Page 257 of Dante
They search me.
Thorough.
Professional.
They find nothing.
I won't need guns.
The door opens into a marble foyer.
A maid appears. Young. Dark hair pulled back in a neat bun. She doesn't meet my eyes.
"This way, please."
We climb a staircase. Turn down a hallway lined with photographs. Alejandro's family. His mother. His children. A wife who died three years ago, according to the intelligence Vittoria gathered. He remarried last year. The new wife is twenty-six. Pregnant.
The maid stops at a heavy wooden door.
Knocks twice.
"Enter."
She opens the door and steps aside.
I walk in.
Alejandro's office is exactly what I expected. Dark wood. Leather furniture. A massive desk that dominates the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate. He's standing by those windows when I enter, backlit by the pale winter sun, his silhouette sharp against the glass.
He turns.
And his face breaks into a smile.
"Brother."
He crosses the room and pulls me into an embrace. His arms wrap around me. His hand claps my back. He holds me like family.
I force myself to return it.
My arms come up. My hands press against his shoulders. I make my body relax, make my muscles soften, make myself feel like a man who's glad to be here instead of a man who wants to wrap his hands around this throat and squeeze until the light leaves his eyes.
"Alejandro." I step back. Meet his gaze. "Good to see you."
He grips my shoulders. Studies my face.
"You look tired."
"Long night."
"Sit." He gestures to the leather chairs by the fireplace. "Drink?"
"Whatever you're having."
He moves to a bar cart in the corner. Pours two glasses of something amber. Whiskey, probably. Expensive, definitely. He hands me one and settles into the chair across from me, crossing his ankle over his knee, the picture of relaxation.
I take the glass. Don't drink.
"So." He swirls his whiskey. "How did it feel?"
