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you almost done?” she mumbled.

He didn’t answer, but his breath was so close and Charly couldn’t even bring herself to look at him, afraid that their lips might touch. Did he really need to lean that close … crap, she was the one leaning into him.

Was it her breath or his that hitched?

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Antonio worked back the way he went, and his fingers returned to her bicep, the back of his hand close to her boob. He didn’t linger, merely did the cursory kneading and then he was back at her wrist. He shifted away without letting go of her hand.

Charly cleared her throat. “So, since you know so much about me, how about telling me about yourself?”

He glanced up at her and smiled briefly. “What do you want to know?”

“This is an interesting household. No one seems related by blood except Ida and Nico. Where’s Ida’s husband?”

“He was a no-good crack cocaine dealer who died in one of the favela drug wars,” Antonio said with disgust. “He lured the young Ida from Bahia. He was much older. Ida was seventeen, same age as Dante, and two years older than Martinez and me when we met her. Her husband was in Jacaré’s inner circle. Jacaré was our gang boss. We all reported to him.”

He finished with her fingers and let go, then Antonio stood up and went to the bathroom. The water started running. Almost two minutes went by before he turned off the faucet. Was he buying time because he didn’t want to talk about his past?

Antonio wiped down his hands on a towel when he returned to the bedroom. “Her story isn’t mine to tell. But that’s how we all know each other.”

“That’s why it’s hard to get anything out of anyone. So why don’t you tell me about yourself? How did you become an Andrade?”

“You’ve probably heard about Emilio.”

“Renata and Luis had mentioned him.”

“At that time, he took me in, he was trying to get Andrade Organization clear of drugs and, in the process, was at war with many factions. He made it his lifelong mission when his son and wife died in a plane crash, which was confirmed to be a hit by one of the local criminal organizations.” Andrade paused. “I was supposed to be just another soldier, but the old man took a harder look at me.”

Charly smiled. “He saw potential.”

Antonio shrugged. “Maybe he saw someone who would get the job done. Ordered me to stick to Luis and told Luis to teach me everything.” His face turned serious. “It was a bloody six years. I don’t care to rehash it. The press covered that war.”

“Yes, but is the whole truth out there? Neither you or Luis are in jail and I doubt what you guys did were legal.”

His smile was enigmatic, but he didn’t offer an answer.

“How about this Jacaré guy? What did you do for him?”

“Pickpocketing, lookouts for police. When we got older, he wanted to train the three of us to be used in underground fighting. Dante already was a rookie fighter. He’d come home all bruised up. This is where Ida introduced us to that wine liniment that heals impact bruising quickly. And how I learned to do this.” He tilted his chin toward her.

“You took care of Dante?”

Antonio’s eyes clouded and he glanced away and nodded.

“What happened to Renata’s brother?”

His jaw clenched. “He threw a fight.”

“What? Like purposely lost?”

He stood and left her at the couch and walked toward the window, staring into the darkness outside. “That’s what throwing a fight means.” There was mockery in his words, like she was stupid. Normally that tone would send her hackles rising, but not this time. Not this context. Was she pushing too hard to learn more about Antonio? Would he push back now?

She poked a little more. “Why did he throw the fight?”

“Martinez and I got caught by a cop when we were running one of our cons.”

Charly’s brows furrowed. “How?”

“We looked older than seventeen.” Antonio still wouldn’t look at her. “In Rio it’s hard to spot a tourist. Everyone looks like they belong, but Martinez and I could spot one right away and figure out the vulnerable ones. The ones who’d be preoccupied with attention from young Latino men.” When Antonio turned to look at her, his face was impassive. “We got careless and got caught. The cop was corrupt. Tortured me. Took a picture and sent it home with Martinez. Dante threw the fight to save us. Jacaré killed him.”

Goose bumps raised on her skin at how emotionless Antonio’s voice had become when stating the events that led to Dante’s death. She should leave it at that, but she couldn’t. “Dante didn’t ask for help from Jacaré to free you from the cop?”

“No.”

A terse response.

“I think you should go to your room,” Antonio cut in before she could ask another question. “We have more to do tomorrow. I’ll tell Ida to send food to you.”

Without another word he headed to the door and opened it. He didn’t give her eye contact, just waited at the open threshold. Cold and distant.

Clearly, she was dismissed. And since Antonio was her boss now, she complied. She stood from the couch, thanked him for his time, and walked out of the room.

The door clicked shut behind her and she stood in the hallway, unsure of what happened. Did she even want to know about his convoluted past?

She crossed the corridor on the diagonal to her room. For a second, she feared that it would be locked and she’d have to look for Ida, but it was open. Charly walked in and the difference with her previous sleeping accommodations couldn’t be starker. It was a feminine version of Antonio’s room. Not as big, but it had a four-poster bed, damask linens, and the wood floors were covered with luxurious rugs of Middle Eastern design. She’d guess they were Persian rugs.

Charly walked over to the expansive closet. Unlike the little hole in the

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