Page 89 of At The End Of The Day

He coughed and extended his hand. “My name is Detective Bradshaw.”

Neither of us moved to shake it. Our stances matching, he sneered, letting them both know just how unwanted they were.

He cleared his throat and withdrew, casting a glance to his partner. “Uh, yeah, well, um. Ahem. We were touching base about your wife, Mary Mangiacavallo.”

My stomach sank a second time, but my expression remained bitter. Holy shit, I’d completely forgotten about her…again. Sure, once in a while, we spotted her spooking around the property, but, otherwise, for some reason, my brain kept blocking her out.

Shooting a fleeting glimpse his way out the corner of my eye, Dash had remained rigid, showing no emotions to what he said.

“What about her?”

“Have you heard from her, sir?”

He snorted, shrugging his shoulders without unfolding the arms. “No, and I don’t plan to. The skank ran out on her own fucking daughter to chase some dude’s dick. Good fucking riddance, if you ask me.”

Obviously not expecting that answer, he shifted from foot to foot while the quiet one scowled in disapproval. “Well, we have some news, Mr. Mangiacavallo, and we were wondering if you could give us anymore leads from it.”

His face fell a bit, his eyelids thinning. “You know where she is?” he asked, almost sounding as if he cared.

“No, no, but we finally got her phone records from Verizon.”

“Oh. Okay. And?”

They exchanged looks once more. “And, um, sir. We have discovered who your wife was having an affair with.”

My interest at last piqued, I stepped forward, a hand on the column. “Who?”

He tugged at his tie and then readjusted his sunglasses. “Um, it’s Edoardo Bianchi…sir.”

Dumbfounded, an invisible fist slammed into my gut so hard, I actually oofed. Stumbling backward a bit, I gawked at Dash’s profile, curious to his reaction. “Oh, shit,” I croaked, fisting the hair on top of my head.

Bit by bit, his features scrunched, his eyelids thinning over his irises glowing with sheer abhorrence. His upper lip twitching, he was seething, panting, instantly sweating. “Jackyl,” he stated more than asked.

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Are you sure?” I muttered, my focus bouncing back and forth between them. “I mean, you sure they was fucking around?”

He coughed yet again and nodded, briefly looking at the ground. “There’s no mistaking some of those texts, sir.”

“Motherfucker!” he howled, swirling around to slam his fist into the column.

My heart racing, I wanted to comfort him but didn’t dare in front of people. Shocked at the depths of our leader’s betrayals, I was growing numb inside. Should I tell my sister her husband was cheating on her? Did it even matter anymore? After all, she’d cheated on him with Tyler more than once.

“How long?” I asked, still focusing on Dash.

“We’re not quite sure, sir, but as far as we can see, their interactions go back as far as 2013.”

Another invisible blow had me grunting, bile shooting up my throat. A year after he married my sister? What the fuck? That was way before she stepped out with Tyler for the first time. Why the hell would he go to the extremes he did to get my sister to fall in love with him, just to cheat on her as soon as he locked her down? What was the point of all the damage he inflicted if he wasn’t going to appreciate the victory?

He bristled and blanched. Inching around to stare at me in horror, he began shaking. Lashing out, he grabbed my forearm, the whites showing around his eyes. “Vinny.”

Anxiously shooting quick glances at the cop, I cleared my throat and stepped a little closer, afraid he was about to lose his shit. “Yeah?”

“Piera...”

Realization struck and I gawked, as well. “Oh, shit.”

“Is she…” He gulped, fiercely gripping my other arm. “Is she mine…or his?”