Page 84 of When She Unravels
It’s worse that I’ve touched her everywhere already, because I know exactly how soft her skin is, and how perfectly her tits fit in my palms. I even know the little sound she’d make if I tugged the tiny triangle of her bathing suit a few inches over and put her nipple in my mouth.
Why did I go to her and Mari? One moment Napoletanoand I were walking to my office, and the next I was standing on the pool deck, trying not to audibly groan at the sight of that insane body emerging out of the water.
I think it must have been the glimpse of her silky black hair through the glass that made me change course. I barked something toNapoletanoabout needing to check on Mari, and he probably saw right through it, the smug bastard. Nothing ever flies past him.
To my utter amazement, my sister has started to bake again. When I walked in on her kneading dough in the kitchen a few days ago, I couldn’t believe my eyes. For weeks, I’ve tried to get her to do something.Anything. She always had an excuse ready. But one day with our prisoner, and everything’s changed.
I step back outside and note that Napoletanoand Mari haven’t moved a single inch since Valentina and I left. My sister’s sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, a book hanging from one hand. When she notices I’ve returned, she shoots me a guilty look. She must feel bad about talking back to me earlier.
Standing beside her lounger, Napoletanois as stoic as always, his hands in his pockets, the sun glinting off the face of his watch. Did they exchange a single word while I was gone? Unlikely. My old friend isn’t much of a conversationalist unless it’s about business.
“I’m finished,” I say to him. “Ras is waiting for us in my office.”
Napoletanonods. I move inside, expecting him to follow me, but to my surprise, he hangs back and says something to Mari.
My sister’s brows shoot up before she buries her face in her book.
“What was that?” I ask once he joins me in the house.
“We were talking about the book she’s reading,” he says in his deep voice.
“What book?”
“You haven’t read it.”
“How do you know what I have and haven’t read?”
His response is a subtle twitch in his lips, and it makes me square my shoulders.
“Don’t answer that,” I say. He probably got bored one Sunday and hacked the camera in my library just for the fun of it. I’ve yet to hear of a security system that’s impervious toNapoletano. He’s the best of the best. That’s why he’s tasked with storing so much of the loot the clan has collected over the last few decades—jewelry, fine art, and priceless historical artifacts. They’re spread all over Italy in hyper-secure storage facilities designed by him. If I ever had something valuable I needed to hide, I wouldn’t doubt for a second it would be safe with him.
We enter the office and move to take our seats. I sink into a chair across from Ras. “Do you have the research I asked for?”
Ras picks up a brown folder from the coffee table beside him. “Here.” He tosses the folder at me.
“You shouldn’t leave a paper trail,” Napoletano says. “That’s how plans get exposed.”
I open the folder and scan the two sheets of paper within. “What plans?”
“Your plan for overthrowing the don.”
How could he possibly know that? I raise a brow at Ras. “You told him when you picked him up from the airport?”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Ras says, looking uncharacteristically perplexed.
Napoletano extends his legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankles. “You told me you need to make this compound breach proof. Unless you’ve managed to piss off all the tourists enough to try storming this place en masse, there’s only one other thing you can be worried about.”
Ras and I exchange a look.
“How are you and Sal getting along these days?” I ask.
Our guest takes out a small metal cigarette case from inside his suit jacket and lights one up. “We haven’t talked in months. I much prefer it that way.”
Interesting. If Sal is growing paranoid like Ras and I are suspecting, why wouldn’t he ask the sharpest security guy in the clan for some reinforcements?
“And your father? Is he still walking the streets of Naples every Sunday?”
Smoke billows out of his mouth. “My father will do his Sunday walk until the day he dies.”
