Blake pulls his cell from his pocket and shoots a text out. “I just asked Kayden Wilkens what he knows about them.” He sets his phone on the table in front of him. “Who is Sofia?”
“Sonia Bertoni. Her mother is Angelena Bertoni. Her father is Pietro Bertoni.”
“Sonia or Sofia?” Blake asks.
“Sofia is a cute little nickname Gio gave her.” I crinkle my nose and grab the glass. “I think I need more.”
Kace arches a brow. “You sure about that?”
“I’m pretty darn sure.”
He heads toward the bar, all long-legged swagger, and masculine perfection, and grabs a bottle. God, I’m crazy about that man. “Any for you, man?” Kace asks, glancing back at Blake.
“Not if you want me to be worth a fuck,” he says, and then curses again under his breath. “No thanks. I need to do my job.”
I grin. “Wifey still on you about the F-word?”
“Always,” he concedes, “but for her birthday this year, I promised to make a real effort.”
“Because you love her,” I say.
“Fuck yeah, I love her.”
I smile. Kace rejoins us and hands me a newly filled glass. I accept it, hypnotized by the ice bobbing around with no purpose in the liquid. The way me and Gio hid our whole lives with no real purpose. Until we found one in our past, and for Gio, Sofia became a part of that purpose. “Gio loves Sofia as well, or he did. He trusted her.” I think of the words in the letter and my gaze lifts. “The letter I found from Sofia to Gio said, and I’m quoting because, yes, I have it memorized, ‘I couldn’t know that I’d change how you saw, well, everything.’ She mattered to him and then he caught her in bed with another Blue Owl and they were plotting to kill me and him after finding the formula.”
“Oh fuck,” Blake murmurs, with Kace adding, “Damn, baby.”
“And now?” Blake asks. “What does he want?”
“To kill her.” I lift the glass to my lips to drink and Kace catches it.
“Maybe you should wait,” he suggests. “We need to talk about who wants to kill who.”
“You’re just making me want to drink it now, however,” I set it down, “if I drink that, I won’t care. I’m an easy lush.”
Blake’s cellphone buzzes and he reaches for it, reading the message before he says, “Per Kayden, the Blue Owls are trouble. Dirty bastards, he calls them. He’s in the process of destroying them.” He sets his phone down. “He’s also willing to talk about a deal if Gio helps make that happen. How long has he been working with the Blue Owls?”
“He made it sound recent,” I say.
“He’s got skills that say it’s not recent,” Blake replies.
“He says he hooked up with Sofia eight months ago.” My brows furrow. “In Italy,” I add. “I was thinking the trip to Italy was recent, as in that’s where he’s been these past few weeks, but maybe he went eight months ago, too.”
“Can we check his passport?” Kace asks.
“We have,” Blake says. “I don’t see an Italy trip, which means either Sofia came to him or he used a fake passport. If he had a fake passport, he acquired the contacts, and/or skills, to do so before he ever went to Italy.”
“I don’t know what to say to that. I mean, the letter did reference how Sofia claims to have changed Gio’s perspective on everything. I don’t know if I know where his head is anymore. And he says he never saw the letter anyway. I’m not sure if that tells us anything.”
“You found the letter when?” Blake asks.
“About two weeks before the VIP auction at Riptide.”
Blake’s brows dip. “And yet Gio says he followed Sofia here? Where’s he been in those two weeks?”
In other words, Gio is lying to me. My fingers curl on my knees and my eyes start to water. Damn you, Gio, I think. I never cry. He’s making me cry.
I swallow hard because everyone knows that’s the way to burn away tears. Not really, but somehow it works. Or maybe it’s Kace’s big hand settling on my leg. Either way, I pull myself together and meet Blake’s stare. “All I can tell you is what he told me and it seems that might be lies.” And there it is, I think. The reason the girl who never cries almost cried: my brother has always been the one person I could trust. Now, I’m not sure that was any more real than anything else in my life.
Kace hands me the glass and when I would drink, Blake says, “He didn’t necessarily lie. He could have been watching you.”
I snort and drink. “If he’d been here and seen me with Kace he would have blown a gasket.”
Blake’s impassive expression is somehow not impassive at all. “All right then. Let’s go back to the letter. It reads, and yes I have it memorized as well, ‘I wasn’t lying. The answers you need can be found with me and at the Riptide Auction House. I promise you. Come see me. I won’t keep secrets any longer. I’m done with secrets. The answer can be found at Riptide.’” He glances between us. “What does that mean?”
“Kace was there,” I say immediately. “I meet Kace’s stare. “Gio and Sofia have decided that you were with my father right before he disappeared. They think the formula is somehow with you.”
“Based on what else?” he asks. “Because I was a kid training with your father? I’m back to where I was before: to assume it’s me is illogical. I was a kid.”
“All I can tell you is what he told me in a ten-minute conversation.”
“And why am I with you if I have the formula?”
“He believes I’m somehow a piece of the puzzle. Or you think I am.”
Kace picks up my glass, downs the contents, then refills the glass. “The good news here,” he says, “is that no one wants us dead. Not yet. We are somehow the secret to the Stradivarius violin.”
Blake looks between us and runs his hands down his knees. It’s what he does before he leaves. I’ve noticed because, apparently, I notice what’s going on with strangers but not my own brother. “Let me go do some work on this. You two get some rest.” He stands. Kace stands with him. “I’ll walk you out.”
I capture his hand. “So you can say things to him that I don’t hear?”
He kisses my hand. “Exactly,” he says resolutely and heads out in Blake’s wake.
Despite his reply, or perhaps because of his reply, I find my lips curving. That reply was honest. I don’t know if I really realized how much I craved honesty in my life until these past few weeks. And if there is one thing Kace and I have been with each other these past few days, it’s that.
And my brother was not honest with me today.
I am not sure the last time he was.
I down the drink, and oh God, it burns fire down my throat. Choking, I stand up and walk to the window, the sun pressing low in the sky, a rainbow of color haloing the shoreline. My head spins and I reach for the steel rail that runs across this portion of the glass. The sound of music lifts in the air, the song “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish starts to play.