“Name?”
I deadpan. Is he fucking serious right now? I’ve been chief of security for the D’Angelos for, I don’t know, ever. And if he bothered to look at the image recognition screen, his homework would be done. Smoke summons me for a meeting, then puts the new guy at the gate. Hilarious.
“Leo Zamparelli,” I announce.
He actually checks his list. I wipe a hand down my face. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t see you on the visitor roster.”
I narrow my eyes and glare at the camera. “Let. Me. In.”
The gate buzzes open. I salute sharply and drive through. It takes me twenty minutes to park and get to Smoke because, apparently, two blow-up dolls decided to take a golf cart for a spin and park in my spot.
Smoke relaxes back with his feet on his desk, smirking. “Problem with security?”
“Not at all. Sharp kid. Just doing his job.”
Smoke chuckles. “Ready to take your job back?”
“No.”
That wipes the grin from his arrogant face. “No?”
I take a seat and crack my knuckles. “I’ve saved up. I’m thinking about going to Mexico.”
“Right,” he says, fingers steepled to his chin. “The man who’s allergic to cilantro is parking his ass in Mexico. Send me a postcard. Let me know how that goes.”
“With pleasure.” We glare at each other for a solid minute, and damn it to hell, I give in first. “You need to look out for Ivy.”
“We are.”
“In North Carolina?”
Smoke sits up. “It’s probably part of her deal with Andre. I had nothing to do with that.”
My jaw tightens. “Why would she make a deal with Andre? She’s a D’Angelo.”
“Not according to this.” He waves a sheet of paper in the air and slides it over to me.
I, Olivia Ann Palmer, dismiss any and all claims against Antonio and Andre D’Angelo.
I give him a subatomic death glare. “What the fuck, Smoke? She’s a D’Angelo. I saw the blood test. Case closed.”
“I didn’t ask her to do this. All I know is the case was dropped, and this was the result.”
“How fucking convenient for you.”
His brow knits, and the uneasiness that forms from it means the ultimate control freak really doesn’t know. “Look over there,” he says.
On the table in the corner, the little flask stands center stage. I can almost make out the names from here.
“Whatever deal with the devil Ivy cooked up, that was part of it. It’s all been returned. That and a few other things Andre stole from us over the years.”
I move to it and take the shiny silver flask in my hands. I cradle it and trace a finger against each of their names, and all of a sudden, I choke up, overwhelmed. Ivy did what no one else could do—she got a piece of Antonio back. I tear up, and it isn’t even my fucking flask. “How did she do it?”
Smoke leans across his desk. “I’d give anything to know that…and to have you back.” I smile but don’t turn to face him. He flicks a paperclip at my head just to make sure I’m listening. “Don’t quit.”
I check my watch. “It’s only been a day. What’s wrong, Smoke? Can’t live without me?”
His eyes roll in concession. “Something like that.”
I stroll over opposite him, palm my hands to the desk and lean into his space. “Then how about you do something for me for once? And for Ivy.”