Around six o'clock, Elena hugs Rina goodbye and heads out. I wait exactly ninety seconds before following.
Tony's supposed to have her evening shift but I don't trust him not to lose her again. So I tail her myself as she catches a cab back to her apartment in Brooklyn. The drive takes forty minutes in Saturday evening traffic. She stops once—at a bodega on her corner where she buys wine and what looks like ingredients for dinner.
By the time she disappears into her building, it's nearly seven-thirty. I park down the street with a clear view of the entrance. Watch the lights come on in her third-floor window. She moves around her apartment for a while. I can see her silhouette occasionally passing by the window.
At nine o'clock she's still there. The TV flickers blue light across her living room. She seems settled for the night.
I pull out my phone and call Lorenzo—one of my more competent guys.
"I need you to take over surveillance on Elena's building," I tell him when he answers. "Watch all exits. If she so much as steps outside for a cigarette, I want to know about it."
"Yes sir. I'll be there in twenty."
I stay until Lorenzo arrives and positions himself across the street. Then I finally head home, my mind still churning through everything from today.
Elena's hiding something. Multiple somethings probably. And tomorrow I'm going to start getting real answers instead of just watching her play games.
CHAPTER 6
Marco
Waking up today,I have no more answers than I did yesterday. Elena is far more stealthy than I initially gave her credit for, and that's saying something considering my usual standards for competence.
Last night I watched her apartment until nearly ten o'clock. Saw her lights go out. Thought maybe she'd finally stay put for once. But Lorenzo called me at two in the morning to report she'd slipped out through a basement exit I didn't even know existed. By the time he caught up with her, she was three blocks away walking toward the subway like she had every right to be wandering Brooklyn at two a.m.
Lorenzo. My best surveillance guy. The one man I trusted to keep eyes on her when I couldn't.
And she still managed to give him the slip for a solid ten minutes.
That's when I knew I couldn't delegate this anymore. Tony's useless—she made him look like an amateur at that cafe. Lorenzo's good but even he lost her in the dark. If I want to know what Elena's really up to, I need to be the one watching her. Not from across the street or three cars back in traffic. Rightthere. Close enough that she can't pull another disappearing act without me knowing exactly how she does it.
She knew I'd be watching last night. Knew Lorenzo was posted outside. And she still pulled this shit with obvious enjoyment.
Well, today's the day that dynamic changes. Today I win.
The only way to stay ahead of Elena Messina is to never let her out of my sight. Which means I'm about to become her least favorite roommate.
I shower and get dressed in my usual dark jeans and button-down. Have my morning coffee—black as always—and head down to my car. Elena is about to get a very different kind of wake-up call than she's expecting.
The drive to Brooklyn takes thirty minutes in Sunday morning traffic. I spend most of it thinking about how she gave my men the slip at that cafe. Walked right through the kitchen and out the back door while they stood around like idiots. Changed her appearance, disappeared into the crowd, and bought herself four hours of freedom before we picked up her trail again. She's better at evasion than most trained operatives.
I'll get the full explanation from her eventually. Right after I make it clear her days of playing games are over.
Elena managed to get back home around four this morning. Lorenzo escorted her to her door after her little midnight adventure. Now she's probably still asleep, enjoying her last few hours of relative freedom.
Time to get up and face your new reality, little fox.
Her building is older but well-maintained, with classic pre-war architecture that speaks to a more elegant era of New York construction. The glass front doors reflect the morning sunlight as I approach them. She lives on the third floor, so it's only two flight of stairs to reach her doorstep—close enough to the street for a quick escape if needed, I note automatically.
I knock on her door several times before she finally comes to answer, and when she does, she's yawning and clearly just woken up. She's wearing a matching silky camisole and shorts pajama set that leaves very little to the imagination. Her nipples are clearly visible through the thin fabric, and when she stretches her arms over her head while yawning again, the motion draws my attention to parts of her anatomy I have no business noticing.
She really is stunning when she's not running her mouth or plotting her next escape. It takes her a moment to focus enough to realize it's me standing at her door, and when recognition hits, she immediately shifts into defensive mode—popping her hip and crossing her arms over her chest.
"Can we not do this today, Marco? I have a pounding headache, and frankly, you will make it worse," she says matter-of-factly, like I'm some kind of migraine trigger she can simply dismiss.
I push open the door, brushing past her slight form, and step into her apartment with the overnight bag I've brought. The space is clean and surprisingly well-organized, but what catches my attention immediately is the abundance of plants. They're everywhere—hanging from the ceiling, lined up on windowsills, clustered on every available surface.
It takes me a little by surprise. I didn't expect Elena to be the type who nurtures living things. Isn't that what seventy-year-olds do when they retire? Not twenty-three-year-old women who sneak around meeting criminals in dive bars.
