[Salvo's POV—Still at Alfio's Home]
I didn't understand a goddamn thing.
Why Riccardo asked those questions. Why he needed to know about Alfio's personality shifts. Why the fuck everything suddenly felt like a twisted riddle.
My head hurt. My patience wore thin.
"Are you alright, son?" Alfio's mother looked at me with those warm, motherly eyes. Too soft for this world.
I forced a polite smile. "Yes, Aunty… just a little parched. Could I have a glass of water?"
She smiled kindly. "Of course, sweetheart."
And off she went into the kitchen.
As soon as she disappeared, Enzo leaned in close, whispering in a low hiss.
"Boss… what the hell did she mean? Why would that bastard Riccardo be asking about Alfio's personality? What kind of game is he playing now?"
I turned my head slowly and gave him a stare cold enough to frost glass. "Do I look like a goddamn mind reader to you, Enzo?"
He flinched, practically shrinking into the seat. "I—I'm sorry, boss. Just thought—"
