Page 43 of Forging Caine

Nonno and Nonna smiled back at me from the photograph. Had he ever had problems like this? Of course he had. He ran the business through the Second World War. His problems were far greater than ours.

It was little consolation, though, as I knew he’d survived his trials. It was my own I was not so sure about.

“You know,” mused Cristian. “This could be related to the rumors he’s trying to recruit you.”

“I don’t know why he’d think I’d work for him.”

Cristian had his arm around me in the photo. Two years older and a few inches taller, his smile was as full of cunning as ever. “Is Samantha involved?”

“Of course.”Tell him we’re engaged or not?I hadn’t told my parents or siblings yet—Cristian should not be the first to hear it. “We’re living together now.”

“That’s good to hear.” His voice softened for a moment, quite unlike him under normal circumstances. “She seems a good match for you.”

“She is.” Ten years after the photo, my grandfather died. He’d been running the studio in Brenton since before I was born, and in his absence, my Zio Andrea was supposed to take it over. But Papa had such a falling out with Zio Giovanni that he whisked us out of Italia. How different would my life have been had I stayed there? “I don’t like this, Cristian. I’m worried.”

He grunted his agreement. “Don’t destroy the phone. I’ll call if I find out anything. I may send some more people your way. And…” Even more unlike him, he paused.

“And what, Cristian?”

“Memorize my personal number. If something happens so you don’t have the burner and you can’t count on the authorities, call me anyway.”

I nearly dropped the phone. That was a risk he’d never taken, as far as I knew. He was even more worried than I was.

“Now that Papa is cooperating, even if it’s not as fully as the Carabinieri want, I’d rather risk they hear something from you than risk your safety.”

Elliot had told us he expected as much, and I’d hinted to my father it was a done deal, but to hear Cristian admit it was a surprise.

“He’s cooperating?”

“Two months now. It’s slow-going, because they want more than he’ll give, but we’re trying to work it out. It’s difficult to figure out what information can be passed over that will implicate Fiori and none of his other associates.” He made a spitting noise. “We should have had the Reynolds team take photos when they snuck onboard his yacht.”

“Thank you, Cristian. For everything.”

“Let me know what Sofia says about Cesca.”

“I will. Talk to you later.”

I stood with the photo and returned to the wing chair. The last four months had been quiet. My team in Pompeii worked hard and nothing disappeared. I flew to the States twice for brief visits with Samantha, and my world was at peace. Now here I was, my future ready to begin, and the peace had vanished.

Had Giovanni been involved in the smuggling trade the year the photo was taken? Did he truly work for the International Monetary Fund back then, as I’d been told? Or was there a hard truth hidden behind all the smiles that Christmas?

Did my Zio Gio ever worry about what he was getting his family into?

Samantha gravitated toward criminals. But not in the way I had, when I threw myself into their world for the blink of an eye. No, she wanted to set the world right.

How much would we have to pay for that desire?

There was a quiet knock at the door.

“Come in, bella.”

She poked her head in, surveying the room. When her eyes reached the desk where the burner lay, she opened the door and came in. “And?”

And there was so much to tell her. “You remember Jason? Fiori’s helicopter pilot and the one who opened the painting case for us last night?”

“How could I forget?” She approached me, taking a seat on the chair’s arm.

“He’s Cristian’s man inside Fiori’s organization.”

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