The reporter turns back to the camera. “We’ll keep the public informed as soon as the story develops.”
The camera pans across the park, where the hint of blue and red police lights flash from the corner of the screen.
My mind races. Did I somehow fuck up? How did the police find him so quickly? It had to be at least an hour ago for the news stations to be out there and the crime scene to have been blocked off. We didn’t make any noise, he didn’t yell or scream when he saw the knife, and we were surrounded by abandoned buildings. No one saw me. I’m sure of it. Maybe he had some kind of tracking device on him and his lack of movement tipped it off.
I rub my forehead as I put my phone down and ease back onto the freeway. In less than an hour I’ll be at my sister’s, far away from the scene. Like I always do, I’ll let things die down a bit before I start working on my next target.
They don’t suspect me. No one suspects me. Just like the kid said, I blend in. I don’t stand out in any way. As far as most people know, I’m an upstanding citizen who goes to my job every day, pays my bills, and follows the rules. I have a few friendly coworkers I occasionally have drinks with. I’m not a recluse or a weirdo. No one thinks about how I spend my off time.
Blowing out a breath, I lean back in my seat and turn the radio up even louder. It’s cool. It’s all good. My process is flawless. By the time I get back to Chicago, more murders will have replaced this headline, and in a week, the case will go cold, like it always does. The police aren’t looking for me. They don’twant to find me. Except for the paperwork and unsolved cases, I actually help them. They’d rather deal with a dead piece of shit than another young victim, that much I’m sure of.
I shift my focus to my family. It’ll be good to see them, to get in touch with my hometown roots again, and enjoy a quieter pace of life for a few days.
Chapter 2
Nantes
“I can’t believe how busy it is today.” I lean against the butcher block island to catch my breath for a minute. “It’s been nonstop since we opened.”
“It’s rad,” Brogan, my cousin, says, as they stack empty platters. “The two tours tonight are sold out.”
My nonna ambles in with another basket of fresh muffins, cookies, and scones to complement our wine flights. “Delivery.”
I hurry over to kiss her cheek and take the baskets. “Thanks, Nonna. These smell incredible.”
“They taste good too.” She pinches my cheek, even though she has to reach up to do it. “Busy today, huh?”
“Very. And it’s not even peak season yet.”
She smiles, glancing around the bustling space. A year ago, we converted this unused room in the main house into a small store where people can purchase some of our products to take home. Prior to this, we only sold our wine wholesale to restaurants and retail, but me and my brother Deo put our heads together and came up with new revenue streams that haveproven lucrative. For the first time in many years, Benedetti Wines is back in the black.
“Your grandfather would be very proud,” Nonna says, rubbing my arm, her eyes welling with tears. “This is all he ever wanted.”
“I know, Nonna.” I kiss her temple. “How ya feeling?”
“Like a spring chicken.” She grins as she bends down to touch her toes. “My doctor is impressed with my mobility at my age. I told him I was just getting started.”
“You’re an inspiration.”
“I’m just too stubborn to get old. The years tick on, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a slave to them.”
“Not at all.”
The front door opens and Deo and his man, Balt, enter. Deo looks unusually serious, while Balt is his normal stoic self. Since Deo returned to run the family business two years ago, I’ve seen him in a whole new light. Before that, he was sort of the black sheep of the family, but now I see he just had to figure things out on his own. He literally saved the winery, so it all worked out the way it should have.
He drops a manila folder on the island. “We crunched the numbers you asked about and decided we can afford to hire two part-time staff or one full-time. That’s to pay them a decent wage.”
Brogan leans on the counter, stealing one of Nonna’s cookies. Today Brogan’s hair is platinum blond with bright red tips. It’s longer than it has been in a while too, falling well below their shoulders. Since deciding to work up front with me, they’ve started pulling together some interesting fashion looks that have made it to social media with customers tagging us. Works for me.
Finding my place in the family business after busting my ass for over a decade to become a doctor came easier than Iexpected. I took a huge risk quitting the hospital for a different life, but I haven’t regretted it. I worried that Deo and I would butt heads or be on top of each other all the time, but working with my younger brother is easy, especially since he handles the back of house and I manage the customer-facing and retail portions. Balt handles all of our finances and investments and does a fantastic job. All in all, I know in my heart I made the right choice.
“Is that a tour bus?” Brogan asks, peering through the large front window.
I join Brogan at the window, following their gaze. “Shit. They aren’t on the schedule. I would know.”
The bus door swings open and a heavyset woman steps off, wearing a bright yellow t-shirt that says Wrigley-Newton Reunion. She glances around, then heads straight for the main building.
“I’ll greet her and see what’s up,” Brogan says. “Maybe they just need directions.”
