Page 85 of Valentino

"Trafficking?"

The word is out before I can stop it. I sit forward, the seatbelt biting into my shoulder.

"You never said trafficking. You said Elio was arrested. You said charges. You didn't say⁠—"

He stares through the windshield, one hand wrapped around the broken headrest.

"What exactly did you think the charges were, Amanda?"

"I thought—" I shake my head. "I don't know what I thought. You punched the seat, told me Elio was arrested, and started talking about killing people. Forgive me for not immediately filling in human trafficking."

The pieces start fitting together anyway.

Agenzia Luce.

The girls.

Aldo Basile.

Elio had been in Milan. At the events. In those circles.

Around all of it.

My stomach drops.

"Do you believe it?" I ask quietly. "Do you believe Elio had something to do with Aldo? With what happened to⁠—"

The rest won't come out.

Valentino turns his head. His eyes are dark in the low light.

"What I believe," he says, each word clipped short, "is that a man I trusted has just been arrested in connection with the same operation that put you on that floor."

"That doesn't mean he knew. That doesn't mean he⁠—"

"Doesn't it?"

"No."

The certainty surprises me because it's real.

Not because I'm defending Elio.

Because it doesn't make sense.

"Valentino, think about it. If Elio is working with Aldo, why does he need a palazzo full of people to get me alone? He has weeks. He drives me to shoots. He's there every day. If he wanted something from me, he had a hundred chances."

"Stop."

"He never pushes me toward anyone. He never tells me to trust people I shouldn't. He never⁠—"

"I said stop."

"Why? Because I'm making sense?"

Valentino lets go of the broken headrest.

The silence that follows is worse than him yelling.