Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(23)

His answer is to flip over another photo that turns my stomach—and it’s all I can do not to react. “What about him? Do you know him?”

“No. I don’t know any of these people.”

“Niccolo Bulgari,” he supplies. “The leader of the Italian mafia. And do you know what all of these men have in common?” His reply is to start turning over photos of Kayden with each of the men. “Kayden is what they have in common.”

I glance at the photos and then at Gallo. “Do you know all of these men?”

“It’s my job to know them.”

“So those men all have you in common as well, right?”

His jaw clenches and he turns over another photo. “This man,” he says, indicating a tall, thin man in an impressive suit, “is a politician believed to have killed his wife.” He shoves a photo of Kayden talking to the man in front of me. “That was taken right after she died,” he continues. “For all we know, Kayden killed her.”

“Kayden didn’t kill her,” I snap, not sure what the explanation is for this and wishing I knew.

“And you know this how?”

“Because I know.”

“Because he told you.”

The waiter chooses that moment to set our coffees in front of us, and it’s all I can do to murmur a “thank you” and listen to Gallo do the same before we are left alone again. Gallo shoves aside his coffee and I do the same. “Because he told you,” he repeats, and it’s a statement, not a question.

“No,” I say. “There was nothing to tell me.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I’ve gotten to know Kayden,” I say, not even blinking before I reply.

“Then you know that Kayden is a Treasure Hunter who will do anything for money.”

“You forget the part where I said I’ve gotten to know him—so I know that statement is false. And murder is not just anything, nor is treasure hunting murder.”

“I’m quite clear on the meaning of the word murder, as is Kayden, I assure you.” He narrows those shrewd eyes on me. “Just how involved in his definition of anything are you?”

“Enough to know your accusations are completely misplaced, and driven by bitterness that’s eating you alive.”

“Accusations are only misplaced if untrue, and mine are not.”

“Accusations exist,” I countered, “because they’re without merit and fact, which you clearly don’t have or you’d have arrested him already.”

“You are quick-witted for a woman with amnesia, Eleana.”

The overuse and emphasis of my fake name doesn’t feel accidental, nor is the bite to my voice as I say, “Amnesia doesn’t mean stupid.”

“Right. Just . . . absentminded. And as eager as you are to fill in your blank spaces, I’m surprised you haven’t asked about those activities that I mentioned on the phone.”

“On cue to please you,” I say, steeling myself for a bullet. “What activities?”

“Those that include a man who consorts with the mafia and a drug cartel. That, Eleana, means you are, as well. I’d have thought that would disturb you, yet you didn’t even blink when I mentioned it.”

“My knowledge of the mafia and cartels comes from movies like The Godfather. And if anything I’ve seen is true, they’re terrifying. I’ve also seen enough of Kayden’s world to know the difference.”

“Another of those amnesia anomalies. You remember The Godfather but not how you got to Italy.”

“I told you—”

“You have a selective memory. I get it. And since you have an apparently selective understanding of the English language, despite using it better than I do, let’s go back to visuals.” He grabs the picture he showed me of Kayden standing with Niccolo and points at Niccolo. “Mafia king.” He points at Kayden. “The man in your bed. They’re laughing. They’re friends.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” I say. “You, it seems, just throw daggers at yours.”

“‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ Interesting concept there. Since you’ve gotten to see inside Kayden’s world, maybe you can enlighten me on how that saying applies to the people around him.” He sets the picture of Kayden with his boss in front of me. “Is he one of Kayden’s friends or his enemy?” He replaces the photo with the one of Kayden and Niccolo again. “What about him? Because to me, it’s hard to tell where his allegiances are. And you know why? Because his only real devotion is to himself. Kayden Wilkens is an opportunist.”

“Says the man using a young, grieving girl to exact revenge.”

He gathers the photos and stuffs them back inside the folder, then crosses his arms in front of him and levels me a hard stare. “I think you know a lot of things you aren’t telling me.” He leans forward again. “A good f*ck does not make a good man.”

Anger knifes through me. I stand, and seeming to anticipate my action, he stands as well, his folder in hand. “We’re done,” I say.

He studies me several moments that feel eternal. I’m not sure what he wishes to find, or if he’s simply trying to intimidate me, but the result is a twist of his lips. “For now.” He slaps a few euros on the table and starts to walk away.