“Why not?” Gio wonders.
“He’ll never bring another woman home again if we make a big deal out of it,” Francisco explains.
I can’t believe I’m witnessing such a normal conversation. They sound like two older men discussing a younger relative, which is exactly what they are. The problem is that I know there’s so much more to their family than love and respect. They are killers, and I’m determined to unmask them.
I move stealthily toward the kitchen, holding my breath until I’ve put another wall between me and my enemies. I’m crawling on all-fours, convinced that if I stand up, I’ll be discovered. Luckily, there’s no one in the kitchen, giving me a straight shot toward the back hallway.
I’m in uncharted territory, going off the theory, that Frankie wouldn't have shown whatever is important in this house. That means there’s nothing in the living room, the library or the billiard room. But I saw this hallway when I was in the kitchen last time. I’m assuming it’s meaningful since Frankie didn’t mention it on his tour.
There are three doors in this hallway, and I’m not sure which one to try first. To start, I twist one knob and find it locked. I try the one on the opposite side and that’s locked as well. The third door is farthest from the kitchen. I place my hand over the knob andtwist, delighted when the latch disengages and the door swings inward.
The fact that it’s not locked may or may not be relevant. I might have stumbled across the least important of the three rooms. Or, I might have found the one most frequently in use. It is possible that Corello didn’t lock this room because no one in their right mind would enter. Maybe there’s a protective culture of silence that keeps people out, making the head of the family confident that he doesn’t have to protect his secrets.
I’m hoping that’s the case. What I want is a smoking gun, or at the very least a paper trail that could lead me to Danny’s killer. Anything else I find here will be icing on the cake.
I leave the lights off. We’re far enough away from the living room that I don’t think Corello and his brother will notice if I switch them on. But better safe than sorry. There is a certain amount of light coming in through the window, so I can make do.
I see a desk, a lamp, several chairs, and a couch. There’s nothing in the room that’s immediately suspicious. It’s clearly an office, and a well-funded one at that. The couch is real leather; even in the darkness, I can smell its authenticity. The desk is massive and made of wood, obviously handcrafted. Just like everything else in this house, the office screams money.
I hurry across the rug, knowing that my time is short. I need to discover whatever has been left unguarded and make my way back upstairs before Frankie realizes that I’m gone. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I’m confident that I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve done tons of research on this family, and anything that strikes me as significant will be simple enough to find.
I pull my phone out, ready to take pictures. I feel like a spy in a blockbuster movie, or like a thief. I remind myself that I’m on the right side of the law. They are the ones who have broken the social contract repeatedly through murder and bribery. I’m only trying to bring them to justice.
I open the top drawer on the left-hand side to begin my search. Inside, I find nothing but paperclips and envelopes. I paw through them, searching for writing. It’s difficult to see, and I’m worried that I’m glossing over something important. I find a small journal with gilded edges, the kind of thing that’s sold in every chain bookstore. It’s about the size of my palm and fits easily in my pocket. I want to open it, but I don’t have time, so I move on to the next drawer.
I’m halfway through the desk when the light snaps on. Caught red-handed, I glance up to see Corello standing in the doorway with a gun. He points the weapon at me, his expression neutral.
My blood runs cold. This is the end of the line. In short order, he will find out about my brother and me. I’ve been unmasked.
I lower my phone, having not even captured one single image. It clatters onto the desk with a sound that almost startles me. I have time for one last ironic thought, and that’s what a horrible thief I am. I couldn’t even complete one assignment before getting caught. Thank goodness it’s only my life on the line, and not anyone else’s. I would be exponentially more disappointed if I felt I was letting anyone else down.
Of course, Frankie will be heartbroken. He just confessed his love to me as we bared our souls to each other for the first time. I don’t want him to think that all I cared about was digging up dirt on his father. I realize suddenly that’s not the only reason I want to spend time with him. I like Frankie. I may even love him. Andbecause I know this is the end of our relationship, I wish I could go back and change things. Maybe I would have allowed him to see the real me, the one who is still hurting after discovering her brother dead on the couch. Maybe I would have explained why I’m convinced his father had a hand in it and asked for his help.
All that is irrelevant now. Corello is going to kill me and force Frankie to dispose of the body. My stomach flips under the realization that these are my last moments on the planet. There are a thousand things I wish I could do, but I’ve just run out of time.
“Relax,” Corello says, lowering his gun. “I didn’t realize it was you.”
I swallow heavily, my oxygen-starved brain having a difficult time getting up to speed. “I didn’t—” I walk back to my actions like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“I know,” Corello says. “You probably just had a hard time sleeping in a new place, and you were looking for a book to read.”
“That’s right,” I exclaim, grasping at straws.
I can’t believe he’s feeding me the perfect line to use. What’s even worse is that I know he’s doing it. There is no mistaking my actions in his inner sanctum. The desk drawer was open, and my phone was pointed at it.
The only explanation is that Frankie is on his mind. He doesn’t want to admit that the woman his son brought home is involved in any kind of shady conspiracy. He’s giving me the benefit of the doubt and telling me he knows. I wonder what the fallout is going to be. Obviously, in this moment, he’s not going to shoot me. But going forward, there’s no telling what he will do.
As I stand there, frozen with a mixture of fear and guilt, he approaches me. I flinch, yet I’m helpless to do anything else. My heart speeds up to the point where I can hear blood rushing through my ears. This is the moment I’ve pictured ever since Danny died. Here I am, alone with my brother’s killer, and all our cards are on the table.
Some generous part of me yells out that Corello doesn’t yet know who I am. He knows that I’m not looking for a book to read, but beyond that, he’s not privy to any specifics. That is the only advantage that I have, since I’m sure he would react differently if he realized my actual plan.
I watch him come closer, and my eyes dart toward the open door. Can I make it there in time? Will this thin veneer of civilization that has crystallized between us be shattered if I make a move? I have to pass him to reach the door, and I’m not sure his generosity will extend that far. What if he means to silence me some other way, like with his hands instead of his gun?
I force myself to meet his eyes, knowing there is little I can do in this situation. But if these are my last moments, I’m determined to meet them head-on. I exhale to expand my chest, doing my best to look threatening. I don’t want him to think I’m defenseless, even though it’s obvious he holds all the power.
He stops mere inches from me, his gaze more curious than anything else. He scans my eyes for information which I don’t give him. I keep my mouth shut, knowing that Frankie’s feelings mean a great deal to Corello. It’s the one thing I have to bargain with in this moment, and we both know it.
Finally, Corello reaches for my phone. He picks it up off the desk and hands it to me. My finger shakes as I retrieve it, noddingmy thanks. But just as he makes the handoff, he grabs my wrist with the opposite hand. He’s much stronger than I expect, and the pressure nearly registers as pain. His eyes flash dangerously.
