Spoken like a ridiculously stylish gay man. I gaped at him. Then realized he was serious.
“Sure.” I knew I sounded defensive. “Why not?”
I tried not to notice the contrast between my outfit and his exquisite, custom-fit Italian suit.
Dante waited to speak until a woman in an old-fashioned black-and-white maid uniform finished dusting the obnoxious white marble sculpture near us.
“You’re going to introduce yourself to the board wearing black leather pants?”
“At least I wore my nicest pair.” I was starting to get angry.
He closed his eyes, clearly frustrated beyond words.
I took another look at Dante, a little worried. He had felt clammy. And now his face was contorted. His mouth opened and closed and his nostrils flared. Was he doing deep breathing? Counting to ten?
“And that ... that shirt,” he finally said, opening his eyes. “You know they can fire you.”
Good, I thought, but bit my tongue.
“Fine. I’ll put on my jacket.” I shrugged on my black blazer. It partially concealed my white T-shirt that said “Fuck Authority” below a picture of a skull and crossbones.
The woman was now dusting an enormous white phallic symbol right beside me.
Dante looked pained. “What about the three Armani suits I bought for you last week?”
Is that what all this was about? I’d pay him back. But I knew it wasn’t that. His feelings were hurt. His unerring sense of style was offended.
I shrugged. “They’re cute.” If you want to look like you have a stick up your ass.
He made a jerking motion to pop his wrist out of his sleeve. He looked at his TAG Heuer and then glanced over at the door leading to the boardroom.
“What now? Are we late, too?” I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the mirrored wall.
He met my eyes. “We might have time for you to change. I can run you back to your place. We can be a few minutes late.”
I smiled, pushed away from the wall and headed toward the boardroom door.
He winced. He knew he’d lost.
“What you don’t seem to get,” I said over my shoulder, “is that I don’t care what they think. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want anything to do with running this company or the stuffy old men on the board.” I knew I sounded like a pouty five-year-old and I didn’t care. It seemed like the woman in the maid outfit was looking for something to do closer to us. Eavesdropping. Fine by me. I didn’t care who knew what I thought.
Dante caught up to me. “Gia! You’ve never met any of them.”
“They all stood by and let my godfather drive my father’s business into the ground. They never said a word. They never reached out to me even once. And now that I’m in charge, I’m only sticking around long enough to replace every goddamn one of them.”
The woman audibly gasped. We both swiveled our heads toward her and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
“Excuse me,” I said, gesturing with one finger. “Come over here for a second.”
Her cheeks grew red.
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Gia. What’s your name?”
“Carmen.”
“Nice to meet you, Carmen. I got to ask you something,” I said. “Do you like wearing that outfit? Tell me the truth? I promise your job won’t be affected.”
“No.” Her voice was quiet.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you.”
“No, I don’t like it.”
“I didn’t think you did. It’s like Gone with the Wind or something.”
She smiled, but still looked nervous.
“Do you like your job here?”
“Si. I mean yes.” She nodded fervently.
“I mean, would you rather work here or say at some apartment building in Russian Hill?” Like my building. “I could find you a job where you have less work and more money and don’t have to wear a stupid get up like that.”
“I like it here, really. The uniform, no? But I like working here.” She shrugged. “I do what I want. Nobody bothers me. Make my own hours.”
I bit my lip thinking about. “You’re being honest, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. But the uniform has to go.” I squinted at her. “What are the stuffed shirts paying you?”
She named some absurdly pithy amount. “I’ll double that right now. And you can wear whatever the hell you want to work every day. If anyone says anything, tell them Gia Santella told you herself.”
“Okay.” She gave a small smile and slipped out a nearby door.
Dante touched my elbow. “Back to what we were talking about. You can’t fire them. They are elected by the stockholders. What if there are some good men on the board?”
“If I have to be the CEO—which apparently is what my father wanted—then I’ll damn well do whatever it takes to root out the rotten ones and make sure they get kicked off the board. Plus, your job is to help me do that.”
“What?” his eyes grew wide. I’d asked him to be my advisor, but had never elaborated on his job duties.
