Page 9 of The Fixer

And he looks like he wants to murder me.

I gape at him for what feels like forever. “Leo?” I finally manage. I haven’t seen him since our last disastrous encounter in July. “What are you doing here?”

The moment those words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. What a dumb question. I called Valentina for help, and Leo is the head of security for the Venetian Mafia. Of course, he’s goingto be here. He’s probably the obvious person to call in a situation like this.

He stares at me for a long moment. Every time I’ve seen him, Leo’s been in a suit. Today, though, he’s dressed more casually in a long-sleeved white shirt, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos cover his muscled forearms. Before I met Leo, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to deface their body in such a way. Now, I want to stroke the dark ink with my fingertips.

Stop that, Rosa.

“We need to talk,” he says, jerking his head at the black Range Rover behind him. “Get in the car.”

Getting into a small, enclosed space with a man that sets my pulse racing? That sounds like a bad decision. “My family?—”

“Will be fine. Antonio’s negotiated a temporary ceasefire.”

“Oh.” I start to tremble. Ever since Hugh walked in an hour and a half ago and announced he was in trouble, I’ve been running on adrenaline. But it’s draining now, and even though the evening’s warm and balmy, I suddenly feel very cold. I hug my arms around myself. “They’ll all be okay? Hugh, my parents?”

The hard expression in Leo’s eyes softens for aninstant. “Yes,” he says, and then his voice turns clipped again. “Now, get in the goddamn car.”

I tell Hugh I’m heading out for a little bit, ignore his questioning look, and go outside. Leo is waiting by the Range Rover. He holds the door open for me, a gesture of chivalry I wasn’t expecting, given he’s practically barking orders at me, and then comes around the driver’s side. He gets in, slams the door shut, and speeds off.

I study him out of the corner of my eyes as he drives.Leo is furious.His anger is a living, tangible beast occupying the space between us. Does he blame me for Hugh’s mistakes? It’s not like I have any control over my brother.

The silence quickly grows too much to bear. “Where are we going?”

“The beach.”

“Why?”

He gives me a poisonous glare as if he’s offended he has to explain himself. “We won’t be overheard at the beach.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” I point out reasonably.

He ignores that. I contemplate speaking again, but there are times when discretion is the better part ofvalor, and this is obviously one of them. I look out of the window instead and admire the scenery. The sun is setting, casting golden shadows over the countryside. We pass my mother’s favorite nursery, and they’re still open, their small parking lot filled with flowering plants. “We had a dinner reservation near the beach,” I tell Leo. So much for staying silent. I wonder if anyone remembered to call the restaurant and cancel it. “It’s my mom’s fiftieth birthday. We were going to eat lobster.” I make a face. “Well, she was.”

He gives me a sidelong look. “You don’t like lobster?”

“I don’t like how they cook them,” I reply. “I guess that makes me a hypocrite. After all, I’m not vegetarian; I eat meat. But tossing that poor thing in a pot of boiling water. . .” I shudder. He looks at me again, and his scrutiny makes me uncomfortable. “Anyway. I haven’t seen you in a couple of months. How have you been?”

A smile briefly makes an appearance at the corners of his lips. “Are we making small talk now, principessa?” he asks dryly.

“I asked you why we were going to the beach, and you growled at me,” I point out sweetly. I want to see that smile again. “Small talk seems safer.”

He pulls into a parking lot and turns off the engine. “We’re here.”

I love the beach.Love.Leo opens my door, and I jump out and take a deep breath. Being here, inhaling the salty tang of the ocean and listening to the hypnotically soothing sound of the waves, helps my fear leach away.

Leo watches me with unreadable eyes. “Let’s walk.”

I trail after him to the small strip of sand. I’m dressed for dinner, not the beach. My dress is ankle-length and made from a hand-painted length of silk that absolutely cannot get wet, and my sandals have three-inch heels that will make walking impossible. I take three steps, then give up and kick the sandals off. Much better.

There aren’t too many people about, just a small handful of families enjoying the late summer evening. We walk along the water’s edge until we get to a deserted stretch, then Leo stops, looks around for curious eyes, and turns to me. “Your brother fucked up,” he says bluntly. “Badly. Spina Sacra is not a forgiving outfit. Their head, Rocco Santini, will kill him, and then he’ll come after your family.”

The sand has lulled me into tranquility, but hiswords jolt me out of it. I swallow hard. “My parents? He’ll hurt my parents too?” I start to shiver. “Why?”

“To set an example.” Leo takes off his shirt and drapes it around my bare shoulders. The fabric, a fine cotton, smells like a mix of cologne and laundry detergent. He’s wearing a white T-shirt underneath that clings to his broad chest and carved biceps. The tattoos snake up past his elbows to cover his upper arms as well. It’s the first time I’ve seen them; the first time I’ve seen Leo in short sleeves, and any other day, I’d be tempted to stare.

“I’m not saying this to scare you,” he continues. “I’m letting you know the stakes.”

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