Page 103 of Till Death Do Us Part

“I-I,” she stuttered. “I’m not able to speak on behalf of the seller.”

“The seller is the city,” Dante said, flashing his smile. “This project will obviously take money to renovate. No one is going to pay the asking price, or they would have done so years ago. Mr. Lombardi has taken time to negotiate.”

That wasn’t the full truth. Instead of negotiating, it could be better described as pulling strings. A friend of a friend—the way our businesses operated.

“I’ve seen enough,” I said, looking to Dante, silently praying to get away from the disgusting odor. “Shall we let Mr. Lombardi know our thoughts.”

Rennie walked us back to the front of the school, talking the entire way. “You’re right about the work needed. The structure is sound...”

Gulping the fresh air as we stepped out onto the sidewalk, I scanned in all directions, wondering where our soldiers were hiding. Everything was quiet, no one walking on the sidewalks and very few cars. Goose bumps scattered over my arms as I stepped closer to Dante and turned to Rennie. “Thank you. We have an appointment at the title company. Mr. Lombardi will be meeting us there.”

“So, do we have a deal?” she asked, hopeful.

Dante replied, “If Mr. Lombardi’s offer is still acceptable, yes.”

As soon as we were safely in the back seat, I ran my hands over my arms.

“You did great,” Dante said.

“She wasn’t hard to fool. Thankfully, Mr. Lombardi will be doing most of the talking during the closing.” My phone rang. I pulled it from my purse, happy to see Aléjandro’s number. “We’re on the way to the closing.”

“I was watching you go in and out of the school. If I haven’t told you today, you’re beautiful.”

Warmth filled my cheeks as I looked over to Dante, who was looking out the window, pretending he couldn’t hear. “It may take longer to renovate than we hoped.”

“Silas is already working with Hugo, the man who built our bookshelves.”

I grinned, knowing he didn’t saysecret room.

“Once the building is ours, they’ll get working.”

“I’m warning you,” I said, “it smells.” I sniffed my shoulder and Dante’s. “I think we smell now too.”

My husband laughed. “This is why you shouldn’t be on the streets and why I shower so many times a day.”

“I’m glad it’s not for another reason,” I said, referencing his showering.

“Me too.”

“Where are you?” I turned in all directions.

“We’re a few cars behind you. Don’t try to find me.”

A sigh of relief loosened the knot in my chest. “I’m glad you’re close.”

“You can’t get rid of me.”

“I’m not trying.”

“Pass the phone to Dante.”

“Okay. Bye.” I handed the phone to my brother. “He wants to talk to you.”

Dante took my phone. “Dante here.”

I was wrong about Dante pretending not to hear. I couldn’t make out what Aléjandro was saying on the other end of the call. Instead, my imagination ran wild as Dante’s posture stiffened, and he lowered his voice.

When he finally handed me back the phone, the call was disconnected. “What was that about?”