Page 12 of Roman

“Get it for me.”

I sat at my desk, waiting for the feed. I watched it closely. Marianne got out of a nondescript car, waiting beside it. A man came from the passenger side, holding an overnight bag. I zoomed in, studying his face. I didn’t recognize him at all. His expression was dour, he was dressed in black, and he didn’t look any happier about being with Marianne than she was with him. He hardly looked like a new lover, but maybe he had simply sent her protection. I zoomed out and watched the rest of the exchange.

Franco came on to the screen, and he took the bag and Marianne’s arm. She appeared to argue with him, but her escort said something and she walked with Franco, who handed the bag to another one of my staff. Ten minutes later, he answered his phone and said something to Marianne. She tossed her hair and threw her hands up in the air, talking and gesturing. I doubted anything she had to say was complimentary. She looked at the camera and flipped the bird with both hands, then marched to the car and got in, slamming the door. They drove off.

I sat back, rubbing my chin. Something felt off. Where did she get the money? Who bankrolled her?

Then I shook my head. It didn’t matter. She’d paid her debt, she’d been banned from my casinos, and I’d had my security head send her photo and information to other owners I knew. She was going to have to find a new way to feed her addiction.

I reached into my pocket, my fingers encountering the small, plastic-wrapped item. I pulled out the cookie, looking at it. Before I’d left, I helped Nonna wrap her bagels. She liked them cut in half and would freeze them so she could toast them whenever she wanted to. She loved the dense bread for breakfast. We finished, and she reached into the bag, holding up the cookie.

“What is this?” She frowned. “It seems strange to put a cookie in a bag of bagels.”

I took the cookie from her hand. “Must have been a mistake.”

I distracted her and slipped the cookie into my pocket. I was certain a pretty violet-eyed woman had purposely put it in there.

And the thought of her doing so brought a smile to my mouth that didn’t belong there.

I returned to my desk, clicking on a program, and checked the location of the tracker I had in the card I gave Effie Warner. It blinked, slow and steady, at the location where her diner and home was located. She was there. Safe.

Then suddenly, it stopped. Vanished. I refreshed the program and got nothing. I picked up the phone. “Bring me that bag. Now.”

Franco arrived a few moments later, handing me the bag. I snatched it from his hands, opening the zipper. I grabbed a stack of the cash, pulling a hundred from it. I held it under the light, examining it. There was nothing. I breathed out a sigh of relief, then tried another. My heart dropped when I saw it. The tiny mark in the bottom right corner. I looked at another. Pulled stacks from the bag, checking them. Most of them were marked. It was a mark I recognized. Loathed beyond anything else.

“Get my car. Now!” I roared.

Moments later, we were driving toward the Bagels and Bites shop. It was dark, but I headed up the stairs I had noticed the other day at the side of the building. The door at the top was ajar, and I pushed it open, stepping inside, my worries confirmed. The place was a mess, indicating a struggle had happened.

And Effie was gone.

Marianne had taken my angry words to heart.

“You have confused me with the Santinis. Go peddle your offer to them.”

She had done exactly that. How she found them, I had no idea, but she had.

Once they finished with Effie, she wouldn’t be recognizable. Her life was over.

And it was my fault.

Marianne might have pulled the trigger, but I’d put the gun in her hands.

And I couldn’t take it back.