Page 50 of Vincenzo
My cousin chuckles and says, “Mine’s getting worked on. Now get in.”
“You knew I had bags. They’re not going to fit in that thing you call a trunk up there,” I say, nodding to the front of the vehicle.
“You just don’t know how to stuff her correctly,prima.” The doors swoop open, and he gets out of the car.
The smirk on Armando’s face grows as he rounds the front. He stops in front of me and holds his hand out for my luggage.
Scrunching my nose, I say, “Your dirty little innuendos are not cute, you know that, right?”
He grabs my bags from me with a deep chuckle. “Is that any way to speak to your favorite cousin who dropped everything—no questions asked—to come and get you this early in the morning?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter, but a small smile lifts at my lips because even though shit has hit the fan for me, it’s been way too long since I’ve talked to my cousin, and I’ve missed the hell out of him.
Armando chuckles. “Just get in. I’ll get your shit in the car.”
After loading my bags, he gets in the driver seat, puts the car in gear, and takes off.
Glancing over at him, I take in his white button-up and charcoal-gray dress pants.
“Were you working this early, or did you never stop working last night?” I ask with a quirk of my brow.
Without taking his eyes off the road, he says, “You know work never stops for me. Especially these days.”
“Especially these days?”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye and says, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking questions here?”
I sulk back in the leather seat and let out a long sigh.
“That bad, huh?” he asks with a shake of his head. “What the hell did you get yourself into, Amalia?”
“Ididn’t get myself into anything,” I say defensively. “It’s your dad.”
That seems to pull a small response out of Armando, but I was expecting a bit more. There’s a small tic in his jaw as he grinds his teeth. “What the fuck happened?”
I narrow my gaze on him. “Why are you not surprised?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your response is telling, Armando. Don’t forget I’ve been trained just as well as you have, so I can read you like a damn book. You’re not surprised that I said your dad.”
“You and I both know how he can be.”
“Yes, but did you know he called a hit on me?”
The question spills from my mouth, but I know Armando didn’t have any idea. He would never betray me like this.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he growls out. “Of course I didn’t know that.” The defensive tone of his voice has my shoulders rounding forward in guilt for even suggesting it.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just a bit on edge ever since I found out about this less than twelve hours ago.”
“Start from the beginning,” he demands.
I fill Armando in on everything. From what Felipe said right before I killed him, to me questioning a couple of his men after, to being sent to NYC, and then to what Carlos said last night in Enzo’s office.
“So what’re you trying to say?” Armando asks, turning into the parking garage of my apartment building. “You think my dad?—”
“Yes,” I say, answering the question on the tip of his tongue. “I think he called the hit on me because he has something to do with my parents’ deaths and I was getting a little too close to discovering the truth.”
