‘Don’t make a scene, Antonella.’
‘It’s a bit too late to be concerned with our reputation.’ Nella glared at the two blonde women her mother’s age sitting side-by-side at the nail benches, who were watching their exchange with wide eyes and pursed lips. A picture of Nella and Vittoria was probably going to end up on the landing page ofWhat’s the Teatomorrow morning:Barbarani mother and daughter pamper themselves while father rots in grave and wine is discontinued.
‘Ask him yourself. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you. Seemed like he couldn’t hand in his resignation fast enough after the funeral, and from what that Kenneth boy said on the phone, Jett was the one who contactedhimabout the job. You must understand, Antonella, now that your father’s dead, his debts are dead too.’
Nella frowned. ‘Jett wasn’t indebted to Dad.’
‘He gave him a job, didn’t he? Plucked him from the trash heap his mother dumped him in.’
‘He was twenty-four when Dad hired him.’ But Nella’s insides hissed at the vague truth in her mother’s words. In every business deal, every charity donation, every investment in a start-up company, her father had painted himself as the good Samaritan. But he never gave without expecting something in return. And he’d parented just the same.
‘Is that why the La Marcas are closing in with this bullshit claim that Nonno stole the recipe from Antonio? Because they were too cowardly to do it while Giovanni was alive?’
Vittoria hissed at Nella’s use of her father’s name. ‘The La Marcas and the Barbaranis are never in debt to each other. If Matteo is making this claim, it’s because he is trying to even the score.’
There is nothing worse than the sting of the realisation your mother is right. The Barbaranis and La Marcas were two sides of a scale, balancing each other out. It was how they stopped an all-out, mafia-style war.
‘But we are weak at the moment, without your father,’ Vittoria continued. ‘There are a lot of people in this world who are breathing easier since the news of his murder.’
‘Including you.’ Nella didn’t know where that came from. Only that she’d hit the bottom of that elevator shaft and there was no way out. Jett was leaving, and he hadn’t told her. He’d contacted some guy to enquire about a job. Was it because of what she’d said at the funeral? He couldn’t go—
‘Get out of my sight.’ Vittoria’s tone was light, not wanting to alert the old biddies that this was anything other than a pleasant mother-daughter conversation. ‘You shouldn’t have come back. There’s no use you being here if you’re going to let that outsider try this case.’
‘The cops have already taken the wine.Clarkson’sthe best but even he can’t stop what’s coming. Make sure you book in for a colour and blow-wave next door – I can see your roots.’
As she squeezed past the line of chatting nail technicians who had no doubt heard every word, Nella’s mind declared war on her fleeing body. She needed answers. About Jett. About the La Marcas. About why her mother was here and not playing the grieving widow for Zia Rob and Nonna Maria back at the house. But it seemed like Nella couldn’t be in a room with one of her family members for more than five minutes before the ticking bomb in her brain started its inevitable countdown.
If she didn’t get answers soon, it was going to explode.
7
Jett
The pillaged winery looked like a rotting mouth with most of its teeth missing. The cops hadn’t worried about being delicate with the products that weren’t under investigation, so broken glass and rosemary twigs crunched under Jett’s boots as he, Grey and Luca helped Tom put the place back together. Tom had what looked like a mild seizure every time he dragged his fingers across an empty shelf that used to store the famous sangue. Luca had been trying to coax him into the restaurant instead, now lit gold by the setting sun and filled with the early evening tipsy crowd. It seemed it had only become more popular after the bloodshed at the gala.
‘I say we call it a day.’ Greyson tipped the last of his dustpan debris into the bin. ‘Come on, let’s get a drink.’
‘Of what?’ Tom spat. ‘La Marca pinot noir?’
‘You know, paired with the right cheese, that pinot ...’
‘Read the room, Luca.’ Jett clenched his jaw.
‘I was.’
Tom’s eyes were dark little drills piercing into the pockets of empty space in his cabinets. ‘I don’t want to get adrink.I need to speak with Lieu.’
‘I think Lieu leftbecauseyou needed to speak with him.’ Luca’s smile was wicked.
Tom exhaled a noxious gas of breath. ‘He asked me something that didn’t make sense. I wasn’t paying attention at the time because we were being looted. But I need to follow up with him,’ Tom said, phone to his ear. ‘Cazzo!It’s not even ringing.’
‘Imagine being ghosted by your lawyer.’ Luca lolled his head back at Jett and Grey like the class clown trying to get everyone out of homework.
‘Speaking of lawyers, where is your sister?’ Jett tried to make it sound casual, as if the memory of her storming out of the restaurant hadn’t been driving endless loops in his mind all afternoon.
Luca shrugged. ‘You brought her back, she’s your charge now. But if what she said is true and you guys lied to her about Clarkson ...’
‘I didn’t lie.’
