Page 61 of Righteous Deceit

“You,” he answers easily.

My clothes are too tight, and sweat dots the nape of my neck. I lean forward. “What?”

“The one-word responses are already starting to grate on my last nerve. I know you hate talking, Diego, but fuck, say what you mean to say.”

I glance at Vincent, then back at Lorenzo. “I don’t understand what is happening.”

“You’re planning your wedding.” Leonardo laughs, and I want to take the knife he’s forever playing with and stab it into his jugular. “I thought Enzo made that pretty clear.”

I growl. “Who and why?”

“Ah.” Lorenzo claps his hands together, the smile on his face too manic to be joyful. “Your blushing bride is Alessia Bianchi.”

“Sia?”

“Aw. He calls her Sia—so cute,” Leonardo teases.

I stare at him directly in the eyes.

“He’s planning your murder,” Vincent murmurs.

“It’s his love language,” Leonardo responds.

I ignore them both as they continue talking shit. “Am I allowed to ask how this came about?” I ask Lorenzo, my voice quieter than I wished it.

Lorenzo frowns. “You tell me, Diego. Tell me why the boss of the fucking outfit, who I’m working to keep on our side, called me, raging at the fact that one of my capos is fucking his sister. In his fucking town, right under his fucking nose.”

Fuck.

I shake my head. “I’m not. We’re not.”

“Not what?” he spits. “Involved? Fucking her? Explain it, Diego. You put your hand up for every errand that lands you in Chicago. You take personal time, and Leonardo, remind me where he goes?”

“Oh, that would be Chicago.”

“You’re having me followed?”

The air in the room has changed. Lorenzo’s impatience is taking up too much space. “Don’t insult me like that. I know where my guys are at all times.”

I rub a hand over my shorn head. “It’s not like that,” I argue weakly. “It’s not what you think.”

“It wasn’t like that when I was head over dick for Gabriella either.”

Vincent makes a warning noise in his throat, but the boss ignores him.

“It also wasn’t like that when Vincenthelpedthe family by marrying Bianca.”

My thumb brushes against my nostril, and I deny him, my head shaking.

Lorenzo slides an envelope toward me. “Open it.”

My fists clench. “Lorenzo.”

“Open. It.”

Sighing, I grab the envelope from his desk, ripping it open to pull out a collection of photographs.

They’re all of Sia and me.

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