Page 43 of Contempt

He didn’t want to know, except he did.

He shouldn’t ask, but he had.

“That woman still loves you, but it’s messed her up … you know what I mean?”

Yeah, he did.

Because he was the same.

“I gotta go, Rose,” Renzo muttered.

He waited just long enough to hear the goodbye and I love you his sister mumbled into the phone before he hung up. Readjusting the bag over his shoulder, and leaning back over the bed to hang up the hotel phone, he straightened up with a sigh.

He had to leave. He couldn’t chase a dream he wasn’t allowed to have. He had to get out of New York.

Now.

Renzo was just stepping out of the hotel room, and readying to go downstairs to check out when the cell phone in his pocket rang. He didn’t even think about it, simply fished in his pocket as he headed down the hallway, and answered the call.

“Ren here,” he muttered, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Got news on your subject.”

Renzo’s walk came to a stop.

He knew that voice on the phone—one of the contacts he was using to keep him informed on the whereabouts and movements of Christian Savino.

Fuck.

What now?

“What’s happening?” Renzo asked.

“Your guy is hitting a flight tonight. Thought you might wanna know because this is where my watch ends if he’s headed out of Cali.”

That was fine with Renzo. He would follow after Christian Savino, and take over the watch he was supposed to be doing, anyway.

As long as it took him out of—

“He’s going to New York,” the guy said, interrupting his thoughts. “After layovers, and all, it looks like he’ll land at about five in the morning.”

Of course.

Because this was his life now.

A fucking joke.

• • •

Renzo pulled the black rental to the side of the street a good eight car lengths down from where Christian Savino’s driver parked. He took note of the busy, popular club across the street—he suspected it had to be popular considering the line of people that went halfway down the block.

Damn.

How long had it been since he enjoyed a club?

Too long, likely.

Renzo put his attention back where it needed to be which was on his current subject. Christian didn’t step out of his vehicle until the driver who had been accompanying him during his entire stay in New York—a week, so far, though it felt like a million fucking years to Renzo—came around to the back of the vehicle, and opened his door.