I keep digging, running her name through Google, but nothing truly useful turns up. What I do find is this. Damn, she was a star in high school. Academics. Athletics. The kind of girl everyone remembers.
I figure out she turned twenty-four a few weeks ago. The timeline fits. It lines up with the three years Antonio disappeared, especially when I notice she posts every year about her mother on the anniversary of her death.
I know it’s not a coincidence. Her mother died about two weeks before Antonio came back after those three years away, right before he goes on his infamous rampage.
He left to escape the grief of losing his wife, Cara, only to then lose another woman. Damn. That’s some shit luck.
The more I dig, the more I want to know her. Not just theversion of her that exists online, but the real one. The woman behind the profiles.
She’s interested in things that I never thought I’d care about.
Her personality feels open and inviting, at least outside of moments when mafia men are yelling at her in a trauma bay. She cares about things most people overlook, like runners’ and hikers’ safety.
There’s an entire section of her profile dedicated to staying safe while running or hiking.
It’s nearly seven in the morning now. I need to be at Gino’s by eight. He lives just outside the city, in a house his family has owned for decades. The place is a massive mansion his father built when his parents got married. A large, two-story mid-century modern home, because Cara didn’t want a classic Victorian like so many of the others out here. The exterior is white, trimmed with dark accents that make the whole place feel sharp and imposing.
I get dressed in the classic three-piece suit that comes with this job, then grab my laptop, phone, wallet, and keys before heading out the door. I jump in my SUV and drive to Gino’s, my mind drifting back to a beautiful redhead and the growing possibility of her being completely off-limits.
I pull into the driveway at 7:50, right on time. The moment I step inside, the smell of breakfast hits me. Juliet is already cooking. She’s the spitfire housekeeper we’ve been friends with since college and runs the place like it’s hers.
“Hey, Juliet, has Gino come down yet?” I ask as I walk into the kitchen.
“No, he hasn’t. I’m about to take his breakfast up to his office. You can grab yourself a plate if you want to follow me up there,” she says, a smile across her face.
“Sure.”
I load up a plate with bacon, eggs, potatoes, and toast, then follow her up the stairs to the second floor and Gino’s office.
“Hi, Mr. Esposito,” Juliet says.
I roll my eyes. Gino is definitely about to tell her not to call him that.
“Juliet, I told you not to call me that. Mr. Esposito was my father.” He looks up from his desk.
“Sorry, Gino,” she replies shyly.
I snort quietly as she sets a plate down on his desk. He smiles up at her, and she slips out of the office.
“Are you going to just stand there all day, or are you going to sit down?” he asks, eyes back on the paperwork in front of him. “Well, duh. But I was enjoying watching you two fall in love.” I grin at him.
“Jesus Christ, will you ever let that go?” he groans, rolling his eyes. “Never. Not until you ask her out on a date.” I grin wider.
“You know she’ll say no. She hates me.”
“Bullshit. She likes you.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Okay, you keep telling yourself that.”
I sit down across from him, and we both dig into our food. We eat quietly until I finally decide to break it.
“So, what’s this job you wanted me to look at?” I ask after we’ve eaten most of our food.
“It’s nothing crazy, but we’ll need to plan a little before you do it.”
“Alright. What is it?”
