularity in the space-time continuum and time had stopped. Or maybe David was just that boring.

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