Page 13 of The Fixer

My parents.“Hang on. If we go in and I introduce you as my boyfriend, my mother will have a thousand questions about how we met. We need to get our stories straight.” Oh, crap. Earlier this evening, she asked me if I was seeing someone, and I said no. How am I going to explain this?

Leo looks impatient. “Make something up. I’ll go along with it.”

“And if we’re separated? My dad is always rebuilding one car or the other. He’s going to want to show that off to you. If he asks you a question, then what are you going to say?”

“Okay, fine. Let’s just stick to a version of the truth. I met you in December, we’ve known each other for nine months, and yes, that’s quick, but when you know, you know.”

His tone is mocking. I dig my nails into my palms so I don’t react.When you know, you know.The sentiment is perfect, and he doesn’t mean a damn word. “I can’t tell them you work for the Mafia.”

“Tell them I work in private security,” he replies. “I’ll handle the follow-up questions. Anything else?”

I’m not looking forward to the next few hours. I might fudge the truth here and there about my dating life to preserve the peace, but I’ve never outright lied to my parents, and certainly not about something as big as this. “Umm. . .”

“You’re stalling,” he points out. “It’ll be fine. I promise I’ll survive the interrogation. I even promise not to strangle your idiot brother.” He gets out, comes around my side, and opens my door. “Shall we, principessa?”

I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. I want to throw something at him. A rotten egg, maybe, and watch the yolk drip down his elegant nose. “If you keep calling me principessa in that mocking tone, I’m going to strangle you myself.”

“You?” His gaze slides over my body, slow and assessing. “I’m terrified.”

A ripple of excitement flows through me like a live current at his appraisal. “You shouldn’t underestimateme. I’ve been taking MMA classes for three years.”

“Have you now?” His smile grows. “I’m intrigued. Will you show me your skills, Rosa? Are you going to pin me down on the mat?” The words could be interpreted as innocuous, but his tone is openly carnal, and a shiver of need runs through my body.

Leonotices.He opens his mouth to say something else, and then his expression shutters. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go deal with your family.”

8

LEO

Rosa’s parents live in a small terracotta-roofed house on the outskirts of town, closer to the beach than to the city center. The compound is enclosed by a three-foot tall cinder-block wall, and the small front garden has a handful of flowering shrubs in it.

It’s a security nightmare of a location, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t protect them in Lecce. It could be a fortress, and I still wouldn’t be comfortable leaving them here. They’re going to need to move to Venice.

We get out of the car, and Rosa straightens her shoulders. “To answer your earlier question, no. You don’t have to ask my father for my hand in marriage. I’m notproperty.That’s a ridiculously sexist custom.”A strand of her jet-black hair comes loose from the ponytail at the back of her neck, and she makes an impatient noise, removes the band, shakes her hair free, and then ties it back again. “Trust me, you won’t get any opposition from them. They won’t care who I’m marrying; they’re just going to be delighted I’m doing it.”

“Why?”

She opens the outside gate. “As my mother likes to remind me, she had a child when she was my age, and I’ve never even had a serious boyfriend.”

“You’ve never had a serious boyfriend?”

“Nope.”

Why not? I want to probe, but Rosa’s opening her front door, and I’m distracted by the fact that they don’t lock it. Yup, they’re definitely moving to Venice as quickly as I can arrange it. Once the deal with Santini is made, I doubt he’s going to want them to stick around anyway.

The door opens to a small living room. It’s filled with things—two couches, a television, houseplants in blue and white pots, and another collection of red vases on the coffee table—but everything is spotlessly clean, and there’s not a speck of dust anywhere.

I remember the glimpse I caught of Rosa‘s apartment.I don’t remember much of it—my attention was on her, not her surroundings, especially when the strap of the silk slip she was wearing slid off her shoulder, offering me a tantalizing look at her small, luscious breast. But if my recollection is right, every table surface was covered in fabric, thread, and tissue paper. This place could not be a bigger contrast.

“Rosa, where did you go?” Her mother comes into the room, a harried look on her face. “I’ve been worried sick. Hugh still won’t tell me what’s going on, then you take off. Your father is fiddling with his car again, and you know that means he’s going to get engine grease all over his nice shirt. Honestly, it’s a shock?—”

Then she notices me, and her flow of conversation abruptly cuts off. “Who is this?”

“M?, this is Leo Cesari.” Rosa sounds nervous. “My boyfriend. Leo, my mother, Elaine Tran.”

Rosa’s mother is five-foot-five and slim, her black hair cut fashionably short. She’s wearing a purple dress with a flared skirt. I don’t know anything about women’s clothes, but even I can tell this is something special. The fabric has a subtle shimmer and drapes beautifully. I wonder if it’s one of Rosa’s designs.

“Boyfriend?” Her eyes narrow. “I thought you said you weren‘t seeing anyone.”

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