My stomach suddenly dropped at the sight of them. Ofhim.
Gabriele wore a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, under a sapphire blue dress vest. Gold jewelry decorated his fingers, wrists, and neck, and his auburn hair was combed back neatly. The closely shaved edges made his features sharper.
He removed his sunglasses as he looked up at the high ceiling that my mother had pointed out. The man beside him, who I’m pretty sure was a bodyguard, did the same. When she encouraged them to look around and pointed them in the direction of the kitchen, I swiped up my things and promptly headed for the stairs. Which meant walking part of the way directly at him, and then making a sharp turn right.
I pretended I was busy looking through the applications on my clipboard as I hurried up the stairs, playing the part of a fussy real estate assistant while I hid my face behind my hair. Maybe the bangs would throw him off. Still, the last thing I needed was him finding out where I worked, in turn discovering my last name.
Just as I reached the landing, I released a breath but faltered when an Italian accented, “Excuse me,signora?” followed me up the staircase.
I pretended not to hear him and hurried down the hallway as he took to the stairs.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
I ducked into the first bedroom on my left and contemplated going out the window, but settled for the conjoining bathroom instead. A great feature for any family home. For now, it was my lifesaver.
Right when I closed the bathroom door, Gabriele stopped at the bedroom door.
He had seen me, barely.
I rushed to the next bedroom, flicked the lock on the second bathroom door, and quietly closed it behind me before hurrying across to the next bedroom’s door. I peeked out into the hallway as my heart pounded.
To get back downstairs meant passing the first bedroom again.
When the locked handle on the bathroom door rattled but failed to open, I took off in a quiet jog to the stairs, trying not to roll my ankle as my heeled shoes sank into the plush, cream carpet that lined the hallway.
Once I was downstairs, passing Gabriele’s bodyguard, I composed myself and headed straight to Mom.
“I need to charge my phone. In the car,” I said quickly and politely, picking up her keys from where they rested on a side table with her bag.
The arrival of more potential clients for her to win over saved me from thenoforming on her lips, and I escaped the house to go hide in the Volvo.
I wasn’t sitting in the car long before Gabriele and his partner stepped out of the house too, reapplying their sunglasses as they scanned the street.
As if the universe wanted to add more to this terrifying coincidence, they started walking directly towards the Volvo.
I shifted lower in my seat, despite the tinted windows hiding me well enough, and quickly opened the camera on my phone. I snapped as many photos as possible as they went by the windshield to cross the street. All the while, they took their time as they discussed something that clearly had nothing to do with the house.
I decided to film them instead.
“…Look into hospital records. Her name could be there if she’s lived here long enough,” Gabriele said to the man with him.
“Yes, boss.”
“We’re going to tear his empire apart,” Gabriele continued, fishing out his phone as it rang, “Brick by brick, bone by bone, until there is nothing left but the inheritance he owes my sisters and me—Salve, Lucia.” His demeanor completely changed from irritated bad guy to a caring young man in an instant after he answered his phone.
I wondered if Lucia was one of the sisters he was talking about.
“Unfortunately, the house isn’t really to our taste. Just wait until we get our money. We can shop bigger. Better.” His accent rolled rhythmically over every vowel and consonant.
He continued crossing the street, taking the conversation with him.
I stopped recording and instead took photos of his car — a black Chrysler, driven by the man with him. I made sure to get several photos of the license plate too.
Lumping the images and video into one message, I forwarded them to Dad along with a text.
Me: I know I shouldn’t get involved, but one of your suspects showed up to work today.
Once the message was loaded, I waited for his reply. Only to be left on read.
