"What do you mean?" I asked, slightly confused.
“He never got your name, and I'm not a famous face in town. Famous name, sure, in the right circles, but even then, my father is more famous than I am. So how in the hell did Frakes know that you were out on the road, in a Bertoli-owned vehicle, at the time he did? I've been thinking about it."
I nodded, his words sparking my interest. If the leak had been the police, then knowing I was staying with the Bertolis was one thing. But the driveway is far from the street, and the view is blocked. Only someone who saw me get in the vehicle would have known it was me. "You suspect someone on the inside."
He nodded. "I do. Someone who was here at the time you left that morning contacted Frakes and told him to follow that car. Hell, it's not even yours—it was Angelo's! By the way, don't worry about that. I spoke with Angelo over the phone, and he said he wanted a new one anyway when he gets back for winter break."
"Gee, thanks," I joked, then sobered. "Why not approach your father about this? Or Pietro?"
Tomasso sighed and looked down. "Because Pietro was one of the men here that morning. And while my father wasn't, that doesn't mean that he couldn’t have ordered Pietro to sell you out. I wouldn't know why. It doesn't make business sense, but I can't rule either of them out either. I can trust two people with this idea. You . . . and me."
I wasn't as shocked as you may think. After all, crime families are just that, criminal. We betray the law on a regular basis, and while honor is a major point and a part of the very glue that holds us together, that doesn't mean that you turn your back on anyone without knowing what they had in their hands at the time. “So you want to find this person. Why?"
Tomasso thought before answering. "Because my only thought once that van side-swiped you and until I saw you standing in the doorway of my room at the hospital . . . the only thought I really had was if you were okay. Someone tried to hurt you, and they tried to make me look like an incompetent idiot. That doesn't sit well with me."
It wasn't Shakespeare, but there was a sense of romance to what he said. I stood up and went over to his chair, leaning down and kissing him gently on the lips. “I’ll be happy to help," I whispered, stroking his face. "But you promise me something."
"What?" he whispered back, his face open and honest.
“That you don’t risk your life over it.”
Chapter 11
Tomasso
I woke up the next morning in pain. I wish I could say it was the fiery pain like I'd felt in my neck where Luisa had unknowingly scratched me the night we had sex, or even the dull, thudding pain of a hangover. Both of those I was familiar with, and I knew how to do something about them. I could make the pain go away.
Groaning, I rolled to my side, only to hiss when my right leg, which had been banging against the metal hinge of my brace all night, also decided to tell me what a dumbass I'd been not to take any pain pills. Lying on my back, I stared at the ceiling above my bed, wondering if I'd been wrong not to take any pills at all.
I heard a soft knock on my door, and I struggled to a sitting position, making sure I was at least somewhat composed. "Come in."
Luisa opened the door and stepped inside, wearing a t-shirt and shorts that looked better on her than the model in the catalog I was sure the company had used to sell it. "I just wanted to come by and see if . . . what's wrong?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, trying not to show my surprise.
Luisa crossed her arms and tapped her foot, giving me a nonplussed look. "I've been spending enough time with you over the past few weeks that I can tell when something is wrong. What is it?"
I laid back down, giving in. "My ankle hurts. Seriously, this shit is painful."
Luisa came over and sat down on the edge of my bed, looking in my eyes. "Okay. Do you trust me?"
"That's a strange question," I replied, looking back into her beautiful face with those ebony orbs of mysterious darkness. I swallowed and nodded. “Sure. Of course I do,” I said, wondering what the hell she was up to.
"Good," she said with a small smile. "Then close your eyes."
For the next few minutes, I felt her fingers tapping, touching and pushing on various points in my leg, but also on other areas in my body. While she did, she talked in a low, soft voice. "Listen to me. Let my voice guide you. I want you to feel as I touch the areas of your body, and as I do, let your body feel the sensation. Accept it as it is, with no other meaning than that it is sensation your body feels. I want you to open your mind to the pain that is in your ankle. Accept the pain, and taste it. Let it wash over you and through you, accepting it for what it is, the signals from your body that say that you are not at a hundred percent. Recognize that you’re in control of that signal, and that you can control the intensity, just like you can control the volume of a radio or the speed of a car."