My eyes scanned the pages. His earlier arrests, as a teenager, were paid off with community service or a short stay in juvenile detention. Any charges he received after he turned 18 were paid in full. Starting from when he first began fighting for Antonio 8 years ago. Then, as those years passed the offenses slowly eased until he was 23 years old.
Probably because he started avoiding the authorities. And hospitals...
I pulled away from the file and shrugged, trying to keep my nerves at bay. “Mechanics make a lot of money. Or maybe he had a wealthy family member.”
“Or he’s in a gang.”
“Now you’re just jumping to conclusions—”
“Lily. He fits the bill for someone who runs with some kind of street gang.”
Not the Mafia.
Dad wasn’t exactly on the right track, but he was close.
“This is also very interesting.” He took another folder from the pile and tossed it on top of Dean’s.
I frowned and flipped it open, finding a photo of a man that could’ve been Dean if he was older, with wavier black hair, a five o’clock shadow, and dark brown (almost black) bloodshot eyes.
His name was Gio Calacoci.
I knew the answer but asked anyway. “Who is he?”
“That is Dean’s father. He worked as a salesman back in Italy but was fired for drinking on the job. So, he moved the family to Brooklyn for a fresh start. Once here he jumped between jobs...” He paused for a moment, watching me as if he was wondering whether to continue. Then he reclined in his chair. “Gio died three years ago. Conveniently when Dean’s criminal record went very quiet.”
Something ignited in my chest. “Are you suggesting Dean did it? Dad, that’s absurd.”
“I know it’s a bit of a stretch—”
“A bit?”
“Maybe he got caught up in something bad and his father found out.”
The inside of my head was spinning at the accusation. “You have no evidence of any of this. You’re just pulling at any leads that could paint him as the bad guy.”
“It’s just a theory.”
“A dangerous one.”
His eyes narrowed on me. “He isn’t a good person, Lily. Look at his criminal record.”
“Ah, yes, arrested for underage drunk driving and streaking. Truly terrifying.” My hands were shaking so I gripped the edge of my seat. “His rap sheet probably went quiet three years ago because he simply grew up. Maybe he learned his lesson. Maybe the death of his father around the same time put things into perspective for him.”
I only knew half the truth, but found it scarily easy to create a cover story.
My father went silent. Not because he realized I was probably right, but because that was what he did. It was a tactic he used on people he interrogated or interviewed, to see if his silence would make them uncomfortable enough to start talking.
But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I just watched him; mirrored him. With a sigh, he eventually flipped the files shut and put them back with the others on his desk. As he did, one of the files on the top of the pile slipped off in my direction.
I caught it before it could fly off the desk, my hand pressing down over the word confidential stamped across the front while my eyes flicked to a photograph that slipped out from the top. Only the corner of the image was visible, displaying a head of white hair and a cigar in the person's mouth, but it was enough for me to recognize who this file was for; Antonio Gimello.
Pretending not to notice, I handed the file back to Dad, offering him a quick smile to try and defuse the tension in the office while my heart raced. “Confidential? Is that for your investigation into those murders?”
“Yes. But you know I can’t share full details with you.” His smile was faint as he stored that file in a drawer on his desk instead. “Not until the investigation is over, anyway.”
“Right,” I nodded slowly.
He pressed his lips together, breathing a heavy sigh through his nose before he leaned on his desk again. Combing a hand over his graying dark brown hair. “Listen, Lily. Your mother and I only want to make sure you’re safe.”