“You’re nice. You’re nonjudgmental. If anyone can determine who is worth keeping around and who isn’t, it’s you. Together, we can weed out the toxic ones.”
“Gia! I don’t want that responsibility. Good grief.”
He was so cute when he swore.
“I need your help.” This time my voice was quiet. It was true. I needed Dante. I didn’t want to face these men on my own.
Dante ran a hand through his hair and sighed, nodding. He was in.
But then he touched my elbow again and made a face. “Leather pants?”
“Yup.” I gave him another smile. “With these pants and a senator’s husband at my side, they wouldn’t dare fuck with me.”
“We are not married yet.”
“Speaking of that, are you sure you want to get married this young? I mean, I adore Matt, but, dude, you’re just a baby.”
“I’m nearly twenty-five.”
I put my finger on my chin. “Which means you’re twenty-four.”
But his twenty-four was probably like my forty. I didn’t want to admit it, but Dante had acted like a mature, responsible, adult since we were twelve-years-old. The opposite of me.
“Back to your outfit,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’d rather talk about you.” I gave him my sweetest smile. Which he ignored.
“What about the Armani? You realize they cost me a small fortune, Gia.”
Now, he was just griping. He thought nothing of dropping several grand on an outfit. In that way, we were alike.
“Like I said, they’re cute. I’ll wear the black one to the next board meeting.”
“You will?”
He sounded so damn happy.
“Sure.”
I sighed. After all these years, he still believed my lies.
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There, in her efforts to seek justice for a senseless slaying, she stumbles across a complex underworld that knows more about her than she ever imagined.
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Acknowledgments
HUGE THANKS TO MY TALENTED pals, Samantha Bohrman and Cristina Pippa, who are not only amazing writers, but also stellar editors who run Manufixed.com. Check them out if you need editing.
In addition, I am incredibly grateful to—and could not do this without the members of my street team, who support me, encourage me, and keep me from looking bad in print: Sharon Long, John Bychowski, Erin Alford, Liz Cronk, Doug Cronk, Steve Avery, Emmy McCabe, Emily Goehner, Taloo Carrillo, Mimi Ryan, Christine Green, Vickie Johnson, Mikki Ashe, Beverlee Smith, Lee Elliott, Kari Isaacson, Dani Adams, Terry Welch, Mary Devries, Michelle Smith, and Anissa Kennedy! Thank you!
And huge thanks to Sarah Hanley, who is not only a breathtaking writer, but makes my covers magic!
I am continuously humbled and grateful for the support from amazing reviewers Kristopher Zgorski, Dru Ann Love, and Kathy Reel. Thank you!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
KRISTI BELCAMINO IS a Macavity, Barry, and Anthony Award-nominated author, a newspaper cops reporter, and an Italian mama who makes a tasty biscotti. As an award-winning crime reporter at newspapers in California, she flew over Big Sur in an FA-18 jet with the Blue Angels, raced a Dodge Viper at Laguna Seca and watched autopsies.
Her books feature strong, fierce, and independent women facing unspeakable evil in order to seek justice for those unable to do so themselves.
Belcamino has written and reported about many high-profile cases including the Laci Peterson murder and Chandra Levy’s disappearance. She has appeared on Inside Edition and her work has appeared in the New York Times, Writer’s Digest, Miami Herald, San Jose Mercury News, and Chicago Tribune. Kristi now works part-time as a police reporter at the St. Paul Pioneer Press. She lives in Minneapolis with her husband and her two fierce daughters.
Find out more at http://www.kristibelcamino.com. Find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/kristibelcaminowriter/ or on Twitter @KristiBelcamino. Sign up for her VIP Reader Group here
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COPYRIGHT
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
First Printing, 2017. Printed in the United States of America
Copyright © 2017 by Kristi Belcamino
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the address below.
Kristi Belcamino
PO BOX 18641
Minneapolis, MN 55418
Cover by Sarah Hanley
Gia in the City of the Dead/ Kristi Belcamino.—1st ed.
ISBN-13: 978-1975683702
ISBN-10: 1975683706
Gia in the City of the Dead Page 18