Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11), Kristi Belcamino [ereader with dictionary .TXT] 📗

that Nico was gone, I decided to never allow myself to fall in love again.

It hurt too much. Why would I fucking torture myself like that again? Who in their right mind would do that? Um…nobody.

I was fucking done.

There is an old Italian saying that we only truly love three people in our lives.

I’ve loved my three.

Bobby. Nico. James.

Dear, sweet James who, thank God, was still alive and thriving in San Francisco. That man had stolen my heart but then broke it into a million pieces. Because I’m a killer and he was a cop. Our relationship never stood a chance.

I reached into my bag and took out my worn metal Zippo lighter and lit the candles on my ofrenda one last time.

I lit four of them. Along with the photos and candles, I’d placed mementos that reminded me of them or items that they had loved in life.

In front of Nico’s picture, I’d placed a CD of his favorite music and a bottle of tequila.

For Bobby, a bottle of the hot sauce he loved and his favorite book of poetry.

For my parents, the cigars my dad liked and the perfume my mom wore.

My phone vibrated in my bag, startling me out of my memories.

I rummaged around and found it just as the call ended. Dante.

I called him back. “Yo.”

“I’ve been buzzing. I’m downstairs.”

“Oh, fuck. The ringer is still broken. I’ll buzz you in.”

I hit the button and headed back to the bedroom to finish packing my second suitcase.

Soon Dante was at my side.

“Have you decided where you’re going?” he said in his perfectly enunciated speech as he walked in.

I glanced up at him and was once again astonished by his good looks. The guy never aged. We’d been friends since we were kids, and he just kept getting better looking. His brilliant white smile always stood out against his burnished olive skin, and I loved how he was wearing his silky black hair a little bit long in the back nowadays at the request of his husband, Wayne. Today, he was wearing a white linen shirt with the buttons undone enough for me to see his gold necklace with the Italian cornetto and hand talisman to protect against the evil eye.

“French Riviera,” I said.

I continued throwing expensive silk lingerie into my smaller suitcase. Dante had made me buy it during our last shopping spree in Paris. I would never have spent $250 on underwear otherwise, but I had to admit it made my ass look spectacular.

“Sounds fabulous,” Dante said, stepping into my closet. “Why there?”

“I have no memories there.”

“What? That hurts. Me. You. St. Tropez?” he started humming some song about St. Tropez and dancing around.

“I’m not going there.”

“Where to, then?”

I didn’t answer, but I looked pointedly at a framed poster in the hallway. It was a still from the movie La Piscine. The movie was set in Italy. But from the look on Dante’s face, I knew he made the connection. Cannes was the film epicenter of Southern France, and the festival was next week.

“Oh. My. God.”

I hid my smile.

“What will you wear?”

“I’m going to sunbathe and read and listen to music and maybe find some hot boy to fuck.”

Dante stopped dancing.

I could feel his disapproval without looking at him.

“You’re married.”

“Am I?”

He didn’t answer.

I wasn’t married. Not really.

How could I be? Nico didn’t know who I was. He hadn’t for months.

“At least let me dress you.” Dante had personal buyers at all the top designers and attended the fashion shows in Paris every year. He had impeccable taste. Thank God one of us did.

“I’m bringing every bikini I own,” I said. “That’s really all I plan on needing.”

“Darling, if you are going to be in Cannes during the Film Festival—first, how the holy hell did you find a place to stay there right now? Oh, never mind, you’re Gia. But please, please tell me you’ll let me dress you for the festival.”

I shrugged and tossed another bikini into the suitcase on the bed.

“I wasn’t planning on going to the festival.”

“I’m going to get you tickets.”

I didn’t argue. I loved movies. Attending the festival in Cannes could fit into my hedonistic plans. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Then it’s a deal. Now, what should you wear? I’m not sure you have anything in this apartment?” He started thumbing through my hangers.

“I’ll find something.”

“I’ll handle it,” he said firmly. “Someone has to stop you from wearing your beat-up leather pants and ‘Fuck Authority’ T-shirt.”

“Rosie took that shirt from me years ago.”

Rosie was Nico’s daughter. The closest thing I had to a child. She was off somewhere killing someone. Because, apparently, that’s what the women in my family did. We couldn’t help it. But there were always evil fuckers who needed to be killed.

“Will you let me do what I do best?” Dante said, in seventh heaven. Shopping and dressing me was his favorite thing ever. Or at least that’s how it seemed.

“Yeah. I’ll go watch some movies. And you can dress me for them.”

Dante was chattering on and on about how he knew the perfect dress for me and that he might have to order it and have it sent to me in Cannes. But I would also need three other ones and…blah blah blah. I let him ramble. It made him happy so I tolerated it. And the simple fact was that I looked like shit when I dressed myself.

Attending the Cannes Film Festival was probably a legit reason to dress up.

Dante frowned. “There is nothing here. Nothing at all. Come with me,” he said and grabbed my hand. “There is one place in town—one place in all of Barcelona—that might possibly have a dress that will do in a pinch if I can’t get the dresses I have in mind ordered in time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. God love Dante.

I grabbed my bag and followed him out the door, giving one last glance at the candles burning on the altar. I usually was very careful about blowing them out before I left