Page 42 of Forging Caine

“First, the pleasantries. Did you know your father called Papa yesterday?”

“Really?” My Zio Giovanni had asked me to help bridge the distance between the two brothers, and after he began cooperating with Interpol and the Italian Carabinieri, I put in a few good words. Frankly, for how long it had been since they’d spoken, it surprised me that so little had meant so much to my father.

“It lasted all of five minutes, but it’s the most they’ve spoken to each other without yelling in, what, fifteen years?”

“Then I suppose that’s progress.”

“And second, I’m calling with a favor.”

Here we go.What now?

“Cesca has been talking about visiting you this summer.”

Cristian’s youngest sister was a promising artist who’d won Samantha over during our time with them in January.

“Mamma looked at some summer programs available in your area, and there are some student programs at the universities. She was hoping you might have room for her?”

This was not at all the type of favor I would have expected. It was almost… familial rather than manipulative or self-serving. However, adding a fourteen-year-old into the mix when my relationship with Samantha was still so new would hardly be a wise plan. “I’ll talk to Sofia. She has three boys, so that might be too much for Cesca. But Sofia might enjoy it.”

“Perfect. Let us know.”

I stood from the chair and paced across the room to the desk. “I know neither of these things required a burner phone, so what’s the third item?”

And please don’t let there be a fourth, fifth, and sixth.

“I understand you had a visit from our mutual friend?”

“Fiori?” It shouldn’t have surprised me Cristian would know that. As he liked to say, knowing things was one of his talents.

He grunted in the affirmative.

“It was a strange visit.” I sat in the leather office chair and pulled open a drawer absently. “No references to you or Zio Gio. Nothing about Vincenzo or anything that happened in January. Not even a word about the fresco or the press conference when we returned it. Nothing.”

“I understand he gave you a painting he wants repaired?”

I riffled through pens and pencils in the drawer, paper clips and a stapler. This desk had once belonged to my grandfather and he’d left it to me in his will. It had moved with me from my parents’ house to my two different apartments in Delaware, and finally here. I preferred the space upstairs for working, with all the skylights. “He did. Said I owed him.”

“Porca puttana.”

“When we were on his yacht in September, he said the debt for taking care of Samantha was paid in full by arranging for Zio Andrea to repair one of his damaged paintings.” I hit on the item I’d been looking for. An old photograph of Nonno with Papa and his two brothers, along with the rest of us kids. I was five and Lorenzo was just a baby. It was our first Christmas after moving to Roma. So many changes since then. “It was strange, Christian. He said things… things that sounded like accusations, but nothing came out.”

And the way he smacked my injured arm made it clear there were unspoken threats floating around the room.

“And I also understand you took it?”

I rocked back in the chair to stare at the ceiling. Cristian couldn’t tell an honest story if he was reading it from a sheet of paper. There was always subtext, just like with Fiori. “Why call if you already know everything?”

“Jason’s worried—he’s asking to come out. Fiori knows there are leaks in his organization and is looking to plug them.”

“What do you think these leaks mean for any of us?”

“Until Fiori leaves your area, I told Jason to stay with him. I can’t risk him doing something to our family.”

My gaze shot to the door. Was Samantha still in danger because of my family? She couldn’t be. “No, he didn’t do anything after Zio Gio took the fresco. Why would he be acting now if it’s revenge?”

“This is the long game, Antonio. An empire the size of his isn’t built overnight, nor does it crumble overnight. The man has patience.”

“Should we send the painting back?”

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