“Beth, he was her boss,” cut in one of the others.
“Oh,” she gasped, her eyes going soft. “I’m so sorry to break this to you, dear, but Mr. Coleman was killed on Saturday. It was on all the local news stations; I’m surprisedyou didn’t see.” All six pairs of pitying eyes fixed on me, waiting intently for my reaction.
Roger was dead.
Not just dead, killed.
I was in shock—unable to react because I couldn’t process the unexpected news. Instead, I nodded and stumbled from the office. I couldn’t go upstairs; I needed somewhere private to think. I found myself back at the elevator, next to which was a maintenance room. Hurrying inside, I closed the door behind me and dropped down to sit on a large cardboard box.
The source of my torment for a solid year was dead.
I was free.
The relief I experienced was so great, I felt physically lighter, almost dizzy. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if it was wrong that I was glad a man had died. Trailing behind that thought was image after image of Roger’s snide face as he commented about my legs or ogled my chest. I could still feel his unwelcome hardness pressed against my backside from days earlier when he very likely would have raped me had Luca not arrived.
No, I had every right to rejoice.
Roger was a disgusting human being, and the world was a better place without him.
How had he died? I hadn’t even thought to ask. They said he was killed—did that mean he was murdered? Or had they meant he died in a car crash or other accident? I pulled out my phone and Googled Roger Coleman.
New York businessman, Roger Coleman, found dead early Sunday morning. Coleman received numerous stab wounds in what appears to be a surprisingly brutal attack of gang violence.
Gang violence?Holy shit!
Aside from being a pervert, Roger seemed strait-laced, as far as I could tell. My reeling mind focused as confusion set in. How on Earth had he wound up being murdered by a gang? It could have been a chance encounter, but a stabbing with numerous wounds sounded rather intentional—not like the stray bullet that had killed Luca’s mom.
Luca—could he have had something to do with this? Looking back, I was somewhat surprised he never lifted a finger when he caught Roger assaulting me. He wasn’t exactly the type to turn the other cheek. He hardly even spoke about the incident when we got to his place. I knew it had affected him; he’d been practically vibrating with anger.
An ominous chill settled over me, causing goosebumps to perch on my arms and legs. Had Luca used his mafia connections to have Roger killed? What were the chances Roger’s death was a coincidence? Rolling waves of nausea caused my stomach to surge into my throat as I faced what was most likely the ugly truth.
Luca had Roger killed.
Or had it been even worse? Had Luca done it himself?
Fighting off the insistent need to vomit, I lowered my head to my knees and took shaky, deep breaths. Luca wasn’t the type of man to let Roger’s crimes go unpunished. The simplest solution was most likely the right one.
Luca was a criminal. Luca was angry at Roger. Roger was killed. Luca killed Roger.
I should have known Luca let the incident go too easily. I should have followed my gut instinct and ended it the minute I discovered his mafia connection. I hated Roger, but I didn’t want him dead because of me. Beating up someone was one thing—murder was entirely different.
A cloud of emotions swarmed me like angry wasps. Attempting to free myself from their suffocating grasp, I stood and began to pace the small room. I needed help, but I was more scared than ever to bring anyone else into this mess. Before I fell into a total panic, I needed to know the truth. I needed to confront Luca. As much as I wanted to run and never look back, I’d promised him I’d come to him with my problems, and he was the only one who could confirm my suspicions.
Not giving myself a chance to chicken out, I dialed Luca’s number with shaky fingers. I was petrified and furious at the same time, perched on the precipice of a point of no return.
“Alessia, is everything okay?”
I took in a shaky breath to calm my nerves. “Did you kill my boss?” Jerky and no louder than a whisper, the words punctuated the deafening silence in my small hideout.
“I’ll be at your building in ten. Meet me outside.”
The line clicked dead, and with it, a stabbing pain wrenched through my chest.
He didn’t deny it.
He knew exactly what I was talking about and didn’t deny it.
I could feel myself falling apart like a sheet of glass splintering until it was webbed with cracks. All it would take was the right touch, and I would come apart, a jigsaw of pieces scattered across the floor.
