Page 42 of Mario
He falls into step beside me.
“She is very professional,” he says.
I do not answer.
“And very sharp.”
“Yes.”
“And young.”
That stops me.
I turn my head toward him slowly.
Lorenzo’s expression remains mild, but his eyes are serious now.
“I know how old she is,” I say.
“I assumed.”
“Then do not say things only to hear yourself speak.”
He exhales through his nose. “Mario.”
There is warning in his voice.
I have heard it from him before. Not often. Lorenzo knows better than most when to press and when to hold his silence.
“She is here to do a job,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And I brought her here because she can do it.”
“I believe that.”
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
“That is not true, but we can pretend for now.”
I should be angry.
Instead, I almost smile.
It is a bad habit, allowing Lorenzo more room than I allow most men. But then, he is not most men. He is my brother.
And he knows me too well.
I continue walking.
He lets the subject drop, which means he will return to it later when it annoys me more.
“Ricardo met her,” he says.
I simply wait for whatever he’s going to say next.
“He liked her.”
