Page 55 of No Stone Unturned

I rubbed my stomach and beamed. “True, except every meal seems to be better than the last. Except for Nonna’s. That is cooking on an entirely different level.”

“That it is.”

After the waiter cleared the dishes, we sipped the last bit of our wine. Slash’s face became serious as he set his glass down on the table. “So,cara, are you ready to talk?”

I’d been dreading this moment because I wasn’t. I sucked at relationship conversation, and I was worse at confrontation. But it was time we cleared the air, and we both knew it.

Steadying myself, I set my fork down and mustered a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Thirty

Slash

He hated the space that had grown between them—the chasm he’d created—separating them in ways he never imagined. Even as he told her they had to talk, he wasn’t sure how he’d fix this with her. But he was going to try.

“Let’s start with Father Armando.” He wasn’t ready to broach the hacking matter. He mightneverbe ready to deal with that. Small steps first. “I never anticipated you’d meet him without an introduction from me.”

She looked down at her plate. “I was lucky he agreed to see me. He’s a busy man.”

“He knows all about you. I told him of our engagement, but I’d mentioned you long before that. I told him how special you are to me.”

She seemed embarrassed by my comment, the color rising in her cheeks. “I’m not sure I made the best of impressions showing up at the church unannounced in jeans and a T-shirt, looking for you. I curtseyed, bowed andkneltto make sure I covered all bases.”

A smile touched his lips as he pictured that. He could see her marching up the steps of the church, insisting the archbishop see her. She’d likely made a lasting impression on the archbishop, and if he knew Emilio, a good one at that.

“He wouldn’t have told you where I usually stay when I’m in Genoa if he didn’t like you.” He lifted the wine bottle to pour more wine into their glasses.

“He calls you Nicolo.”

“He named me that at the church when I was left there. It was also one of the names I used when I worked at the Vatican...to honor him and his father.”

“Is that why Tito calls you Nico?”

“It is.”

She fell silent, while he poured the wine. When he was finished she reached for the glass, her fingers wrapping around the stem, but she made no move to drink it. “Slash, can you tell me what’s going on with you and Father Armando? He wouldn’t say much, just that you two had a falling out of sorts. What happened?”

Slash didn’t see any sense in keeping her out of what had happened so far, as long as it didn’t move into a discussion of other things he couldn’t,wouldn’t, discuss with her. Lowering his voice, he told her about his lunch with Tito, the summons to Cardinal Lazo’s office and what Father Armando had told him about the night he was brought to the church. He omitted only the meeting with Pacini and anything connected to the issue of the Congo.

She listened intently without interrupting. When he was finished he sat back and watched her think. It felt surprisingly good to tell her, and he waited to see what she would think of it. He’d missed this, her thoughtful perspective on things. She was analyzing and sorting every word he’d said, sifting through the information he’d dumped on her. He understood, because that’s exactly how he processed information.

“So, it wasn’t true you were found under the organ at the church?” she finally asked. “Someone brought you in and he met them?”

“That’s the new story.”

“But you don’t know who brought you, and he won’t tell you.”

He looked at the twinkling lights of the city, ignoring the tightness in his gut. “Something like that.”

Her fingers drummed on the tabletop. “Slash, there’s something I need to ask you. It may help me make sense of things. If you can’t tell me, say so, okay?”

He visibly tensed, unable to stop himself. He had no idea what she’d ask, and whether by denying her any answers he’d widen the gap between them. However, when she finally spoke, it wasn’t the question he’d been expecting.

“Do you remember when you became a naturalized US citizen?”

“What?” He frowned, rearranged his thoughts. “Naturalized?”

“Yes. When did you become a US citizen?”

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